"fetishes" poems
Hurt me
Whips and blindfolds
Submission
Boarded up bedrooms
Leather
Fetishes
Being satisfied
Hard bulbous *** toys
Using flavored lubricants
Deep scratches
Red marks
Bruises
Rope burn
Pulling
Smacking
Biting
Smothering
Sitting
Licking
Pleasure
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 12:30 AM UTC
We perpetuate heartbreak culture,
teaching girls the man who holds her loves her despite the bruises,
or it was her fault; she looked older.
We fetishes shoulders,
prize youth from the young in return for pre-chewed gum,
swallowing down the same tired ideals from those who still wield them like flags,
waving their patriotism on poles of bone before a throne of medieval ********
They chant mantras with beer stained breath about how 'our' country 'bested' the rest,
but what about the brutality?
The blood split on foreign soil in return for prehistoric oil?
Our land is deemed pure so long as the violence on our hands never reaches our shores,
but the ocean is red and staining our sands.
How can you have pride in a country who's sole identity is based off having the worlds largest navy?
Congratulations. You bombed your way through countless continents, collecting cultures to gather dust on pedestals and alters
We sin on Sundays, drink till we're ****** then wave at the seven deadly's (they don't apply to us here).
We teach preschoolers nationalism before they can walk,
indoctrinate our children before they can talk.
George killed the dragon.
Hood gave to the poor.
we all jumped on the bandwagon before we realised the princess had no choice and the rich still ruled.
There was no voice in the tale for those whose wail could be ignored.
What about those without lines in the script?
Those kicked to the curb, then kicked from it?
Our pavements have no room for nonconformists,
they're tailored to for same mind, same mindless wanderer,
squandering on the lasted polyesters even though that mouth on the street hasn't eaten in over a week.
'God save the Queen' from the vermin;
the homeless have been tossed out of the trash.
Why help them when you could save your cash by turning a blind?
After all, out of sight, out of mind.
Welcome to England, we hope you like what you find
Because we’re not changing it.
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 5:02 PM UTC
I hate ******
I hate racist,
I hate narcissistic people,
I hate criminals,
I hate subliminal messages,
I hate werid fetishes,
I hate killers,
I hate murderers,
I hate child molesters,
I hate sodomizer,
I hate spiders,
I hate fear,
I hate my mirror,
I hate low battery,
I hate battery (crime)
I hate pedophiles
I hate crocodiles
I hate the sun,
I hate to run,
I hate sin,
I hate my sinister grin,
I hate villains,
I hate millions,
I hate billions,
I hate trillions,
I hate people who dont hate what I hate,
I hate everything,
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 11:24 PM UTC
oh sure, forgiveness of sin... or perhaps crimes... or just fetishes? like John Paul II forgiving sin, once polite society answered and John Paul staged the forgiveness session in a prison cell... forgiveness alright, acted out, with all the preliminary provisions readied - ode to Mehmet Ali Ağca, forgiveness always played out great for photography when all the Chinese laws were passed - Siberia welcomes all keen joggers; but you know one thing? raised in a canine environment as a child i learned to attach a different perspective with felines:
like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse like you'd play with a mouse - you keep teasing - you keep teasing - you keep teasing - you just wait... crocodile or boa insomniac - and when the opposite party has banked enough to cry about having lost it... you spit at your enemy's mother's face while ****** her; **** me! you get to prove god along the way! how's that for a Camden Market daytrip? and if you don't? well, it was a nice thought - feels like being a woman with a foetus craving doughnuts and pickles.
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 10:11 PM UTC
in-call only, 32nd and 5th
that's a brothel
NEW
visiting
that's human trafficking
INDEPENDENT
looking for a kind and mature gentleman
200 roses
all sorts of devices
all fetishes
2 girls for one
this is not an offer for prostitution
donation is required for my time and companionship only
no email
no text
call when ready
im your best choice
toe curling excitement over and over again
100% real pics
i drive myself
no rush
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 9:37 PM UTC
I've always been somewhat Autistic,
ADHD
too
More than a little manic
and
OCD
I've had the fever
Occupying me
I've heard the murderous rage
And it was me
I have had my periods of Schizophrenia
Paranoia
Psychic warfare
in the ether
He's looking at me
I keep looking at him
Wondering why he's looking at me
I've got that DID
Going into trances
The poet he writes these tomes,
Waking up in strange places
That PTSD
Get startled very easily
Anxiety and depression
Are you kidding?
What's a day without 'em?
The vice is nice
Abundance to depletion,
The parking lot walk
Polysubstance abuse
has had it's use
Fetishes phillias
Electric brain all light up
Run amok
Decades of misery
Decades of mastery
Had them all
A walking DSM
That would be me
Everything which is human inside you is inside me
Hanging out with
the human condition
my old friend and me
Trying one more time
to figure it all out,
one more time.
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 8:54 PM UTC
Nobody ever talks about how the rain turns soil into mud;
how precaution tangoes
on the soles of your rain boots and
one misstep could lead to a concussion;
damage,
or a little scrape on the knee.
Nobody ever talks about
how caged birds sometimes forget
how to fly.
Mundane gestures marinated
as “special”
instead of something one ought to do.
He’s forgotten how to make her laugh.
When he says “baby”,
she could almost hear the anchor
pulling down the sincerity
in his voice box
along with the word “sorry”
and “sweetie, im never gonna hurt you again”
where his voice begin to crack
like tectonic plates that supported his
ego—
when he says “i love you”
nobody ever talks about the barriers
on beds and ******* and fetishes
to which the extent
of the phrase lies—
His i love yous were starting
to sound like a beg for ***
and his i love yous fade out
when he gets what he wants.
He gets what he wants.
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 2:31 PM UTC
lil taffy two tugs would wake up to the dawn,leaping to his laptop searching sites for porn,thanking stephen hawkins, also mr gates,grateful of technology, while taffy masterbates.the boyo bashed his bishop, most of all his life,now pc world was better and cheaper than a wife,lubrication, change of hands, oil and vaseline,lesbians, fat fetishes, and threesomes on his screen,but poor ole taffy passed away, his family in disgrace,trousers round his ankles, a smile upon his face,but two tugs died so happy, while he had a vid on,undertaker done his nutt,,,,he could'nt get the lid on.
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 12:37 PM UTC
You've always been fully aware of what lies
Between these thighs
You just weren't sure
If you could ever lure
Me to let you slide
Into the sweetness that they hide
Caramel or chocolate
Of late
You haven't been sure
Which one is sweeter
Than the honeycomb offered not on a plate
But hidden between my legs
The craving in your groin
Longs for a taste
You dream of my *****
Hotter than larva or fire
Burning with desire
For a deep ***********
That leaves me wetter than a summer's rain
**** my sweet nectar
Be filled to the brim, my star
Remind me of my naughtiest fantasies
As you show me all your fetishes
Grab my hips
Push them up and down
Even if the rhythm is imperfect
Plunge deep, for me that's perfect
I will hold you deep inside
Your manhood I'll hide
My lips I'll bite
Because I know I might
Not be able to hold my tongue
And let a loud scream escape my lungs
As we ride blissful waves
Drowning in beautiful escapes
Forgetting our surroundings
Until we reach the land of milk and honey
Miss Fit ⚓
Feb 9, 2023
Feb 9, 2023 at 3:48 PM UTC
Let us play today
It’s all about You and Me
Scented candles burn
Tease me like you do
A sweet agony endured
Minds devoid of Sense
Toys all meant for play
Fantasies will come to Life
Sighs will linger here.
Fetishes will rule
Inhibitions find no place
Among these ruins.
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC
The nagging sleep claws into pink flesh begging it's death-like manner into a call to action
Biting cold with the death dream, fickle imagination setting fire to decency
And the little dreams dance about in your head, mad children lurking, orphaned-
Then the rattling of the rafters with the years behind,
Their black mess still lingering-
Feeding off the disease cast aside
Poor dream,
The ugly nightscape has been sobered up
The pangs were left in poverty
No I do not need your fetishes..
And the parasites flee
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 3:44 PM UTC
The Internet, for a good helping
of the American demographic,
is the highest-rated of sanctuaries.
I use "sanctuary"
in a filthy and blatantly pornographic manner,
for every time
we post on our nicotine-scented Facebooks
that we're "so ******* bored" we "could die,"
there's at least one other
hand snaking you along
those fetishes you stash beneath your sleeve
like black silk underwear;
and no matter what you do,
nothing will explain away
those two consecutive Youtube videos:
"Black muscle man in blue thong"
followed spontaneously by
"12 year old boy sings Judy Garland!",
each, to the innocent bystander,
juxtaposed like two opposing ******
in one ****** up candy shop.
The grotesque meat show,
always the same introduction,
always right on time with the
churn churn churning of his
loneliness his rage his silence
onto those sheets
with no regard for the family
and friends of fibers.
It used to be hilarious,
perfect lunch table standup,
but once you learn
that with *** there might be
signs of love in the decipherable thrusting,
that a plot is swimming helplessly
in the oceanic camouflage of loveless living,
sticky hands can really start to sting.
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:54 AM UTC
they will remember every single detail
- even things you don’t want them to.
they’ll probably have weird likes
- or fetishes that you may not be able to handle.
they probably won’t sleep at night
- but as day lights, they might fall asleep.
they probably won’t be as social as you would want them to be
- and as a result you guys won’t go out often.
they’ll probably be emotionless unless they’re writing
- and more than likely there’s absolutely nothing
- you would be able to do about that.
whenever you guys argue,
- trust me, your partner will write about it.
whenever you guys kiss,
- make love, anything at all, it will be written about.
dating a writer is a lot of hard work,
if you’re doing it and managing it well, good job! // dec 29 2013
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 2:58 PM UTC
Lovely elves and charming witches
Wizards with great power
Sorcerers and dragons
I've read of these for hours.
Woodland imps and fairies
Their faces may seem pure
But these creatures are spirits
And they are meant to lure
Spirit guides and shamans
Fetishes and feathers
Burning sage and totums
Beating drums together
Werewolves and vampires
Voodoo dolls with porcelain faces
These creatures are monsters!
They have ***no redeeming graces!
HALLOWEEN IS WICKED!***
Yet it is for SALE!
Kids dressed up as GOULIES
*And DEVILS WITH A TAIL!
**SATAN ISN'T BEAUTIFUL!
The devil isn't CUTE!
HE'S HERE TO DESTROY US!
Yet we dress KIDS in his SUIT!***
Yes, they are romanticized
The source of tons of ink
I've even written of them
A fact from which I shrink!
I repent of doing this
And as popular as they are
I will now delete them
I will no longer share.
I will not praise this "beauty"
Or perpetrate a lie
I've had some trouble reading
Now I know the reason why
These deceptions grieve The Spirit
My holy heart. My SOURCE.
These ideas are of evil
I will not endorse.
I could have done so quietly
Never made a show
But you need to read this
*You really need to know!*
I may seem a fool for writing this
You won't like this share
But if I'm now unpopular
I DON'T REALLY CARE.
And, Christians, be ye HOLY!
Think on something nice!
Think on God the Father
And The Lord Jesus Christ!
SoulSurvivor
(C) 6/27/2016
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 6:12 AM UTC
Tear out my eyes
repainting them shades of purple puke
and send me off back to work
Snip the curious child
from my gut
and paint the walls pink with his feet
pour drano into my ears
so that i may not have to think anymore
lobotomize my fingernail biting fetishes
till i only get hard-on's from my skull
dragging its skin across the pavement
you pitiful excuse for a poet
you hope to dazzle them with dayglo frosting
caked like mold in the corners of your mouth
you sick hopeless perfectionist
knitting cellophane walls
of hands slapping your face
so you can close your eyes
and lose yourself in the confines
of your stalagmites
you with your cut and paste philosophies
which leave gaping holes
stretching across everybody's pupils
huh?
exactly you ******* pustule of plastic bubbles
you are an empty bud
no flower could rise from soil as rank as yours
no love will ever find comfort in a heart as prickly as yours
i can only be ashamed
that i share your body
i'm better off getting aborted
next time you sneeze
so that i could infect another's fragile flesh
passing our sick parasite
at least something of yours will be left
for others to cherish
Aug 30, 2010
Aug 30, 2010 at 12:11 PM UTC
They taught us to swim to the dark.
And that anything more than **********
is a fetish, and fetishes are grose.
Never run with something in your mouth,
never leave your room empty-handed,
never touch yourself.
Do what makes you rich, not happy.
And be a feminist, but make sure you spoil your husband,
cause when he cheats it's your fault.
Wear **** underwear from lace
under your knee-long skirt.
And no matter what happens,
swim to the dark.
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 11:37 AM UTC
he craves online hook-ups.
But this isn't me
nor am I that intrepid
a torrent trampoline
on wireless ether engines
cyber silver surfin'
zone on / in .nets & .coms
searching fiber-optics for sight
browsing rooms of M4M / in-fantasized delights
an itch to fix
to sit transfixed
as if
subliminally attached
umbilically
digitally digitized digi-man
to a electronic felatio soundtrack
yet all the while detached
lurking duplicitly
reading pretend profiles explicitly
for *** sexified mind
dreaming up new fetishes
with misspelled texts
tandem testimonials as if written
by a Compaq-machine-head
Microsoftened lust
currents electric now as we turn into dust
with iBooks & faraway Dells on our laps
scrolling lists for Adams
status' with "anything goes"
remonstrating our vicious cycle
alive & blank with un/trust
gone viral...
this isn't me.
where is the warmth
of feelings, emotions,
malleable and infallible / love??
I am not as talented
as he
to be in two places at once,
but he
has the many faces
and genius of multiple personalities
Cybil
facets
of sabotage with Mommy Dearest grace.
Beautiful strangers his acquired
taste...
he says it was not him
(doing ****
my rage has only one trait.
two eyes (once wide asleep in the lies)
and velvet-rope-burned
wrists
my feet learn to fly
my heart un-breaks
my wings reanimate...
he has too many faces
doppleganger hatred
none to care for or embrace
When did I go blind,
and leave my many strengths?
Where do I now
again
begin??
(The rubble or the sin?)
Every night adieu
Every day anew
once again...
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 6:43 PM UTC
Dodo draws on the cigarette.
The smoke hits the throat.
The city ***** her in with its
huge sick well of emptiness.
Bagteller wanted her to go
to his place last night and make
passionate love. What a laugh
that’d been. Him and his fetishes.
The schoolgirl uniform was not
her thing. Too many memories.
She told him to stuff that in one
of his tight dark orifices and walked
out into the city’s cold night. Went
home to her own place and took
a hot shower. She is still sore from
the scrub. She wants to scrub her
past away with the brush and soap.
Nothing washes away the memories
that have sunk deep. She wakes to
a new day. The city is buzzing with
the walking dead and half living.
The cigarette smoke fills her lungs
and then out into the air. Mother said
men were not to be trusted. Father
said don’t listen to her she’s biased
and ****** and smells of sour cream.
Oh that I could open up my mind and
wash it out and not have to see that
shrink once a month just after my bleeds
have gone she says. Dr Glexity with his
black suit and blue tie one green eye and
one grey. All that **** money and nothing
to say. She inhales the smoke and the city
and the living and the dead and ***** them
into her lungs broken heart and stuffed head.
Apr 3, 2012
Apr 3, 2012 at 2:03 AM UTC
Your lips taste like regret,
& stale cigarettes
Nevertheless;
You make me fly through space
right up in
my rocketship
Its celestial,
so ponder this
Always stuck inside
your head and s h i t
While these memories,
they eat at me
four walls,
my only scenery
I drink just to not feel things
Or contemplate the dark and strange
Is this insanity?
Deranged, I'm glued to my seat
stuck on repeat
& lacking in mental clarity
Poor D i c k just lost his family;
Her heart, it hasn't skipped a beat
Its on her sleeve and honestly
I swear she'll be the death of me
I'll never show the pain that grows
but stow away these mental notes
til one day my mindscape's exposed,
& explodes
As my brains leak out my ears
most infinitely, no?
Yes I'm depresso I must confess oh
Double barrel shot in my espresso
Can't express though
I wear a mask so
You'll never know when I'm upset
Overlords, gimme simulation reset
Situations got me already
steady hot & heavy
Cos I be boiling in my skin
You see this boi is your kin
But a toy in the bin
For you to discard
When you find it most convenient
And I mean it;
Please disregard the "bars" I spit
I still think your aesthetic's lit
A succubus with fetishes
Of draining me, til nothings left
And after all the time I spent
Prolonging an inevitable end
I'll say the means were justified,
Even if it was really just pretend
I only hope its unreal
A living nightmare, u feel
Every waking moment, lonely
And you can't sleep at night
without choking
So button it
Just shut it b i t c h
I care not for the words unsaid
in a casket's where I made my bed
One foot in the grave
and I'm better off dead
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 2:48 PM UTC
>Want a thing? Relax
>into a script to get a taste.
>Fetishes? or repressed natural inclination?
>Roll a D20 to feel better, take fun and make it killing,
>with just enough free will to make it interesting.
>Nothing else can become reality so in the universe we got
>in the cosmic lottery, calm down
>and have fun.
>Find the most effective deformation — BAM BAM
>SHOOT EM UP — and life is real. Over the top?
>Or so aware that art is less than or equal
>to life, so why settle for realism?
>Say something the way that no one else can say
>it. Maintain a state
>of relaxation by white knuckling your partner until you forget to breathe.
>Fetishize white men not being racists.
>Lay it all out for your audience
>whose uneducation cries out to be fixed
>by you
>and you alone.
>Reassure them
>you get it:
>art is hard,
>so I’m going
>to speak my subtext
>and spice things up
>with some choreography
>just to make sure
>you get what it is
>exactly
>that I’m trying
>to say,
>because god knows you wouldn’t get it otherwise.
>(And this way, people will finally understand you, and you will be complete, and you will be satisfied, and you will get everything you ever wanted, and you will ride fulfilled into the bright new day of artistic enlightenment you lucky sonuvabitch.)
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 8:39 PM UTC
i walked into the classroom,
you were checking in,
i noticed you, right away.
i liked you,
though i had never seen you before.
i wanted to know you,
your secrets,
your needs,
your fetishes,
your past,
your ominous future with out me.
In one hour i felt your energy around mine,
then you got up and left,
left my sight,
left my mind,
left your scent,
left your soul in that room with me.
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 10:18 PM UTC
11:57.
I realised time is a fetish of mine; the likelihood is that you'll have more to give.
11:58.
It's a jewel more precious and rare than anything that ever touched our lives; but we seem to forget how deadly it is.
11:59.
And we're inhabiting each moment with wordful waste; a person loses their time st every tick of the clockwork time instrument.
00:00
And I've lost mine.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 8:03 PM UTC
Floating, boundless, free.
Not looking around,
keeping my eyes shut
I don't like surprises.
Trying to live currently,
attempting not to think ahead
and wonder "oh - now what
should I write that sounds
deep and soulful and sweet?"
Honesty doesn't seem that
harmful when placed on paper.
In fact, nothing really does.
All my dreams, fears and
fetishes are mine alone.
I own this paper, this pen
between my fingertips.
I'm in control.
I'm not.
Constantly float, boundless, free,
sometimes I daydream so violently.
I experience terror when I realise -
I am conscious.
I am living.
All alone.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 8:16 AM UTC
what i understand as a definition of
the word complex,
it requires a hyphen as a
pseudo conjunction, in that it
coordinates words in opposition,
which is why freud's right on the
money with the madonna-whore
complex, but completely bonkers
with his oedipal fetishes,
because oedipus is a complex in itself
that cannot be excavated
and theorised for the sake of a
analogue... that's a horrid plagiarism
that might plagiarise awry,
for all orthodox necessities:
a complex is aqua- -marine
aquamarine... but in terms of theory
it's evident that the hyphen usage
is still retained, before everything
goes **** up perfect *** **** of
compounding the two words like a german:
Fernmeldeverkehr (telecommunication),
der... 'nurse! pass the syllable scalpel!'
'herr doktor, der silbeskalpell.'
'ah scheiße, 'ere we go 'ere we go 'ere we go:
fern' 'mel 'dever 'kehr.'
the operation was a success, apart from
the silbeskalpell being left in the patient's body;
and i never understood why people
expect you to talk to them face-to-face
like you're reading autocue, the minute
you talk imagining off empty space
to invent a new language of comfort
they equate you with autism...
i once had a glance at psychiatric notes
sent to the bureaucratic doctor (g.p. / general
practitioner)... psst... they only care
about whether:
a. you're able to keep eye contact
b. you're / you're not biting your nails...
but that's what you get, the welfare state
policy of funding distribution of the infamous
n.h.s. (national health service)...
****** by the cartesian dualism of splitting
mind from body like the brain is some
gooey porridge mixed with cornstarch for
thickness... only 0.6% of n.h.s. funding goes into
psychiatry... i'm guessing at least 1% goes into
prescriptions for pensioners demanding ******
i already told you, cats are ontologically autistic,
hence their appeal to autistic children,
or just anyone not really into leashes, being
tugged or tugging, come rain or shine, come
7am or 7pm... they can be so inanimate sometimes
that they blend in will flowers, and when awake,
yes, like plants doing the kayan lahwi tribe's
extending neck with rings thing... ah what's it called...
ah yes phototropism... take the rings off the neck
a million swans with broken necks.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 7:39 AM UTC