"excretion" poems
Americana is not Greyhound.
People come and go like life,
Attached to the waiting random.
The road feels longer,
Relief of excretion and sanitation,
Home spreads everywhere.
Sitting strangers are stories,
Riding by unknown sceneries,
Thinking about their hometown,
Wondering if they will reach their destination on time.
Earphone music connects memories to a person so vividly,
It feels like a new chapter in my life,
Bookmark the important ones with parts of me,
It feels like I’m departing,
From something small to somewhere big.
It’s
already
an adventure
once the first
step is made
with you.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 3:09 AM UTC
Wouldn't it be weird if
JFK was reincarnated
as Monica Lewinski?
Buddha probably
ate better butter
than Ghandi.
If we keep fighting
the divine fellows
we pray to
will be too afraid to return.
This isn't ******* Highlander.
Christ, what a hilariously insane movie.
They probably show that
to people who drink caviar & say things
like "pip pip!"
Either way,
we're all related.
Otherwise than that,
let's all be
LOVE.
Except for people
who commit genocide.
May they be reincarnated
as Hitler's final excretion
as he killed himself;
including ******
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 8:58 PM UTC
The Albatross
Lone de-odorizer of the toilet
Its smooth contour covered in a clear blanket
Wrapped around with cheap plastic,
Adorned with cheap silk, the semi-lucent plastic
Like unwrapping a yema
It smells very sweet. Very, very.
You seldom notice this white bird
In your long hours of comforting, brooding
Hungering for attention beneath the swollen toilet
Asking for unwanted pleasures
The toilet asks "why must I feed?”
The Albatross mums in its silent reprieve.
Still you didn’t notice the wounding
Of your smooth oily toilet
In long comforting hours of sleep;
No, only excretion is wanted here.
The albatross takes away the scourge
The scourge beneath your noses
And still you didn’t notice
The glory in its inexistence
(Paolo Jerome D. Cristobal / June 28, 2008)
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 12:00 PM UTC
Because I could not draft for Ice,
it did kindly draft for me.
Does the Ice make you shiver?
does it?
Pay attention to the chill,
the chill is the most shivering fear of all.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the chill,
Gently it goes - the chill, the trembling, the unsteady.
A thawing, however hard it tries,
Will always be Melting.
Does the thawing make you shiver?
does it?
The big winter sings like a Sun is directly above the Tropic of Capricorn
Now cosmic is just the thing,
To get me wondering if the winter is mature.
wooly glaciers sings like Iceburgs
"Rushing water", said the glaciers,
And "rushing water" then "rushing water" again.
How happy is the frozen popsicle!
Does the popsicle make you shiver?
does it?
The freezing that's really crystals,
Above all others is the frost.
Does the frost make you shiver?
does it?
Because I could not draft for Ice,
it did kindly draft for me.
Does the Ice make you shiver?
does it?
Because I could not draft for Ice,
it did kindly draft for me.
Ice, Ice, every where,
Yet not a drop to draft.
How happy is the cold surface!
Down, down, down into the darkness of the surface,
Gently it goes - the perfect, the gelid, the stone-cold.
Pay attention to the floe,
the floe is the most Dence ice mass of all.
Floe, floe, every where,
Yet not a drop to drift.
The thawing is like a gentle voice,
it tends to cause significantly.
Does the thawing make you shiver?
does it?
The athletic game that's really zany,
Above all others is the hockey.
Pause to assist, like the hockey does.
It does assist, it does draft,
Should it also induct?
Why would you think the snowfall is gradual?
the snowfall is the most sudden downfall of all.
Pause to last, like the snowfall does.
It does last, it does accumulate,
Should it also range?
I saw the the antarctic installation of my generation destroyed,
How I mourned the water.
I don't like the fact that it,
learned to reside before it knew how to flow.
You can reside, you can flow, but can you supply?
Because I could not draft for Ice,
it did kindly draft for me.
Does the Ice make you shiver?
does it?
Because I could not draft for Ice,
it did kindly draft for me.
Pause to draft, like the Ice does.
Don't belive that the snowfall is small?
the snowfall is big beyond belief.
Never forget the braggy and large-scale snowfall.
Pay attention to the cold,
the cold is the most wintry respiratory disease of all.
Are you upset by how springlike it is?
Does it tear you apart to see the cold so frozen?
I saw the the little demoralize of my generation destroyed,
How I mourned the chill.
Now small-scale is just the thing,
To get me wondering if the chill is trivial.
An iceman, however hard it tries,
Will always be cunning.
Are you upset by how adroit it is?
Does it tear you apart to see the iceman so attractive?
I saw the the Frozen excretion of my generation destroyed,
How I mourned the water.
Never forget the sleety and unchangeable water.
Pay attention to the freeze,
the freeze is the most Frozen fractals act of all.
Does the freeze make you shiver?
does it?
Because I could not draft for Ice,
they did kindly draft for me.
Do Ice make you shiver?
do they?
Apr 8, 2018
Apr 8, 2018 at 2:53 PM UTC
When I reached in to clean off the glitter on your face,
Did your throat ache because of the unheard voice?
When I said: relax I won't kiss you
did the unheard voice say: "I wish you would!"?
This then music that was denied
All the times I didn't touch you,
did you shiver and get chills?
Did my wondrous breath caress your hairs then?
Did your follicles once wake?
Leading to yawning pores
Inviting the warmth,
of a touch, and the moist excretion of the connection
thereof
And your dry lips with lines dividing symbolizing the walls of your soul yet to be broken
and your bright eyes when the right words are spoken
Or the nerve-wrecking look that had me choking
I was myself and I truly was, maybe you thought I was joking
Was it the distance or questionable persistence?
The fear maybe, that had you critical of what you should feel
Perhaps the vicissitudes of fate that have a stationary couple reel
Or the gravity of occurrences, where I had to keep up appearances
Maybe just you. Maybe just me. Or the doubtful We.
In all reason; logical to think that perhaps the feel
that keeps me away from you
and you feeling like a slave when with me
if you believed and trusted, we could have eloped
Escaped the prison of doubt and insecurity, uplift the hope
Use the ladder of surrender
climb down the 'chance' rope
and then we'd elope
But you stayed with the other guy who says what you want to hear
who drives the car that has them cheer
who sports a profile that gives him credit
Never minding your heart's merit
I leave and enter the wild
I am a wolf from afar
And a die-hard romantic at heart
These are the melodies that live on
Unsung hymns of love lore
May they be heard deeply and penetrate as the sound of spores.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 11:46 AM UTC
We pull
the Humboldt
out of the water.
Sometimes
they eat each other,
and we pull
up
shredded hooks
clotted
with white meat.
Sometimes
they
scramble
underneath the surface
and the film of water
separating us
from them
becomes pink and flashing.
We pulled up
a black
saucer
of an eye
one night.
It clung
to a hook
by
pink strings of optic muscle.
Our flashlights
put little continents of light all over its placid, black surface,
and I felt human sadness
some type of animal-human
empathy,
it ****** me up so much
that I threw the line overboard
again,
almost hitting Nestor in the face,
with an un-baited hook.
Our hauls
are getting smaller.
The carnivores
used to jump
into our boats,
slicking
the planks with an excretion
the consistency of placental fluid.
Now,
sometimes dusk burns
as
we yank
seaweed,
seagrass,
and
toilet seats
over the prow;
our bodies tenebrous;
straining with the line
like warriors
stabbing the sea.
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 9:15 PM UTC
Every morning the first thing
is do the subtraction
washing the body
from head to toe
drain all the crud
excretion
combing to get rid of some fallen hair
then do the addition
shove one capsule after another
down the stomach
when it's getting chilly
and there's no color green in front of you
take some vitamin C
to allow some green herbage
grow in your system
when it's dawn
and the sun keeps bouncing up and down
take some Prozac to reduce
the bumpiness of the road
when i was little
i was like a pill
trying to get into the tummy
the tummy was big and strong
and i was thrown all over the place
now the pill found that i was its rival
and had to tame my raging waves
i began to obey
the pill releases tenderness
and soothes me with a sanguine
emoji
it conducts the music
of the forest glade
inviting the swans
with its verdant melody
and my fingers no longer want
to reach the sky
my eyes choose the tranquility
of a placid lake
i even started liking the sound
of putrefaction that is not of impulse
but of delight in transiency
now i submit to this tiny ruler
mysterious yet earnest
that resides in the horizon
i like the freedom
i don't object to its amiability
nor its autocracy.
Nov 22, 2022
Nov 22, 2022 at 7:51 AM UTC
waves of heat rise
distorting the land beyond
no movement, but buzzing flies
hard, dry straw was once a lawn –
cotton blend, stained and soaked
sticks to a sweaty back
nothing satisfies, leastly a Coke
old man neighbor suffered a heart attack –
oppressor sun, beating down
scorching all of my green land
pooling excretion, enough in which to drown
puddles in the palm of my hand –
small children hide indoors
not willing to risk Summer fun
unable to find street-walking ******
as we all cook in the unrelenting sun –
forecast gives no peace or quarter
instead condemns us to another night of no sleep
saw someone fry an egg on construction mortar
and make cookies on the dashboard of a Jeep –
it is simply not the norm
to crest 100 degrees in the Oregon, June
why, even the sprinkler failed to preform
cooler weather cannot come to soon –
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
Beer is my bottle of sleep,
and I drink enough sleep to forget,
that I'm all alone
I don't have a home,
and my soul will just die when im dead.
Just another scared boy waiting in his casket
or acting a part
its either action or nothing
the mind is divorced
bodies are useless
why accumulate them
in a sack of skin, the cage created
by a skull cap glass brains are wrapped in
transparent and thin
a sleep sheet sewn
by rapid eye movement
encased in bones
the alcohol is sediment settling in the bottom bodies brave colony, of other owners that forage for a loners last remnants of his ostomy.
cavity.
Bags of excretion excrete his thoughts, like lead does to mass graves of forties gulags.
Hes lost all compassion, extinguished all hope, hopes a disease the defectors misquote, cause cadavers decay, minds atrophy as muscle, senescence affects all and with age we buckle, the pressures too great, mans heart is too weak, the blood is no longer pumped to his feet, as he falls to his knees, the earth says “we are one”, as the worms eat the flesh of the casket they've dug.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 1:31 PM UTC
The cliché "contrast" is black and white
But in reality there is much more to contrast:
Success and failure,
Night and day,
Living and thriving.
Once living the dream, now living the nightmare.
That's reality's contrast
Once being confident, now being sceptical.
That's reality's contrast.
The only visible light and dark contrast in reality is whether you cry during the day where everyone can see you and your sufferings or during the night where no one can see the real you and what you have come to.
Darkness might be beautiful, but only when you see glimmers of light.
You'll go out into the city and describe the darkness as beautiful just because of the light you see within the darkness.
Darkness allows you to blend in
Your inner darkness escapes as you cry
As you express yourself to the surrounding emptiness
Eventually you become covered with your emitted darkness.
Cry during the day and the viewers will look, glance, stare
laugh
And they know what you're going through?
You get drenched in darkness by the actions of others and your own excretion.
Darkness can house beauty, but darkness is slowly taking over.
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 4:08 PM UTC
For the sake of betterness or quickness,
The life is all about developing own customized extensions or plugins .
Better sitted pees
Better stand-up pees
Better view
Better trails
Better quality
Better quantity
Better pace
Better Understanding
Better likability
Better knowledge
Better green
Better pleasure
Better writes
Better disorientation
Better philosophy
Better stimulation
Better cycles
Better science
Better calculus
Better reads
Better rain
Better gulps
Better art
Better calendars
Better wilderness
Better awakening
Better flirting
Better cooking
Better carpentry
Better tactics
Better silence
Better touch
Better light
Better technology
Better sunsign
Better blue ticks
Better mixing
Better chaos
Better mutation
Better round-tables
Better deals
Better excretion
Better burial
Better fertilization
Better moon
Better sun
Better fun
And It rhymed , thereby set for n number possibilities.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 6:06 AM UTC
Treasure is but a wanderer's lust
seeking utopia amongst the cosmic stars
it's year 2025, humanity's golden age of technology,
and a little white spaceship sets off to colonise Mars
nicknamed Nova 2, she boasts twin light-speed thrusters
polarised windscreens and a body of pure ceramite -
with a whoosh and a deafening bang
she smashes the sound barrier and streaks through the night
[#WHAM! BAM! FLASH!#]
at twenty-two hours they pass the moon
avoid a cluster of meteorite and space debris,
venturing deeper and deeper into the abyss of nothingness
their minds awestruck, their weary souls free
faced with a darkness that was un-shiftable, heavy
the danger of this mission increasingly daunting,
the longer they ignored their fears
the more the alien wilderness became haunting
what if they suddenly stopped dead
hit a snag or ran out of power?
They only had limited supplies
and the absent sun grew hotter and hotter by the hour
with the silence incessant
the sound of their own voices was obtrusive, grating,
food disgustingly vile, water going warm,
pressure steadily rising, there were concerns of the pilot fainting
--// "CALLING ELISA STARR TO THE CABIN PLEASE." //--
Elisa Starr was the cabin's dutiful cleaner
she'd clear away the astronauts ******* and occasionally mop up their sick -
for most of the crew had adapted to the lack of gravity
alas a few individuals hadn't been as quick
only 3 months in and the air had already grown stale
smelling of faint excretion and sweat,
aching and tired, she was always wiping down the interior windows
as the condensation steamed them up wet
what was the point in coming to space to slave away
when she could just do it on Earth;
once a valued member of society, a highly respectable mother of three,
surely this gruelling slavery she didn't deserve?
-//-----//-
The glowing red sphere of Mars approaches,
their destination finally (finally!) in range -
Earth was dying and this is a chance for us to start again
but isn't it already clear that we'll never change?
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 6:46 PM UTC
A wraparound escalier
Rosette's to wrap ourn Dud's
Rebels to society
Low and high class thugs
Epicurean phenomenon!!!!
A Cosmo's to macroism's
Plasma to holy force
Phatom's of ourn own opera
As yen to take its course
Homage to ourn own castle!!!
Excretion to bare ourn name
Wild gluttons
Barbarian untamed
Spelling eachother's name
In hieroglyphic memorandum!!!
We shalt travel beyond old Egypt
We shalt gun the pagodas
We shalt peep the shrines of gosha
As in giants we shalt become!!!
A convent well maketh many babies
Basilica's of the angels
Seraph's of treaties
Shalt we sign ourn admiration in blood?
Tis
Yes
Tis
Love!!!
Kirks to keep ourn reme
mberance
Friary's to be attentive
As the mutuality
Shalt be sweet mine aimer!!!!
No distance shalt be to far
No rancor to blow ourn hearts
No hot mustard to stain out tarts
As Madrid shalt wrap us between acacia posie's!!!!
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 11:17 AM UTC
but not consecrated, nothing holy. 'bout me, excluding this bodies holies, by which I blatant blather re
my hole-ies,
the sane same places thru we ******
intake
expiate
initiate
the most
intimate
intense
purely
human activities
breathing
excretion
speak
see
hear
make love
completely
hell
maybe the
places
we get
consecrated
**** ain't that iron ironic
or is this just another con
centric to human existence
Jun 7, 2025
Jun 7, 2025 at 9:02 AM UTC
Poetry
We constantly deal with poetry which puts us in a soporific state,
we sit here apathetic to the cause of studying this beautiful art-
but Poetry’s breath Ad Nauseum about love and laments is bad for a date,
oblivious to the images, while attempting to turn the key we begin to depart.
Yet the door haunts us, novels, plays, yet poetry is the apex,
of this ethereal mystery within the maelstrom that is our mind,
alas this frustration is focused upon the conundrum of poetry being complex,
is it just a condensed novel, this Herculean Task of understanding the undefined.
There are many who deem poetry obsolete but tis rather far from its nadir,
now begins the unequivocally splendid power of the imagination-
hidden by poetry from the vituperative invader,
who’ve made an egregious mistake in deeming poetry a partial differential equation.
Imagination, oh what a beauty long forgotten in the age of reason-
we’ve been given Hobson’s choice, force fed Occam’s razor, given epitome-
yet good ol’ imagination persist like an excretion,
from the eyes of the true daughter of Time, Science’s proficiency.
People assume poetry is the modern day Gordian’s Knot-
well- let us assume this is Utopia, were Imagination runs wild-
as she watches her forest, a black cat surreptitiously passes a man in thought,
startled because it is Friday the thirteenth his Triskaidekaphobia acts up- this is all rather mild-
Just the tip of the iceberg was touched upon, just the tip-
Poetry and humanity is an oleaginous affair we mix but do not blend,
Or should we, poems are nothing more than what we put in, as if to dip-
just our toes, before we plunge head first into poems so as to apprehend.
Poetry is the Sun, as you are the flowers shined upon,
given warmth of knowledge and power if you are to just reach.
Not to let Poetry in as if to catch on-
give it back in your own form of speech.
Through your own imagination feed poetry,
It hungers for your reality, though not reality-
procrastinate not- hopefully,
for your conceptions are your sanity.
Or rather is fancy your faculty- decide,
it will affect your observation of poetry forevermore.
It will excite-
whether you believe it to or not- you will love or abhor.
Poetry is not arduous -
just do not assume there is a secret door.
In fact poetry is quite virtuous-
Seek only what you can give poetry, I do implore.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
The spirit of man is like a five pointed star
and was so destined to have come this far.
Take his body stretched out and you can see
how the limbs resemble ends of a star to be.
It's also written he has been made in the image
of an Eternal God and shares the same lineage.
The spirit that resides as the essence in his soul
is the image of God and reflects a divine role.
We are reminded of this when we seek perfection
in all that is done which happens upon reflection.
Every individual soul made has five main functions
and comes with attributes bearing some instructions.
Each soul is endowed with a heart, mind, intelligence, ego and will
by which it's able to feel, think, reason, assert and to then act until
it has accomplished the purpose for which it was thereby so made
and realise it's own true essential nature being of an infinite grade.
This consciousness of individuality isn't its own real goal of course
but used as a means to reach that place of limitless being or source.
There are also five senses by which each soul can perceive
the world around it but which serve mostly just to deceive
because there are many things that are beyond what they glean
which are only the five objects in three dimensional space seen.
There are some other non-physical senses that come into play
when the individual soul becomes advanced in a spiritual way.
There are also five organs of action which are by man used
and thereby constitute those means for whatever is abused;
they are organs of speech, motion, manual skill and generation
along with that of excretion making up the five by numeration.
They're the mouth, feet, hands, reproductive ***** and behind
which are also seen in other creatures of a less evolved kind.
The physical body is also pervaded and sustained by cosmic energy
and within it performs five functions like that of subtle electricity;
as inspiration, circulation, assimilation, metabolism and excretion
similar to breathing, absorption, digestion, usage and elimination.
The sun, stars, space and the earth itself are the sources from where
man's body is able to acquire and utilise this energy for his welfare.
The earth and man's body are also comprised of five basic elements
which form the basis of all this world and are universal constituents.
In a descending order they are called: ether, air, fire, water and earth
and so it's with these five everything has been created or given birth.
The spirit in man's soul endows it with the limbs of a five pointed star
and by the Creative Sound and Light of God has brought him this far.
______________________________
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 7:10 PM UTC
We've all come from seeds.
We all have roots-
our ancestors.
We are made in their images.
***Though our trees are in different locations,
with branches that have wandered in different directions
we all share the same needs- we all try to sustain our lives***-
M- Movement
E- Excretion
R- Respiration
R- Reproduction
I- Irritability
N- Nutrition
G- Growth
We must accept that the same things happen to us all,
but at different times in various ways.
The leaves from the top may fall sooner than from the bottom,
the water reaches the bottom first and then proceeds to the top,
the sunlight initially lights the eastern half of the tree and sets shining to the western half.
At one point, directly overhead- Equilibrium.
***We should not compare anything of ours to others,
for we all experience the same seasons, at one point or another***
- March 3rd, 2014 4:25 am.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 2:33 PM UTC
Eurasian roller birds
exist in the ecosystem
just as
I do.
When approached by perceived danger
Fight or Flight is feigned
Only remaining--wreaking self-destruction
Our wild flighty friends
Literally ***** all over their beautiful shells
in order to save themselves from suffering
Half digested disgust exposed on wings
arrests their blue beaming light
Eight years ago you climbed up to my nest
and held out your incredible love
Regurgitation immediately followed
Along with green abusive fear
I clung to my cloak of worms and saliva
You just laid down beside me
in digested stench
Multiple times you cleaned me up
licked up the pain
Accepting the disgust,
Realizing quickly
You could not clean a lover who aches
to be bent over, pale skinned, and protected
I fled from nest
and you did too my dear
we couldn't sit with the offensive smell any longer
My wounds were too porous
my pain, invasive
The foul smell that the roller exerts
is also meant to alert the parents to flee back to nest
and protect their blue babe
When I cracked from shell and entered the world
with slit eyes
There were thousands and thousands of threats
and the excretion was not enough
I did not get eaten up by the masses
but I did allow myself to become what I had eaten
infantile self-protection morphed into
Pervasive self-destruction.
Our nest kept singing back to us,
Our love entwined and weaved in with twig
Like haunted batty lovers
Pulled back in to vile
Finally finally finally finally fin a lly
I allowed the digestion
of your love
There were my bursting blue feathers
Sterile and glowing
Our nest safe from
my internal predator
And you, finally safe in my love.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 1:17 PM UTC
Residual slime trails amongst
endless concrete plains
An excretion from yr mucus membrane
What an odd mechanic be your(yr) existence
Catching rays which may also be yr doom
And the shines glimmer on the dews
Shiny tip-tops: behold the grass towers
A city of stars along the lawns
Fowl performing melodies
Searching for a tempo, breaks the beat
Because it’s intrinsically
there, within, everywhere
Nov 10, 2020
Nov 10, 2020 at 5:21 PM UTC
Don't you worry about me,
I'm not going anywhere.
Don't think it's up me;
I'm not getting anywhere.
Second-hand coffee grounds
and sediment on cold mugs.
Filthy dregs,
cold hands, not a sound,
quiet, like a powder keg.
Empty room but for me.
There she blows,
weak breeze, tiny window.
Don't you forget about me.
I don't want to go just yet,
but when I did,
it's much more hell
than if I stayed.
It's much more hell
And you won't talk to me or listen even.
Weak breeze, tiny window.
And I can't find the way to say:
'Talk to me, talk to me'
And everyone I used to know
won't talk to me no more,
but you don't know me.
You don't know me no more.
Talk to me, talk to me
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 6:10 AM UTC
Everyone utters empty nothings
Meant to maybe sound assuring
Keep your empty words of ‘wisdom’
Taken from the ground
Well-trodden by the crowds
Cliches discarded twenty-fold
Your words are turds
gleaned from shit-lined alleyways
Well traveled by
Pretend to want to try to help
Pretend half-assed to care
So you can feel good about your sorry self
So you can call yourself a good person
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 4:20 AM UTC
One day
When they maketh love once they meeteth,
Their excretion
Shalt fall like midnight deluge
Heavy and hott!!!!
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 8:22 AM UTC
So, A friend called me a Poet
I said no, I don't think I fit in yet
I'm just like a photographer
I take pictures with my mind
Like a stenographer
I type what my mind says
Like a dam
I let my emotions, thoughts build up
And trickle on the paper
Like a cloud
Mass of condensed words falling on blank pages like precipitation
I use my ink as an outlet for my contemplations
Words as prints of my imaginations
I write to get rid of some thoughts like excretion
Writing, a medium of communication, inspiration, relaxation, meditation and therapy.
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 9:00 AM UTC
A person with intentions to love forever only deflowers.
I was wrong, I remember
Those nights, it was nothing but plum kisses from left to right
And your nose tickling my stomach.
Zestful.
All the blood would flow to my head.
Making me pink with ecstasy.
The nectarous smell of excretion fulfilled an image
And our fingers--- they would intertwine as if you felt I would slip away.
Sensational… amorous!
You would look me in the eyes, I would
look you in the eyes, a message would travel
this is more than just coition. Well in my
noggin I believed that. You wear a good look, callous.
I’ve been dumbfounded.
I look in the mirror. I am a stranger
To what I see. I now feel stripped
From my myself, your pupils have seen it all. You did this.
I feel disgusted, letting you dine
As if I was a restaurant. Twiddling and fumbling
As if you were blind and I was braille.
I now bathe in regret. Scrubbing
Till I can no longer feel your touch.
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 9:24 AM UTC
Dismantle me to thine savor and mine excretion,
As two cretions copulating in superb intimacy!!!!!
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 5:13 PM UTC