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R Sep 2015
You were red and you liked me because I was blue
You touched me and suddenly I was a lilac sky
And you decided purple just wasn't for you.
I really love this song and I really connect with her.
NvrMnd May 2016
I sat alone in bed 'til the morning
I'm crying, "They're coming for me"
And I tired to hold these secrets inside me
My mind's like a deadly disease....

...And I've grown familiar
With villains that live in my head
They beg me to write them
So I'll never die when I'm dead...
Dark and Perfect
D Mar 2017
lets cause a little trouble
you make me feel so weak
and I bet you kiss your knuckles
right before they touch my cheek

but I've got my mind
made up this time
'cause there's a menace in my bed
can you see his silhouette
can you see his silhouette
can you see his silhouette

and I've got my mind
made up this time
go on and light a cigarette
set a fire in my head
set a fire in my head
tonight
because songs are poetry too
you need only sing it in silence

*her lyrics*
Frisk Jan 2016
Chloe's POV:

2 Days Before -

“If I find you camping, I swear to god, Chloe ******* Price –“ Rachel challenges, “– I’m drawing blood. Don’t grin at me. I’ll leave you for the vultures to snack on. Maybe for cannibals too.”

“**** me with a plastic light up gun? How threatening.”

You know when you’re listening to the instructor reciting the rules for the game of laser tag for the nine thousandth time, and there’s the teenager ******* around in the background with guns? That’s me and Rachel, who holds a gun up to my face and makes a reference to the Star Wars Family Guy episode where the storm trooper pretends to shoot down passerby ships by saying, “Pew, pew, gotcha!”

Both team vests, red and blue, are occupied so it’s a full game. Even though we were one of the last people to come in, we managed to get opposite colored vests. Rachel is on the red team, while I’m on the opposing blue team. Only natural since the vest matches my hair color.

When the instructor opens the door, the crowd piles out into the room booming Irresistible by Fall Out Boy. Rachel and I are one of the last ones out, holding our guns up towards the sky as we walk in feeling like we’re walking away from a huge explosion acting like we’re James Bond. As the vocals of the song begin, the red and blue vests come to life beginning the game.

“Pew, pew, gotcha!” Rachel coyly replies, rushing off as my vest dies.

Insert groan here. I roll my eyes, darting quickly after Rachel as my vest comes back to life. Rachel ducks down behind a purple glowing pillar, holding her gun out from behind it to shoot me as I come up the stairs. “Your shooting is so messy, you idiot.”

Someone takes out Rachel’s vest, and my vest is taken out immediately after hers. What a way to start this game. “******* it.”

“Have you even gotten anyone yet?” She yells as she darts off.

A group of kids in red vests come upstairs. I shoot at the vests from the second story, and they glance up angrily at me as their vests die. They invade my hiding space shortly after, and I’m forced to flee over to the other side of the arena into one of the walled-off areas with a hole to shoot out of, specifically for campers and for recharging vests. Immediately, I crash into somebody who drops their gun and grabs my arms instinctively because of how hard I slam into them, pushing me back gently. “Are you okay?”

The short-haired brunette girl I run into is drop-dead gorgeous, freckles peppering her cheeks. As usual, I don’t think before I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Woah.”

“You’re making this too easy for me.” The girl comments, shooting out my glowing blue vest quickly after grabbing her gun and steps around me to find another hiding place. *******, I think, what hierarchy of angels did you come from? Why didn’t I notice you before I walked into this laser tag room?

Right. Because I’m on a date with Rachel. Or at least, I’m trying to convince myself that’s what this is. Five days ago, Rachel kissed me while she was drunk mostly because someone suggested the Pocky game at Dana’s nineteenth birthday party. I can see Rachel’s face coming closer to mine as she chomps down on the chocolate Pocky sticks oblivious to the closeness that I was to her face, and I feel her lips crashing with mine for a split second. It feels like I give her the entire world in that kiss, but she pulls back like it was nothing.

How am I the only one who remembers that?

I have to retreat from my camping spots a few times, but I get enough vests taken out that Rachel is guaranteed to say something like, “Oh, you got a pretty good amount of people in this round.”

Ghost by Halsey starts booming through the arena, and practically everyone must be thinking why a song like this is playing because it's slow at first but it reverberates through the bass.

“You’re camping too? You must be bad at this game.” Brunette-haired princess holds me at gunpoint. "Any last words?"

Again, I don’t think before I speak. "You're hella cute."

The brunette girl's vest dies as I shoot at her immediately after, and she shoots mine out shortly after hers turns on. Her doe-like eyes are staring at me angrily in a playful manner, yet also glistening like stars. There's something about her that makes me feel like she sees a universe inside of me.

The music briskly cuts off, and everyone stops in their tracks and fumbles out. Rachel and that girl get lost in the red and blue blur of lights as the arena starts emptying.

It isn't until I come outside that I find Rachel holding a slip of paper. "What was your name, Chloe? I was Rocket, and I got eighth place."

"Starlight, I'm pretty sure?"

"You got seventeenth. Knew it." Rachel joked. "You were camping."

Focus on the here and now, Chloe. You have to ask Rachel about your relationship with her. Stop procrastinating. Rachel's face drops in confusion as I drop the bomb on her. "Can we talk?"

Max's Journal:

2 Days Before-

Wowser. Felt like just yesterday, I got an email for my acceptance into Blackwell Academy on a scholarship. And now I’m an adult, graduated, with a potential photographer job under my belt.

With events such as graduation, it should feel vaguely melancholic but Blackwell Academy is an eye-catcher in my resume. My dexterity with analog and digital cameras catches the eye of a professional photographer named Jack Rousseau working for Hot Topic, and he asked me for an interview. ME.

When I got the email, I practically leaped into Kate’s room gushing over this rare opportunity to work with a professional. I think Victoria overheard me loudly discussing this to Kate, because she was giving me the stink eye all throughout my ceremony from the other day. Whatever. Victoria will eventually earn her spotlight…in hell. I snorted writing that actually, and blushed furiously remembering I’m on a pretty packed bus. Probably got people looking at me like, “Is she okay?”

The first thing my Mom does when she sees me is give me a bone-crushing hug, and compliment my outfit even though it’s a tank top with a large dream catcher printed on the front with my loose green jacket overlapping the shirt with the sleeves pulled up to my elbows. She asks about Mr. Jefferson, and I think I over emphasize how I’m his star pupil. I’m pretty sure Mom gets it after trying to explain that to her several times.

The house smells like spaghetti, and I’m already drooling like a baby when I walk through the front door.
Then Mom randomly hands me a 50$ bill, and tells me to go hang out with one of my Seattle friends since I must miss the crap out of them.

I accidentally say, “What the hell?” in front of Mom. Funny thing is, she doesn’t wash my mouth out with soap. I must be too old for things like that. Maybe this is what a perk is of growing up, I think.

“Come on, go have fun!” Mom practically pushes me out the door, not before letting me have some of her World-Famous spaghetti. Mmmmm. As I jump into my Mom’s vehicle, I realize I don’t know where the **** to go or who to contact so I head to the first place I can think of: Laser tag.

As I sit out in the parking lot, I text Kristen or Fernando to see if they want to hang out here. Usually, Kristen will text back immediately but there’s no response. Fernando seems to be busy, so I head inside myself and buy myself a wrist band for laser tag alone. Who says you need to be with other people to have fun? I’m an expert at laser tag. They call me the best shooter in the northwest.

The instructor looks overwhelmed at the thirty or so people flooding the room, and attempts to talk at the loudest pitch possible to get everyone in the room to listen to the instructions. Of course, there’s giggles happening somewhere over all of these tall and short bodies so I get the jist of it: No running, pushing, fighting, and yelling. We all know there’s running and yelling going to happen.

As I run in, I immediately head for the stairs as my rest vest turns on. Someone shoots me from behind, and I notice it’s a group of kids. Then I decide to camp out in a corner, at least, until I get caught.

I bring out my gun and shoot out three blue vests on the other side of the laser tag arena. The air gets knocked out of me, plus my gun flies out of my hand as someone falls into me. My hands instinctively grab their arms, pushing them off me when I glance up at her face, suddenly startled.

“Woah.” She says, and I feel like lightning passes through both of us as I let go of her arms.

Immediately, I shoot out her vest, rushing off to find somewhere else to hide. My body is racing with adrenaline, and it’s a little hard to concentrate on the game because I’m trying to look for blue hair. In this packed arena of thirty people, it’s easy to get lost in the blur of red and blue lights. It’s easy to see the lights blend into purple.

It’s ironic when Ghost by Halsey starts playing because the first few lines is literally making me think of blue hair: “I’m searching for something that I can’t reach. I don't like them innocent. I don't want no face fresh. Want them wearing leather begging, let me be your taste test. I like the sad eyes, bad guys, mouth full of white lies…”

****.

I find her tucked in a corner, mimicking me. And she’s gorgeous. I’m not sure why I am looking for her, but I am. “You’re camping too? You must be bad at this game.” I jokingly hold her at gunpoint. “Any last words?"

What comes out of her mouth leaves me off guard. “You're hella cute."

My vest goes out as she shoots me, and I shoot her back giving her a playful glare. And then something happens between us again, and it’s that jolt of lightning passing through both of us. The music cuts out, and I tear my eyes from the stranger and run out of the laser tag room by myself.

Once I get outside, I check my texts from Fernando and Kristen. Since they’re not replying, I decide to head on home, but my heart is still beating rapidly in my chest. And I’m not sure if it’s because of the game or blue hair.
chris Mar 2016

are you insane like me?
been in pain like me?
Dazed Dreaming Oct 2018
I thought of you today...
****...
It’s been at least a year...

Thanks to Halsey...
But I can’t complain..
Music is beautiful that way..

In the sense where a song can be so beautifully written, with lyrics that depict all the things you experienced, and especially all that you wanted to say but couldn’t.

****...
(I hold back a laugh...)
This is kind of painful...
I shake you off.
My heart only associates you with pain.
I won’t let myself go back there.
But I can’t deny these lyrics.....
Because they were our story for the longest time...


I am speechless because I never expected a song to pull that ******* the heart strings of my past.
Every single word of Halsey new song without you was the same experience I had with my ex husband.. I had always looked for a song I could relate to when I divorced him and never found anything that hit my heart as hard as this song did...
Thank you Halsey!
Xoaquín Oznian Jan 2019
[Now Or Never by Halsey is playing in the background.]

There is just something in the way that you hold me.
Something in the tenderness of your lips as they serenade my skin
As they dance gradually across the nape of my neck
"**** your lips they feel so good." I said
"Can you put them all over me?" I asked
"Yes, baby if that's what you like." she said
As she continued to kiss me I said
"As many different forms of love that are present in this universe
I never thought that your style of love would feel so good."
"Love is always present in many different forms." she said
"Love comes in so many different shapes and sizes." she said
"Just take a look at the two of us."
"Don't you see how beautiful we are?" she asked
"Yes." I said
"Can you feel how connected we are right now?" she asked
"Yes." I said
"The atmosphere is majestic." she said
"Our very energy within this room is vibrant and magnetic."
"Your voice, my voice, our voices shake the room with pleasure
every moment that we speak."
"And right now all I wanna do is color your skin with my breath."
"Just wanna cover your body in my lipstick."
She began kissing me in the weakest spot on my body: My *******
She ****** them tight and gentle
softly blowing over them and kissing them
"Mmm yeah." I said as I chuckled in subtle whispers."
"She then got behind me and started kissing the nape of my neck and kissing up and down and across my back while massaging my chest as she held me from behind
rubbing my ******* as she whispered softly in my ears "I love you."
as her breathing became faster and heavier.
"Let's ****." she said
"No need to tell me twice." I said
George Anthony Jul 2016
you were the first of them all
to make me smile and laugh so much

you were like a sister to me,
and beautiful in so many ways

your voice was one i could listen to for hours
and your art awed me

i can't listen to Halsey
without thinking of you singing her songs—not a perfect voice,

but still brilliant, with something earthy to your tones
that had me feeling grounded.

well, on some level you turned out to be
just as bitter and spiteful as me

who knew? i didn't see our end coming
until you two ended and i was stuck in the middle

your anger made me angry;
your salt turned me into an ocean of disdain

i hadn't been quite as hateful over anybody
as i had been over you, for a very long time,

and it's been months, but now
i can finally think of you without any resentment

you're complicated, and perhaps a little broken,
but so am i

you're not as mature as you once seemed,
but, at times, neither am i

you're still talented, and you deserve good in your life
more than i do

so even though you'll never read this:
this is me, doing something i rarely ever do

this is me, wishing you well
and making peace with something shattered

instead of letting myself bleed over it.
cole May 2019
Unholy tangerine

Kisses under

Flickering streetlights

She's a goddess

Something ageless

The other one

Just as perfect

A sculpted aphrodite

You wonder

If their kisses

Are lightning

Their touches

Electric

Although

She certainly

Didn't seem

Electric

Saltwater tears

Trailing down

Her coconut and vanilla

Cheeks
reflectionzero May 2015
Would you Bleed for Me?
Lick it off my lips like you needed me?
Sit me on the couch with your fingers in my mouth,
you look so cool while you're reading me.

Let's cause a little trouble.
Oh, you make me feel so weak.
I bet you kiss your knuckles.
Right before they touch my cheek.

But I've got my mind, made up this time.
Cause there's a menace in my bed.
Can you see his silhouette?

And I've got my mind, made up this time.
Go on and light a cigarette, set a fire in my head.
Set a fire in my head, tonight.

Would you lie for me?
Cross your sorry heart and hope to die for me?
Would you pin me to a wall?
Would you beg or would you crawl?
Stick a needle in your hungry eyes for me?

Don't forget me, don't forget me.
I wouldn't leave you if you'd let me.
Hmm, when you met me when you met me.
You told me you were gonna get me.

-HALSEY
C F May 2020
I once heard that stupid song played
In a car
On repeat

I've grown to hate it.

Of course, I can live without you.
No. It's not lonely up here
It's brimming over with life

Without you.
You meant nothing.
I gave you a chance.

You tried to hurt me.
Your mistake.

You did not fix me.
How can you fix a piece of jade
Crevaced with gold?

You can't.
My cracks and imperfections
Make me all the more valuable.

I used you.
You did not use me,
You utter hypermasculine fool.

Her words were
Most definitely
Never meant for the
Likes of you.
JustChloe Jun 2016
I'm friends with the kids who smoke cigarettes
Instead of marijuana
The ones who drink vodak
instead of margaritas
The kids who wear all black
And pick pocket lighters
The ones who find home under bridges
And Mark them with graffiti
I'm friends with the kids who go to jail for joy riding thier parents Jeep
And not for getting into fights
We don't sleep at night
But instead we ride
Midnight fries at McDonald's
And 3am confessions
I'm friends with the weirdos
The druggies
The kids who listen to halsey
Before we listen to fetty
The kids who go to prom
Just to sneak out the back
And you may hate us
But we don't care
Because I'm friends with the people who are free
I'm friends with people who are happy
Blue Angel Apr 2016
"I'm searching for something I cannot reach"-Halsey
George Anthony Apr 2017
how is anyone supposed to live like this?
some comfort a bed is when i'm alone and crying in it
when i'm alone and nauseated and i wouldn't mind dying in it
when i'm lying on a full bladder and i'd rather **** myself than move
when moving feels like too much commitment and i have commitment issues

was that gross? blunt? disgusting? does the idea of a grown man ******* the bed
make you sick to your well-fed stomach?
are you outraged that i gave a gory detail?
that i didn't romanticise the illnesses that drain the life out of me and leave me pale?
colourless, frail,
if i were a metaphor, i'd be the pallor of a dead man's skin
rotten and cold and withering from within

halsey's grey man has nothing on me
and my pills aren't blue, they're yellow and green
and it's been a little under two months but i swear they're not working
i've been sleepless and anxious and overthinking when i'm not dissociating
i guess this is an honesty "poem"—i put air quotes around that because i don't feel poetic
i could give you other "ic" words that would describe me much better
pathetic, apologetic, agnostic, pessimistic and ******* chronic

does it make you uncomfortable, reading this side of me?
brash and defeated and overwhelmingly ugly
get in line, darling, i'm uncomfortable every day
standing in front of the mirror and pulling at body parts and skin i wish i could throw away
swallowing down my dinner and consciously reminding myself
"the toilet bowl is not for food, that's no good for your health"
but god i wish i could halve myself, cut away everything that makes me wanna harm myself
and **** it, i won't lie — i didn't recover, just found a couple highs
i'm crashing hard now and you're **** right i wanna die

my mother might have cancer, didn't you know?
it's ******* awesome—note sarcasm—how even that can't get me geared up to go
i know i need to get paid; i beat myself up over being unemployed every ******* day
clearly you don't understand that i already have a job
my job title is depression and i'm slaving 'round the clock
my employer is generous, don't get me wrong
he wraps me up in duvet and keeps me warm all day long

i know it sounds isolated but don't worry, i'm an introvert! don't you know i thrive this way?
my mother all alone with her thoughts in the living room as my intrusive thoughts tear me apart
askjng, "what would you do if she died today?"
my friends getting on with their lives and probably not giving me a second thought
because how could they remember to when i've been locking myself indoors?
if seeing is believing then *******, i don't exist to them
doubting thomas doubts my existence and no amount of faith could ever make me real to him
the only person seeing me is myself and i'm not entirely sane
hey, who knows? maybe my entire life only exists inside my brain
maybe i could **** myself and nobody would feel any pain
ej Jun 2017
i found myself wandering
82nd avenue this evening
halsey singing to my brain
i think i was listening

the way the sun kissed the
horizon was on my mind

god let me seize this moment
catch it in my fingers
breathe it in and sing it out
because i'm out of it
death of z
TALLAHASSEE CONTAINS ALLAH to whom I'm truly true blue
as He is the Just, the King, the Watchful, the Father of me & of you
Like 9 dogs eatin' tuna fish I cried for your thigh to comfort me like
the jack breadfruit that comforted Bounty Lieutenant William Bligh
whilst he abstained from Tahitian maidens who were cunningly shy
My big, beautiful mouth that frets & sasses makes me intellectually
superior to everyone except the most idiotic of ******* dumb *****
whose apple cider vinegar becomes unsulfured blackstrap molasses
Remember again old cross firemen, Jesus burned for your arson sin
2,000 years before I wrapped your fat *** around your chinless chin
through hellish dew of frosty equanimity with Gail Fisher as Peggy,
Mannix shaved his dangling loose hairy stems above gay legs leggy
so that he might wiggle folklorical jigs like Haitians do with reggae
Gay-***-whackin' Hillary Clinton humps *** to a disco-***-humpin'
beat from her *** crooked-pants-suited *** to her lezzy-***-toed feet
stuck in turds as Bill sodomizes a mule, **** Hillary can be bought
stuck in pig **** as Billy rapes another, shaky Hillary can be bought
with Kleenex 'cause her honker has 5 pounds of unsought nose snot
that added nothin' to the virulent ****** that I ain't not never caught
On clean teen carpet she munched, slurped & lapped sink drain-like
forcing me to slap her shitless so that she could be a real, sane ****
whose despicable antics I am not morally outraged by, nor annoyed
as this repugnant behavior is directed medically by faux cushingoid
which accounts for her likeness to the puffy-faced star Alison Lloyd
who had something criminally criminal to do when she wasn't doin'
something grimy to fill her cravenously-craven-criminalistical void
that toys with emotions that are not immune to being toyed with on
the weekends that were made for Michelob on my blue hemorrhoid
that toys with emotions that aren't afraid of being toyed with on gay
weekends that were made for Michelob dumped on my hemorrhoid
only 'cause it is something to do when you are not doing something
that could have ended early the cowboyin'-guy-life of William Boyd
whose hoppin,' in the hoppin'-along biz, derived from a secosteroid
Vegetable-hating vegans love pagans & meat-eaters secrete beavers
& Yukio & Yoko Mishima beat to death with a bat old Tom Seavers
after he frittered away his ball-batting career as a raunchy, gay dude
to the tune of 4 original Beatles crooning the god-awful "Hey Jude"
while fat priests ****** nuns & nudists in nudist colonies pray ****
for chapel cameras of the ******* Channel's dude ranch, Play Dude
where the rudest nudists & naturalists, nudely & naturally stay rude
without caring to distinguish betwixt fake night & serious day food
that could throw a self-effacing exhibitionist into a filthy, gay mood
with prelude payload which equates to slaves getting their pay sued
by orthognathical charlatans who worship devil-lovin' Ben Franklin
in his guise as Frenchy Chucky de Gaulle who could send tank men
for forensical strikes targetin' ****** on rivers whereat men bank sin
with a plugged-up ******* called Peter Hamilton, feet or Nam again
in quokka flesh minus 22% over a pig sty or a bacon-oiled ham pen
Even though He maintained amazing Bible-understanding abilities,
Pittsburgh's wall-to-wall ******* gave Jesus the Hill District jiggers
Despite His God given Holy Christian Bible-understandin' abilities,
Pittsburgh's loo-to-loo ******* gave Jesus shaky, Hill District jitters
that ache way too late & shake for a sexily-religious girl who titters
over dead Zhanna Friske's Russian lickspittles & ******* pig-sitters
gettin' one passed normal lesbians with tattoos of sickly zoo critters
that clearly show pederasts of The New York Times ******* shitless
after chalking Marxistical New York Times sources ******* shitless
in Bethlehem stables stabling new stud muffin horses shoed witless
where hippy people with greasy long hair were quite apt to be livin'
clawing about what's issue based vs. character drivel, I mean driven
Ol' Walker McDonald was my very special friend until he ***** me
under a nice fig tree beyond the bitchiest beach of the Sargasso Sea
where he wouldn't quit ****** me despite my sexiest desperate plea
I hollered a lot in a ******-nutty masculine voice but he did not care
about rotten figs that matted my Ellen-degenerated, lezzy-short hair
I told everyone in North Vietnam & Laos that he couldn't he trusted
'cause the 21,798 times he ***** me made me thoroughly disgusted
like there were gigantical nests of bugs up my *** heavily encrusted
in cracks where ****-crop-dusting planes can't dive swoop in dusted
before flying into my inner-sanctum room like old Corrie ten Boom
whose bee-busy life, after her crapping-out death, has yet to resume
in order to beat senseless neo-brutalistical V.A. nursing home abuse
that kills the blood-coagulatin' screams of a cursing gnome papoose
draped across the *** of a ***-rail engineer takin' it up the caboose
to make his gay meaning known to stragglers too lucid to be obtuse
Don't ****** me I'm your amigo, oh yeah I forgot in your final spin
that a plucky slice'd paralyze you forever good on any hot spinal fin
****** ****** at ****** mall: Who's the baddest ****** of them all?
Is it Ringo, or dead George/John, or false/fake ******, Beatle Faul?
I cannot wear no slutty dress because I got a sass-*** dose of P.M.S.
I can't ***** in my slutty dress while I got a bad-*** dose of P.M.S.
My boyfriend's a ***** queer who has been ripped up his ***'s rear
In city pig files they record my criminal-*****-bone record in miles
Here amongst the thoroughly hypnotized, I spank your lard **** red
while you flee with free fleas that fly with flies that are too-well fed
while you flee with 3 free fleas that fly with flies that are overly fed
The traveling mermaid porked & beaned me in the moldy sea green
as P.B.S.'s Fred Rogers fits into a death list of ***, dead codgers we
ruefully mourn the murders of Jack the Ripper's ******-red lodgers
who overtly related homosexually to lesbian heterosex bed-dodgers
on mountain picnics in Pennsylvania where they are fed odd chores
There ain't nothing grim in threading tawny-titted Hawaiian women
before drug-induced comas or with food cramps got from swimmin' Demon Hillary, I Would ****** Everybody Just to Make You Smile
Is this wrong? No, murdering everybody is Scratch's most beautiful
way to say: "I loathe you Bill" in his hottest court of Luciferian trial
A raunchy **** bussed my *** with cerebral palsy quicker than Ajax
scrubbed the crapped-out Admiral William Halsey. I'd mount 1 trull
plain or crunchy too but not when she humps like a Harlem *******
We told everybody deaf 'bout "us" but everybody but "us" was deaf
to our mutant deafness save Harland Sanders & Burger Chef & Jeff
Swallow this sea-warped poker chip to see what can happen while I
moodily tap out Florida flame red maple trees to drain all the sap in
Anita O'Day never curled the nether tufts of Melvin Howard Tormé
because she was a limpless gimp who saw sike-a-***** as girly gay
in the throes of scissor lovin' between Blobert Rake & Huddy Bolly
whose fine, rug-burned legs queered their sapphical, sexoholic folly
that in 1966 farted greasy Earth's real cheeses to slickly **** breezes
as 99 rescue inhalers asphyxiated fatalistically-asthmatical wheezes
I love the ocean. Do you feel the aloof sea spray on your face? That
ain't sea spray. That's a gay *** peeing down on you from the roof.
I like my ******* on caffeine-free diets as they're better controlled I
think, than apes on caffeine-big diets who **** ******* cherry pink
for sea-lovers in iron linkage to twist apart a chewed-on master link
soaked in a tub 93% bigger than a beef washer's blood-washed sink
Let us forgive my unkind words but the dog turds I tracked in aren't
my dog's turds 'cause your ***'s really pretty like that of an angel's
dead cousin, so you must not cream on creamy donuts by the dozen
I will not talk of you in the old past as long as you are able to ****
really fast. The way to hell is lousy with sinners as each part of you
could provide several dinners. Our cherries are nicer than the sweet
cherries in pies. I wish that our 4 eye sockets had 4 cherry-red eyes.
You're so tiny that you stand 'neath my knee at a distance so nice to
bruise my better kidney. Shut up a lot, I told you before. I ain't got a
mistress who did not chronically snore. I could slather your body in
peanut butter from scalp to *** belly like would that jack-*** Kojak
Savalas brother called Telly. How many times have I warned you to
shut up? 3,345 trillion 9 hundred thousand 128? Enough is enough!
I scratched your back while you were reverently praying, just like a
Catholical priest, which is the chief role I'm now piously portraying
Part of me wants to **** you the other doesn't when I was me & you
were so wasn't, when your ****** were floral with dandelions, ever
more gay than those that were Paul Ryan's. After January we'll ****
bleached whales on the beach while I castigate old adulteresses in a
sermon I preach beneath the flickering grand dragon wizard's torch.
God has blessed us with elbows & knees & sharp teeth, only to bite
whoever's sporting deliciously-moist quims that we strive to please
Kicking the **** out of constipation is my preferred realization with prunes, olive oil & herbs from rich soil, for once I'm well you'll see
healthful regularity overtaking me. I'll make your cheery cherry pop
by threading your pretty Barbie bobbin so fast that I can hardly stop
from attaching psychedelical fixations to conundrums psycholytical
No one asleep had ever downed a pickle 'cause the racer who hit 45
wet spots was the women-pleasing racer large Richard **** Trickle
No one awake had ever drowned a pickle because the racer who hit
damp spots was the ****-racing racer, big-stick Richard **** Trickle
No one awake had ever got ******-cell sickle with the racer who hit
87 damp spots, the ***-****-racing racer, ***** Richard **** Trickle
who found that **** babes with keen intellects were tricky to tickle
as ****'ll be doin' Marianne Faithfull with big-ribbed-****** ******
in his British Marxian way with obligatory sledge hammer & sickle
to spread her ******* for shire horse hung Beatle Jimmy Nicol
as Albert Hofmann's 102-year-old L.S.D. schlort is a thrill pickle in
a Swiss lab bobbing dead in *****, unable to pork, **** & ***** all
while Bert Hofmann's 102-year-ol' L.S.D. ******* is a dill pickle in
a Swiss lab bobbin' in *****, unable to poke, sock, cram & stick all
because of contact with a toxical/allergical rose bushy thorn prickle
Some of me's puerile, the other section's a rash, over my nasty belly
is mama, below is a wacky, pinkish ******, while I pile onward real
love from 11 p.m. till the pole star's there, 8 degrees from starboard
several acres from where the **** wipes for my liquor bar are stored
You're brave & you're wise, with my camera I'll capture your thighs
I long for blonde hair of which you've plenty. I want to kiss all of it
before you turn 20. Our Russian passion will pass a fever pitch like
convicts on a chain gang diggin' a ditch. You whistle alluringly like
Lauren Bacall. I wonder, can you do it pulling from Bogart's straw?
Let's eat cookies while we sleep in my million-dollar Blue Bird bus
because I have expensive chocolate chip cookies just for the 2 of us
Tell me the truth, I am dyin' to know. Will you be able to stop when
we go go go? It's very important that you're careful so you don't get
knocked up by a drunken sailor or a window washer or a blind man
with a tin cup. Your pocked *** is really low slung like a green pine
ladder's 1st broken rung. I bang you in the murky morning too early
for lunch 'cause you ain't ½ as **** as Alice from The Brady Bunch
whose meat-hacking with butcher Sam included a knock-out punch
Turn up the gas, I want no damp cell, no moist damsel in **** hell
whose ill virginity is wiped clean by my hellishly-wild *** machine
I love you tall, I love you short in a barrel, beneath a port. You are a
broad. I know it's true. Live up to the crooked contract or I will sue.
Richard F. Burton, extinguish *** Taylor's fiery *** that lit abruptly
in the Golfo de México from B.P.'s unmothered-crack-head-****-gas
I took harmful advice to seize a 1-upped leg man ****-deep in knees
sadgirl Sep 2017
i thought love only existed in hollywood movies,
and then life, but in life, everything
*****

i guess i was drawn to the parts you
hated about yourself, maybe because
i know how to pick them

halsey sung that she liked the bad
guys, and then i wrote this poem
and she took it back

i have the power of a thousand hurricanes
i am a pair of worn out doc martens
i am the armageddon

and men don't know ****
i ain't a trap queen, but i don't
fear ****

i could love the entire seven billion,
and no one would be like
you

but when you look at me
i see nothing but your eyes
when you leave me
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2021
i would like to argue with anyone regarding Chris Rea's music... well... it's not exactly dad-rock... glam rock in spandex... it's not the Eagles (god forbid) or Lynyrd Skynyrd... it's a music to do something while listening to it... or rather... not listening to it: rather... it's not listening to traffic... while cycling at night... i don't even think it's car music... it's: cycling at night music... say... to the 24h Tesco for a £6.25 35cl bottle of the cheapest whiskey... while the brothel just teases me... road to hell... it was written about Chris being stuck in a traffic jam on the M25... well... there's hardly a traffic jam when cycling at night... no hands on the handlebars... gliding...

i woke up today and... cleaned the drain...
oddly enough i didn't puke...
but the sight of all that grime of soap and hair...
and fleshy dirt... i always say:
there's nothing like the smell of fresh horseshit
in the morning... nothing can beat it...
no perfume... no delight of a curry...
the smell of fresh horseshit in the morning...
or... spreading manure when planting baby
trees in the garden...
the butterflies were still there...
it didn't feel right: come again?
nothing ever feels right in all honesty...
although i lie: it does for a while...
probably like the fury when undertaking
the act of ******... it probably feels great...
*** also feels great in the act...
and when done properly...
a day... now two... afterwards... it still feels
quizzically good...
but just because there were still butterflies
in my stomach...
let's be honest...
i'm no Edward Lewis... maybe a Bradley Cooper
lookalike... ha... ha...
but no Richard Gere...
and she wasn't some Vivian Ward...
                                i cycle in the night for 35cl
of whiskey... he drives a Lotus...
a lawyer while over 'ere... some sort of a... poo'et...
reality check... what a fascinating take
on hyper-gamy...
                    i too liked  La traviata...
   (saw it at the st. petersburg opera house...
she wanted to see madame butterfly...
                    i insisted... bending of will)
although... this is some retelling...
   what poet wouldn't fall for a *******?
   - how's it going with ms. chaste over there
on the cockerel-carousel?
i never understood the mystique of...
not letting the lecher out during *******...
what "no kissing" rule?
why have i managed to kiss all the prostitutes
i've slept with... i lost count... i don't have
a number...

- but i have a fitting song to complete
the movie in my head...
faithless - woozy...

    - away from internet culture... eh... listening
to a book review of... HALSEY's poetry...
the bisexual experience... ****** men...
the trauma of having *** with a man...
i do hope they don't use ******...
that wouldn't be fair...

  and having *** with women is somehow...
not "traumatic"...
like that one time she was a timid *******
and i fed pearls to pigs
or rather wasted £120 on... touchy-feely bollocking
that left me feeling like castrated imp?!

listen 'ere... missy... what choice do some of us
*** "starved" when encountering ***?
i had to check my body...
itemize it to stop this... ****** cinema having
fun in my mind... all this daydreaming
where i really was the protagonist with
this... pristine nymphomaniac...
i said i wouldn't drink to save up for another
encounter: not going to happen...
i drink to write truthfully...
but i've cut down...

i said i wouldn't look at *******:
no films anyway... something akin
to the old tabloid: the Sun's page three...
three shakes of the fox's tail
and i turned into a premature *******
case...
from being an ******* dysfunction case
with a timid *****
to fully blossoming with a head pulsating
in the spectrum of purple:
i guess she really did tell me that
she owned my phallus when i moved my hands
to pretend force-feeding her:
she already did anyway...

how's that? the dark arts... i don't have any other
name for it...
*** of the *** "starved"...
while i'll be giving her another hour's worth
of drip... ******* so easily over...
let's me honest... thinking about a cow's ******
sack will not make a difference...
i still like milk...
   but... if i'm so ******* adamant on semi-:
feeding pearls to pigs...
i need to harden my body and my mind...
i can't have a cockerel for a mollusc...

           yes... because *** for men is not...
traumatic... perhaps in stable relationships
where both man and woman
can... pretend *** never existed...
at the supermarket i spotted these two chubby-loved-up
bundles of joy...
let's just pretend... *** has to translate back
into furthering genes... whatever the hell that means...
a good idea never seems to attach itself
to genes...
nothing biological came out of Newton...
perhaps it would be best
to aim at an ***... perhaps...

*** isn't "traumatic" for men...
  so bisexual women have to state that all *** with
men is ****?
**** inverted... a timid ***** that can't
give you a hard-on is like...
a barber who can't trim your beard...
or a dentist that can't ease your toothache...
for ****'s sake... am i not imprinting a
parody of 2 + 2 =  4?!
no... wait... last time i heard:
how do i manage to pick up these
bogus messages i don't know:
mathematics is racist...
well... let's all study algebra if arithmetic is
too soon... "too soon": to somehow also pretend
to spell...

among the Goliaths and the Nimrods
i have learned that...
sure... we're all supposedly literate...
but... for some people there's still no horizon
for... there's still no... chance for language
arriving at a spontaneous fluidity...
there's no horizon for...
  digression...       n'est ce pas?

the best **** turns out... i have to return to...
cycling... push-ups and stomach crunches...
drinking in moderation...
and once i've tested the waters and the dream
is finally over...
where i can **** myself off for... at least ten minutes
without teasing the prospect of an *******:
i'll be ready for another encounter:
as promised...
where she will show me her mouth: agape...
her wonders of her tongue...
her eyes glistening in her mania...

   funny how i was once diagnosed as psychotic...
well... a once upon a time... a...
nymphomaniac met up with
a Spartan psychotic and...
oh... they had a dozen children...
and these were the envy of Nox and Cerberus...
when that... ******* concept
came to its final fruition...

it's almost unbelievable how...
the most... tried and tested method of... "inquiry"
can become a put off for some...
but i know what this is worth...
the butterflies in my stomach:
the unblocking of the drain with the sight
of curling hairs and soap grime...
by comparison... her well attired body in cleanliness...
but for me... i need to harden my body...
i need to exercise...
and wait for my cockerel to recover
for pecking at the oyster...

that's how it is... esp. when not conscripted
into the army of the numbed heads of
male genital mutilation... circumcision...
of course she knew that she would pull it back
during *******...
but that i still have the sheath...
i don't have that ****-numbing luxury of
somehow being... brain dead enough
to have to compensate with...
hey! 3 ****** at a time!

- i can't just become a duracell bunny and have
a hard-on all the time...
recovery period...
after 4 years of "solo project" of projecting
fantasy... to come up with the reality...
it's not going to be... well... i had
a dream: although i sleep but am a dreamless
****... her name burning into my brain:

oddly enough... it's akin to the prophet
Muhammad's first wife... Khadija...
has she rolled in her grave long enough
to emerge as a ******* in a brothel?
i'll just wait for Muhammad to turn in his grave
and be called out as:
ambitious pseudo-Solomon...
i'll wait for that one...
although: i think the concept of reincarnation
is horrid: i.e. there are only a limited number
of true selves...

  the rest? zombies... dead once: dead again...
monstrous strap-ons of technological
advancement: suddenly running dry on the prospect /
need to procreate...
no? if everything is being automated...
who needs... i never liked reincarnation...
that concept of completely obliterating the faculty
of memory... it takes a second to conceive...
circa... 9 months for the tadpole to wriggle out...
about 4 years for any consciousness to arrive
armed with the faculty of memory...

reincarnation is like: a hyper-inflated take
on libido... or... something akin to...
the doppelganger...
but it's not like there isn't a push-back...
if actors could steal the shadows of people...
people steal the faces of actors
and associate them with... the crippling furores of
fame... once upon a time...
how were you known who...
so-and-so was... Richard the Lion-heart...
this freely available spread of the image...
once upon a time...
of greatness was never associated
with an immediacy of recognition...
oddly enough...

i suppose there's still more time, required...
to ponder this transition...
**** me... if i'm going back at a stab
with this nymphomaniac...
i need to harden my body...
my phallus can't be a mollusc...
i need my body tense...
so that when she does her... ***** tricks...
i'll be fit for an hour's worth...
if not to my pleasing:
then at least to hers...

      oh sure... only women find *** with
men traumatic...
only women have a voice in a democracy...
where's the ******* fire?!
where's that: a face that sent a thousand ships
toward old Priam's gates?

obvious there's a sieving process...
i like a sieving process...
those that arrive... those that: don't arrive...
those that are late... and those...
that are... always late...
perfectly simple...

           i need a second encounter with my nymph...
i need to crease these meanings...
i need for my sight to turn all blurry
and my hearing to fade out...
a gurgling snigger of a boar...
        a sound of an animal almost drowning
in a swamp of its own ****...

the *** was great... but the aftermath...
well... if i were in a closeted, stable... relationship...
none of this would have happened...
i wouldn't be writing like this, or even:
about this...
there are some journalistic columns... funded...
properly paid... of the higher sort of "peoples"
describing visits to... Parisian ******...
like... affairs were: solid steel... Lego-building encounters...
but me and these ****** is suddenly...
what? decrepit moi?
    degenerate moi?
                  self-deprecating humour comes...
allied with... a self-moralistic accusation-al mandate...

it's trivial overtly-worded *******...
but it does... sometimes...
turn my heart of a pebble's worth of a throw into
a... soft... fleshy... essentiality of...
the plethora of doubts... and negations...

        yes... a night well invested in...
                                      came the time for hardening
the body...
to later hope of relaxing it with another
encounter: for the vain hopes in all of existence...
her face is still unknown to me...
it too immediately contorts into
her manic circus of arriving at pleasures:
conversations will never give.
Malvika Nov 2017
You came unexpectedly. Like a welcome guest of old days. You glided into my sixteen-year-old curiosity, which, at the time was a week shy of wounds two months deep. You remembered smells and tastes and ****** puns. You flicked cigarettes with the vibe of breaking hearts. You lifted weights with the vibe of protecting your sister from all that could ever go wrong. You drove like that too. With the engine pushing, accelerating to over 200 kph on empty highways with Halsey booming through my smart-*** comments; so smooth, it felt like jumping off a cliff. Unlike how I felt after you left. I was full to the brim. Buzzing with poetry and sultry words. Little did I know that you had a string of babies like me. Ones that blog their moods in metaphors and mostly they are all dedicated to you.

I remember they say something about summer rain.
Kelly Dec 2021
I used to think I fell in love with possibility
Concrete walls brimming with opportunity
And sudden metallic jerks
Running Rails on Halsey street
As well as the bathroom stalls
Of Brooklyn beer bars
Funneling my vision through crooked teeth
And clippings, semantics separated by seconds
Between moments of forgotten clarity
But now I see

It’s just a city

And I’m still painfully me

— The End —