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Big Virge May 2015
So … what’s the score … ?
to be seen as … ” ******* ” … !?!
Being …
Lyrically RAW … !!!
For some … Fa’ SURE … !!!
Or ….
Dropping … BOMBS … !!!
on heads … through songs …
in …. ” Native Tongues ” …
I guess … for some … ?
is … ” ******* Stuff ” … !?!
” ******* ” … words …
of … “Curse-Filled” … verse …
like those that … run …
wordplay like … ” **** ” … !!!!!
Now makes … MILLIONS … !!!!!!
Believe It Son … !!!!!
Is that … ******* … ?!?
Or …. talk for … ****** … !?!
whose thoughts are … ” Poor ” …
when it comes to … ” The Cause ” …
of REALLY … Being … ******* … !!!!!
Well …
Here’s the score … !!!
My wordplay … STUNS … !!!
WITHOUT … Taser Guns … !!!
or … ” Running Gums ” …
to prove i’m … TOUGH … !!!
My … ” ******* Mind ” …
creates … ” Fine Rhymes ” … !!!
that … EXPOSE … Crimes … !!!
I see in This Life …..
So My … ” Rhyme Designs ” …
are … ” ******* Lines ” … !!!!!!
that take … ” The Stance ” …
of a … ” Righteous Man ” … !!!!!
That’s ….
QUITE … A Claim … !!!!!
******* … INSANE … !!!!!!
Hell Nah … ” I’m Playing ” … !!!
My Brain … INFLAMES … !!!
Pages … with … ” REIGNS ” … !!!!!
” REGAL ” …
NOT … slave … !!!!!
” Unable ” …
to … BREAK … !!!!!
… the snakes … !!!!!
” Lyrically ” …
…. A SAGE …. !!!!!!
Ya see …
******* Talk …
” INSPIRED ” … my walk …
towards … these thoughts …
To Source … Lyrical Swords … !!!
Wu Tang …. ” INSURED ” …. !!!!!
******* ... to ya … ” Pores ” … !!!!!
with … ” Lyrics of War ” … !!!!!
No Blood Need Pour … !!!!!
But …. THOUGHT … fa’ sure … !!!
I DO …. IMPLORE …. !!!!
Ya bring to the … FORE … !!!
to join …. ” THE CAUSE ” …. !!!!!
Lyricism … Good for … Rhythm … !!!!!
Incision filled … with … ” Scissors ” …
That Cut with … Skilled … PRECISION … !!!!!
You Suckers … NEED TO … ” Listen ” … !!!!!
” ******* ” …
Does Not Mean … KILLING … !!!!!
or … Illin’ … Penicillin …
is that good for … Your Children … ?!?
It’s just rhyme flows …
I’m … Bringin’ … !!! …
******* … ???
… NO … !!! …
I’m just … ” Kiddin’ ” …
See ….
This is … ” Lyricism ” …
Built with …. ” Witticism ” …. !!!!
“Joke Filled” … YES …
for the … ” Women ” … !!!
cos’ jokes help man …
Get …. ” In em’ ” …. !!!!!
Girls who … KNOW …
Be …. ” Grinnin’ ” …. !!!!!!
cos’ … ******* Bro’s …
Be …. ” Winning ” ….
and seeing **’s …. like ….
…. VISION …. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I see …
You Chose to … ” Live In ” …
A world of … ” Western Fiction ” … ?!?
It seems it’s … ” Broke ” … !?!
NO Fixing … !!!!! …
No … ” Jims’ or Joes’ ” …
…. ” Enlisted ” …. !!!! ….
That line’s for those
with …. ” Children ” …. !!!
It’s Deeper … than …
You’re Thinking … !!!!!
Paedophiles ….
who … Mess with child …
My …******* VIBE
Gets … ” WICKED ” … !!!!!!!
I’d … **** … them up …
with … QUICKNESS … !!!!!
YES Them … and …
ALL THEIR … ” Siblings ” … !!!!!!!
Right Now Big Virge
” Ain’t ” … ” KIDDIN’ ” … !!!!!!!!!
These … ” EVIL BREEDS ” …
are … ” SICKENING ” … !!!!!!
I’d cut heads … OFF …
Like … ” Quickenings ” … !!!!!
Highlander Slander …
******* … Gambler … !!!
Take a risk … and …
Slit The Wrist …
I meant …. ” The Neck ” …. !!!!!
of ANY ….
******* … ” Racist Head ” … !!!!!!!!!
******* … and … VEX …
When YES … ” UPSET ” … !!!!!
Silence …............................
Transcends …………
to make things … ” Tense ” … !!!!!
So it … Doesn’t make … SENSE … ?!?
to make … ATTACKS …
******* like … ” DEATH ” … !!!!
These thoughts … ” Expressed ” …
have … ” NO CONTEXT ” …
cos’ this violence … ” rests ” …
Inside My Head …........................
******* … ” Oh Yes ” … !!!!!!
until i’m … DEAD … !!!!!!
I’m a … ******* Smoker …
Well … some say … ” Joker ” …
who gets through … ” Quotas ” …
Like stocks do …. ” Brokers ” …. !!!!!
NOPE …. NOT … ” Bram Stoker ” … !!!
….. ” But ” …..
NOTHING LIKE … ” Botha ” … !!!!!!
Just … ” A Breed ” …
Like … ” Locust ” … !!!!!!
Swarming … WARNING …
Those … ” Informing ” … !!!!!
Watch Yo’self … !!!!!
Them cards you … dealt …
May just have … ” Spelt ” …
A ******* … ” Tell ” …
That’s gone …
DAMAGE … ” Your Health ” … !!!!!
This set of rhymes …
is a … ******* WRITE … !!!
Now Across … the Lines … !!!
of my … Notepad … !!!
as my … ” Mental ” … GRABS … !!!
These words like … SLABS …
with … ” Commandment Tabs ” … !!!!
Thou shalt be … RAW … !!!
and … Lead The … ” Hoards ” … !!!
Like Jim … WITHOUT … ” Doors ” … !!!!
Thou shalt not … FORCE … !!!
Wordplay that’s … ” Poor ” … !!!

“My Prose rocks jaws
of those on boards,
Yes, Corporate ****** !”
Thou shalt face … WAR … !!!
and … Deal with … ” Scorn ” …
from … Ignorant Scores …
who you … NEED TO … ignore …
Thou Virge … were born …
to YES … ” Adorn ” …
Pages … that source …
Verse Born … from Thought …
That some … Fa’ SURE … !!!!!
Will call ………
… ” ******* ” … !!!!!
Inspired by a friend saying to me that I should go write some ******* Lyrics, and this is what I came up with ! To hear how it sounds, check out my webpage ......
Rollie Rathburn Apr 2019
While capable of achieving abstract thought of the highest order, the human brain tends to function best when compartmentalizing data into manageable pieces. For example, the state in which one resides is useful in a macro view of geolocation, but largely useless when it comes to ordering a pizza. As such, our species developed streets, postal codes, cardinal directions, and a whole host of determining factors to describe your home with enough clarity to ensure your disc of cheesy goodness arrives safe and sound.

By this same token, we break down and discuss music. For the most part, all humans can say that they enjoy music to some degree or another.  But for those whose passion extends beyond using the radio for background noise, there’s a point where the specificities of what we absorb aurally merges with part of our socio-cultural identity. Whether this is reflected in your sudden urge to wear strapped sandals and listen to Grateful Dead live bootlegs while slack-lining or constantly refreshing a subreddit so you know which warehouse space is hosting a tech-house set until dawn, the most passionate amongst us eventually become that which we absorb. These things become fractalized versions of ourselves. After all, someone who has never had their heart broken probably won’t appreciate Elliot Smith as much as the rest of us.

It is on the fringes of these musical personalities that we find *******. Combining the most aggressive tendencies of metal with the politics and personality of street punk, ******* is an amalgam of all things angry. Exhibiting a neb-tribalism not often seen in other subsets of music, ******* “kids” (Kids can be used to define ages ranging from 13 to 45 depending on context) understand that a sweaty basement filled with people pummeling one another will never become a societal norm. And they revel in the misanthropy.

However, this is not to say that ******* kids are fueled only by rage. From it’s inception in punk scene during the late 1970’s, the entire point of ******* has been to create a community dedicated to supporting one another during our darkest times. Sure that occasionally means punching your friend in the head, but that’s only because we haven’t figured out how to punch the geo-political turmoil of Earth in the head just yet.

Whether extolling the virtues of veganism, Straight Edge, ecocriticism, economic inequality, anti-racist and anti-racist movements, or simply just talking about how alone we can feel inside of our own heads, ******* at it’s best seeks to improve the space husk we’re all floating around on. By virtue of these lofty goals, ******* swiftly takes on a communal nature due to the common belief that we are all united against an existence which does not reflect us. Rob Lind said it best: “*******’s not much. But for some of us, it’s all we’ve got.”

Then one clear morning in December, my father died. And suddenly ******* was all I had left.

Obviously, I still had my siblings and friends. But after all, the ethos of ******* always managed to echo everything my father taught me to believe. Whether that be standing up for someone getting picked on because they’re different, refusing to place trust in authority, or rallying all the other lost souls and building your own society two steps to the left of the mainstream.

So, as an autopsy was being performed to ensure the skin, organs, and long bones of Robert Rathburn’s arms were harvested for donors, I stood in the alleyway of the Nile Theater listening to the bass reverberate through the asphalt as Iniquity, Beg For Life, Troubled, No Altars, and Iron Curtain played to a packed basement below.

Admittedly, this was a show I was supposed to be reviewing, and this piece was also due months ago. However, my time was instead spent shaking hands and hugging people I’ve spent the better part of 20 years building a small, fractured, but loving community with. At the end of the day, I suppose that’s all ******* has ever and should ever be about. Communally channeling the hurt and anger into fists and screams until it stings a little less and the emptiness of the world wanes ever so slightly.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
.i'm still an advocate of caesarean section... i believe in animal rights... it's just plain cruel exposing a European ****** to a pan-African phallus of a fetus head ****... isn't it ****, "technically"? **** me... forget the ******* ****, the latex... the ****** *******... one pregnant women *******, and talking Freudian implosion will do.

personally? i hardly think
******* **** is what men turn
to when excavating

ever watched
while filming themselves?!

ever watch pregnant women
themselves *******?

in the beginning there
was the word,
and the word was god...

you hear the talking
of pregnant woman *******?!

**** me...
who the hell needs ******* ***...
when you can *******
to a pregnant woman...
jerking off, talking "*****",
paradoxes of Freud
about her yet to be born
watching her *******...

    who the hell needs
******* ****...
just watch a pregnant woman *******....

oath of god...
   hand on my heart...
     it doesn't actually encompass a
desire for intricacies of latex...

            just a pregnant woman
*** mad... *** mad...
            *** mad...
            ******* *** mad as hell...
  Freud? pale as an uncooked
pancake dough...
   the **** that comes out
from the mouth of a pregnant
woman *******...

believe me...
  i ****** off to one of them doing it
nice try... thinking
a man would turn to *******

  can't turn to more *******,
than a pregnant woman,
while talking, Oedipal,
            try... try, ******!
try to bash that fact out
of existence!
Dark n Beautiful Oct 2016
I love a woman,
who's not afraid to speak her mind
who ain't afraid of the up-shots
In 1960 women burnt their bras
protesting and debated for equal rights

I have no time for women with weak links
they could loosen the chain
before they could really think
If you choose to be strong
stay strong, be confident:
Do not let your fears choose your destiny
Never let anyone senses your fear
or even drove you to the verge of tears..

I have no tolerance for a strange brew
idealism and self-interest
it defies me, and somehow
it make me uncivil,
but I am a woman of dignity
However, if you want to rolled with me
You have to be strong,
no wee, wee ,wee little crotch -less *****
Heartless.. for heaven sake I am not
I am just a ******* notch from the block
Jonny Angel Jul 2014
You want your hair pulled
and your *** smacked
and some ***** talk
for pleasure...
that's some
******* pleasure.
Devilgirlzdream May 2014
So **** confused
Not sure what to think
What to do...

Love my bestie
Crushing *******
Last night we talked

He held me, told me
He was attracted to me
I blushed, smiled, and giggled

He cuddled real close
Leaned in, softly kissed my lips

Now I'm confused
I don't know what to do
That kiss was unreal

Aikin The Deadman
Love him, not sure what to do...... x.x
eden halo Feb 2014
i like wearing miniskirts and i read marie claire
i like bubblegum pop music and i like to dye my hair
i like rich thick hot pink lipgloss and i like to pretend
i still dress up all the time even though i’m seventeen
and im learning how to defend myself

i pretend my legs are made of silk and i pretend im sleeping beauty
i fake like im a natural blonde and fake like im a cutie
i like having kitten pits and i like kissing girls
i like clothes that show off my **** and i like wearing pearls

i like the way my hair smells of peaches
and i like it even when it reeks of 15 different kinds of bleaches

im a ******* soft girl
im a pincushion queen
a raspberry swirl cheesecake
a pretty little thing with a head full of snakes

deliberately unclean
deliberately obscene
pretty as yesterday’s underwear
pretty as the roots of courtney’s hair

pretty as my favourite les mis scene
when anne hathaway’s fantine dreams a dream
and her nose starts running as she starts to cry
and everything felt real for once in my life

i’m covered in face powder and i’m covered in dirt
and you’ll never know joy if you never know hurt
and that’s why they make disney princess plasters
so when you skin your knees you’ll only feel prettier after

let’s talk about all the junk we like
and re-learn the art of laughter
i’ll be in the kitchen making raspberry tea
whenever you wanna join me
for more basic *** feminism listen to kate nash no really its nice just learn to filter
Jonny Angel Jul 2014
My corned beef tasted like
Chateaubriand today
and the sun wasn't yellow,
it was golden
& I am not myself,
these feelings.
Oh these ******* feelings.
Nothing is the same
since I met you,
I want more.
Victor Thorn May 2011
i'll admit it

i'm just trying to score some prozac;
something to supplement the steroids
that never seemed to ease the pain.
my body never
anything they gave me:
all their alcohol distraction,
all their **** carelessness,
all their acid lifestyle,
none of it.

as for ecstasy,
i never got the dosage right:

i've been offered ersatz masterpieces
and turned them all down,
so they sacrificed their snatches to other gods,
who happily and hungrily partook in the
appetizing, dangerous bounty for which there is no cure.

i was once appeased for my lust
and committed love crimes,
so i learned not take ecstasy
until i tried the steroids.

i'll admit it

i'm just a pair of eyes
in a white ocean
Copyright May 3rd, 2011 by Victor Thorn
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
.well **** me, after writing such a revealing piece, i really need a double whiskey gob-smack... i need a drink... i really need to have drink... but it's honesty, i'm not ashamed of it... people have a harder time owning up to gay bar pop songs in their closet, like a Belinda Carlisle song... ooh... personally? i've never come across anything more **** than a pregnant woman *******, or, to mind the pursuit of the Wendol idol? exhibitionism to boot; a striptease? pare by comparison... you can't exactly possess the carnality of a woman, and the concept of the mind's eye... with a fetus, to boot.

in terms of jerking off...
**** me,
  i moved away from
fine art nudes...

  found an alternative

the exhibitionism
pregnant women...

it's like peering into
a wormhole,
of sorts...

    who the hell needs
******, glory-holes,
******* crap?

   pull me to sight
a pregnant woman
encouraging exhibitionism
and i'll be there,
within second,
with a tissue...

**** it...
she can do it, and doesn't shy
away from?
    m.i.l.f. is
so lost...
been catching up on
the whole American Pie franchise...


    mom in waiting i'd
love to ****...

who said that jerking off leads
men to ******* ***.
****** *****?
  who said we would turn the
******* avenue?
     oops? for not being
adventurous enough?

  adventurous consisting
of watching
a pregnant woman
exhibition herself,
oiling herself,
jerking off...
    what... if i were married...
could probably
become the mouth and tongue
of God in terms of oral ***?

******* losers...
having the negligence
stipend in allowing a wife,
as pregnant as she is...
to exhibition herself like that...
for me to pick up
the crumbs from the table...
******* losers...

i'll admit it...
jerking off to a pregnant
woman exhibit herself
beats jerking off to fine art
sinderella Nov 2013
sometimes when i write
i imagine being kissed
right in the middle of
something important
i daydream too much
of the same fantasy
but it keeps me
stuck in a trance
for a long amount
of blissful time
it touches
every part
of my heart
and also
creeps in
to my veins
as well as
my mind
and soul
© sinderella.
Jason Cirkovic Jan 2014
I Craw in the Urban Jungle night after night, making shadows my best friend
Because my pale skin would get sunburn in the day time.
Many of you have read about me on the internet,
But don't know if we exist like the Yeti or Bigfoot
Every now and then you see photos of me and hear stories about our existence
But here I am, White, Nerdy and…. Nerdy

Nerdy like the Nerds falling out of the box and skipping on the floor of my lair
(or my parents basement whatever you call it).
Some moments you will find me praying to my shrine for my savior, Weird Al Yankovic

Many of you may call us “ Losers”
But let me take a moment to tell you why you are wrong, in every way.
First off, We are not losers we just win at things that you don't care about
Like the Rubik's Cube, Dungeon and Dragons, and Larping
We don’t care about making friends, getting the poo tang, or getting high off of our *****
No we are too occupied trying to plan how we will survive the zombie apocalypse,
Or debating on if Star Wars is better than Star Track.
We are too busy reading comic books, Leveling up our one handedness
On Skyrim of course.

You think that we are hideous,
But in all reality, my acne improves my defenses against mother nature,
My braces are actually tools that government uses so they can reflect solar flares back to space
I'm ugly because god decided to make me pick up girls on ******* mode because before you Meet me it was way too easy.

Many of you think that we are weak
I may have spaghetti arms, no abs, but you know what, no problem,
Because if you look at my shadow, you see someone that 10 feet tall and bulletproof
I am a nerd, hear me roar.

My roar breaks your paper thin confidence
As it just floats in the wind like leaves, leaving the tree in October
My roar will rock your house with all of your friends leaving you alone because in the end, you May be popular but lets be honest, who are your real friends?
Call me weak, I dare you

Being a nerd has taught me many things
Like don't eat cake because it is deceiving
And that Neo should of taken the blue pill
Because that movie series was terrible.
And that DC Comics is the best, ***** Marvel
But the one thing it taught me the most is that be proud of myself.
Anna Lo Aug 2012
We hardly trust anyone
No matter how genuine that person may be.
We go on pairs throughout our lives because
we believe that we are not satisfied as one.
We sometimes believe that there is a solution
by finding other halves
in people, in stimulators, in distractions
in roles.
We have trouble finding ourselves
and prefer to believe that people stronger than us
or people who appear stronger than us
can help us
and make us better.
We come from bad places
but we are not bad people
despite what we believe.
But we keep a strong face
and solider through
blame and shame
through self-hatred.
We call ourselves names all the times
when no one else does so
so we get our usual dosage of misery.
In the worst cases,
we never believe anything or anyone
and let our hearts die on the pavement
while the sky falls.
And the funniest thing of all?
It's our fault.
Emma Chatonoir Nov 2014
He came crashing to Earth like a comet
Except no one saw him coming
I overheard people say they found him attractive
With his pastel hair

His headphones always radiated pop punk
As he said he was *******
But simultaneously straight edge too
Also known as normal

I thought he was a time traveler from 2003
Bringing the scene ways back
He insisted it wasn't a phase
But once the dye washes out, it'll change

He started talking to me every day
Quoting emotional things from the Internet
And I eventually turned and asked
Why he kept doing that

"Your presence still lingers here
And it won't leave me alone"
Of course he used an Evanescence quote
He had to be one of them

"How do you act so soft and emotional
Yet claim to follow the punk lifestyle?"
To say someone is *******
Means they do not act soft

He does it to attract girls
And nothing else
He claims his soft side makes him
More approachable

A comet came crashing down on Earth
Wearing headphones with pastel hair
Yet another poser in the school
When will they stop?
Seriously, 2003 was eleven years ago, the phase can end now.
Circa 1994 Oct 2013
I want him
But I can't have him.
I feel him
But can't touch him.
I need him
But can't see him.

I think
This is what you call
A crush.

I've got it bad.
But it feels so good.
I kind of like
This game we play.
Emma Chatonoir Nov 2015
None of the popular girls
Want to be girls anymore
They cut off their long hair
Claiming that's *******
Asking for their new pronouns
To be they or them
For they will not conform to gender
But social issues, they'll condemn
They claim to be accepting now
But still blast people online
They claim they don't need social media
But that is their lifeline
I must applaud them though
For their strong life choice
For realizing they don't have to live
For the attention of boys
They'll shout the names of the people
Killed by police brutality
Tamir, Trayvon, Michael, and more
Mentioning every casualty
They'll rant about transgender rights
Defend people with a disability
They'll claim a good heart
Is all people should see
However, these girls were racist
Making fun of kids in school
They were openly homophobic
Shunning anyone uncool
They grew up privileged white girls
They'd be drinking and partying too
So the concept of struggling and being outcast
Is something they never knew
So I wonder if they really understand
Everything they protest
Or if they're back to their same old ways
Waiting for someone to be impressed.
I knew them pretty much all my life.  I'm glad they found a cause they care about, but there is some irony when you consider their past
eliza bonnet Jan 2014
Ive never liked labels
Prep, ****, goth, *****, *****, ***,
and then there was me
A mix of all of them.

I was over confident,
yet self conscious,
I loved lilly pulitzer
and still my celebrity crush was the lead singer of a post ******* scream band
I was sweet and sympathetic
but a ***** when I wanted to be
and lastly, I was a slutty drunk
but what people didn't know was that I worried about being gay

So what I don't understand is how a label can define someone
when every label out there defined me.

But maybe that wasn't true.
Maybe the fact that every label defined me,
made me original.
A one of a kind.
I guess part of me liked that,
but at the same time I just wanted to fit in.
Not to be a one of a kind who can relate to no one
yet everyone at the same time
Sofia Von Jul 2014
Suicidal serial killer bashes the bones hoping to feel nothing
because that would be something
A Swelling self-image pops in the distance
is chewed,
then inflated over and over
this routine never fails to cycle, disappoint, and please
Ethanol injections cuz oral doesn't do ****
give it to me *******
***** I'll munch your muffin just fo nuthin like I'm ****** with y'all
Cuz I surf to fall and smoke to die
In the high where life is inconsequential
to question and I feel less than short
Of supernatural

Who are these new kids?
They dress in tights and pick fights
I can't see your face but I trust the feeling
Damsel's are rescued
blood is spewed
Yet insanity is gushing
The drugs are running out
We might just be super
We might just be heroes

Entropy enters me ripping the glamour and with a stammer I know
This isn't a comic book
In awe at these elaborately induced fabrications
and schemes to change the pecking order or chisel
the universe to perfection

The line of schizophrenic and degenerate flees
for the hills
that now have eyes
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Existential me Dec 2017
I love her.
No not ******* worldly,
But softly, purely , celestially.
Not necessarily, just completely,
selfishly and I'm sorry.
I love her unconditionally, some say unconventionally.
But they don't understand me.
Yes...I love her.
Most spiritually, asexually, platonically and wholly.
I love her, truly, honestly, musically and poetically...
She doesn't have to love me.
Your looks may fade... my love shall not.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
so Jacky has gone up from
20 quid a liter
to 32 quid...
    back on the Bacardi...
can't complain...
   there is never quiet enough
*** to
satisfy a sailor,
or a... sailing, ship?

      it makes sense...
somehow, somewhere,
and against a concept /
concern of a, now...

   never now, never bank on
a now...
   now is the impossibility
of answering both
the how & why question...
now is not:
   now, how?
  & now, why?
        it's neither...

how is the space,
and why is the time...
which makes no sense
to ask the different question
at the same time...

     now what?
oh ****... so "now" there's also a who?
it's ***...

so this article about Millennial(s)...
their 30 something sexless lives...
in the realm of psychology...

o.k., fair enough,
i discovered jerking off aged
having found a pornographic
in the catacombs of
a church being built
while playing hide & seek
with my childhood friends...

managed to ******* before
i managed to produce *****...
so... yeah...
the feeling of ******
is unrelated to *******
  nothing to do with it...

Magda... Magdalene...
my next door neighbor...
we had a bath together...
****-naked comparing
she had a Barbie,
and i had the Ken...
and we wondered after:
why is Ken an ******...
and we played:
fiddling the missing
part together...

     Magdalene's surname?
Bucior -
which means:
   a roughed up boot...

then i do remember my first
year in England...
living in a house
of a half Jewish family...
and 20+ migrant men lived
there also...

happy ******* childhood!
so i taught the half Jewish boy
my little something...
i says to him while we're
having a bath,
and my mother is in the bathroom

   i've found a funny sensation...
so we ****** off in the bath...
******* jack-****...
but the muscle sensation
was there...

               so... this thing about
Millennial(s) turning to *******
people watch that ****?
  i never did ****,
and mind you:
never intended to...
   ******* ****? really?!

so no **** stills...
you know... of a naked body...
when you had to actually
walk into
a corner-shop
and grow a pair of *****
and buy a ***** magazine?!
   so not jerking off to fine
art nudes?!
     so my generation was
always into *******
facials and just about teasing
          i was about as *******
as translating a niqab into
a latex *** suit...
    and imitating sly, ******,
slithering, squeezing...
unable to make grip
on either elbow, knee,
or thigh...
   but hell... you did one better...

Tantra massages?
kissing frenzies worth an hour
till your lips go numb
and you turn to clashing teeth?

******* **** killed off Millennial
*** lives?
  you sure it wasn't
about forgetting the joys
of foreplay?

                you know... recounting
the lives of virgins...
third base? second base?
  no... no longer fun kissing
till your lips are numb,
no longer fun
   teasing the marriage of bodies
with oral parts and eyes?

not the part where the man's
face looks like he's been eating
a bowl of molten butter?

i seriously don't need *******
i go back to the still life...
  and... ****... start imagining it...
or turn to pure audio...
   or fine art nudes...
   from what i've seen...
or rather: from what i wish i've never seen...
and who the hell needs
    a nice snippet of cleavage
and we're...
   not exactly on the terms
of inclusive agreement.
D Minor Nov 2013
The verses are screamed like Oli Spikes and the Chorus is sung like Brandon Saller

I don’t think
you can understand
How in love with you
I really am
And now you’re sad
And now you push me away
But I’ll still fight
no matter what you say
Your spirit is broken
Well so is mine
But to hurt you again
I’d rather die
Don’t leave, you saved my life
You taught me how to stand
You made me realize
How wonderful I really am
(Verse 2)
Just a dull boy
In his closet alone
Bleeding and crying
But no one knows
When I told you
You cried on the phone
You stole my weapons
Now my addiction is gone
Nobody believed
In me like you did
All of them thought me
Incapable of happiness
And the worse it got
The more I started to believe
They were right
There was no hope for me
Don’t leave, you saved my life
You taught me to stand
You made me realize
How wonderful I really am
I promise I can really change
And I’ll learn from my mistakes
After all they don’t make me who I am
I love you with everything
Every fiber of my being
You’re full of wonderful things
Don’t leave, you saved my life
You taught me to stand
You made me realize
How wonderful I really am
I’ll change I know you don’t believe
But I will prove you wrong
It’s never too late to fix
What we have wanted all along
Shashank Virkud Oct 2012
She called me

She called me
a little *****

in which five knuckles
and four spaces
were the only faces
that ever turned a light on for me.
Or off, as a matter of fact.

Write it on a flier, or
tie her up in the back of a limousine,
ask her to give you some sugar
and send you to sleep.

Just don't be weird about it.
And seriously,

pay attention,

you just might

burn something.

I think my voice is changing.

I press four fingers into my forehead
and smoke a cigarette like that one writer
I was too cool to ever read. You know,
they treat you like a ******* drug?
A ******* drug!

Past lovers,
and their coat hangars,
I don't wanna talk to 'em,
I don't wanna touch 'em.

But I do;
it's easy to cut into
those veins once you've
found 'em.

*I'm sorry,
so prone
to wasting time,
I love when my head
spins on an axis
all of its own.
canto 1
I call her daddy my own. He felt nothing for her when the time had come for him to do something he fell and she felt nothing at all, nothing whatsoever. It is a cruel world, mateys, and the best thing you can do is curse God and die. Hard to ditch the pity act. Ditching is denying and there is much truth to the lie.

canto 2
Their eyes bubble in the open air, they fill to bursting and scrub until they scratch. **** drips. It's a sound that I will never forget. A sight that should be reserved for the dream world...a stench unrivaled.

canto 3
The Chinese bomber is persistent. One has to wonder why he bothers at all, seeing that his attempts have been futile up until the present moment. It's shoe week, so I guess he has his reasons. But this has gone on for far too long. If there were a way for me to stop him I guess it wouldn't hurt to try.

canto 4
Random parking lots and good God what have they done? I thought it was all over, these thoughts were through, these voices are mad. Usually it's not as upsetting. Your car door gets stuck, you know, it happens all the time. It happens every day, still you never get used to it, do you? You're always stuck inside that ugly mirror.

canto 5 (the "missing canto")

canto 6
I want to tell the world how good you are. Amazing and incredible. **** and *******. Talented and unrestrained. Honey nut Cheerios. You give it but I have a sneaky feeling you would rather be lost in a dream. A banal night vision. Comparably

canto 7
I want to make it better. I want to see you smile. What can I do? You are my own heart ripped from my chest and given wings to fly. Your smile is a lost treasure I would do anything to get it back to give it back to you, I didn't mean to take it away from you. You push me up against a stone wall and you don't even realize you're doing it. That my soul cries and prays for something real, for some kind of explanation or even an excuse would be fine right now. Instead I float. Not the way I like to float. I drift and crash, a dizzying spiral out of control, confused and dumbfounded by the realization that none of it means a ******* thing. What I thought was love turned out to be a jester's game, a joker's trick. You don't need me anymore.

canto 8
I hide myself behind a blanket of stone where you cannot spit fireballs at me without cracking an egg. Cold breeze tickles my news. It's not too chilly in this room. But the fireballs warm things up. "Blanket of stone"...what a stupid expression. Why do you have to be so hateful to me? How many times can a man say I'm Sorry without losing an eyeball?

canto 9
I have no right to feel the way I do. I don't think I can control it, though. This is one of the ****** up idiosyncrasies of my confused existence. Vanish without a trace and look for clues in the alphabet soup.

canto 10
Weariness is like a slug, a giant slug, a parasite infesting my body, hanging on and hanging out. A fire down below that waits for my imagination. My sleep patterns are getting ****** up but I'm not sure if I was sleeping or just dreaming I was awake. Under the impression that it doesn't matter? Well, you are a stone fool for thinking that way. You've never experienced the life-changer. Else you would know. But all I want to know is this: Why am I afraid of sleep?

canto 11
Things get slow. Patience is required, but I don't have any. Why does it have to be that way, o cruel dictator? You get a kick out of this ****, don't you?

canto 12
Spill your guts, maties, it's the only way you'll ever come out of this situation with even a shard of dignity intact. I know it's early and you haven't had time to adjust your eyes and your wrists for this delicate task. Go! Do it now before you lose confidence.

canto 13
We took a holiday and it was so nice. She stood there on that stage without a stitch of clothing on her voluptuous body. Baby, don't you let your hairdresser down

canto 14
Who doesn't love breakfast? Me, actually.

canto 15
I can't help it if I'm changing every day. Ask the question later, maybe my answer will be suitable. I don't think I can help you because I'm not like anyone you've ever known or will ever know or can ever know or would ever want to know and why do you keep wanting to know where I've been? I've been right here. Right where I've always been. Haven't moved a muscle.

canto 16
This is the 16th and I should be proud but the apathy seeps from my very pours. That little ******* was about to take a **** in the corner. When I picked him up to take him to the paper he dropped a couple of turds on the floor beneath me. I guess he couldn't wait.

canto 17
Sometimes things change so much that it's hard to tell if they're for the best or the worst. It is at these times that I enjoy a good evening on the water, enjoying my yacht and eating peanuts from another man's sack. Salted peanuts with pickled eggs and deviled ham with a side order of angel food crack.

canto 18
My wrist hurts and I've lost the will to **** socks.

canto 19
The lawn chair has been placed under extreme scrutiny. It's rocking motion is being scientifically tested and arranged for packaging. The physics of this miracle are in the process of logistical infiltration. You'd be surprised at how useful a rocking lawn chair can be in a world tangled in war. It's a good place to relax. For paranoids, that is.

canto 20
Bird feathers of a different post, it has never made a lick of sense and the promises made were broken. Who was that man in the bird suit? Why was he making all those funny noises? I'll have to investigate. Lawd have mercy I do believe I've **** my pants.

canto 21
Don't come crying to me if you feel misunderstood. I can read right through you and I know that all you're doing is fishing for a compliment. You will not receive one from me, Salty Dog, not because you don't deserve one. You probably do. But not from me. Perhaps you should take up your case with Hoda Kotbe. Who knows but that you might look really, really good on television. Just remember to feed the dog before you leave. He gets hungry. But he doesn't miss you. I don't mean to break your heart, but the rational man within me is very convincing when he tells me you are a real pickle.

canto 22
Those comments are found particularly offensive in light of the situation in the Gulf. You need to regulate your interest in beans. One day you'll fly to the Middle East looking for peace and all you will find are demons like the ones who raised so much hell in "The Exorcist". You don't want that, do you? Settle for Ranch Style and leave the diplomacy to the masters.

canto 23 (the "lost" canto)
I wouldn't wish this on a barrel full of monkeys. They say that time heals all wounds and I suppose it does. No "if"s, "and"s or "but"s. Don't believe me? Listen to 'em snarl. They're hungry for blood and sandwiches. I owe you nothing, so perhaps I'll send you a good time from New York. You gotta love a trapeze artist.

canto 24
I'm trying my best to change the world but the fact remains that the human race does not deserve the kind of tender loving care that I'm well known for. This holiday event will not include high temperatures or the kind of crap the weather people try to sell you.

canto 25
******* Valhalla. This is how it always seems to wind up, isn't it, Pinnochio? Just when you think things are getting better, BAM, ****** up again.

canto 26
You know you've reached a severe point of boredom when you switch to the Daystar Network and find yourself singing along to the bogus faith healers. Pecans on that one, please.

canto 27
Plug away, Sailor. Keep plugging away. When you get there you can say you plugged away with as much vim and vigor as a much larger man. Slough it off, O Great one. Keep sloughing it off. When you get there you can say you sloughed it off with as much skill and empathy as one might expect from a lizard. Or a monster frog.

canto 28 (the "twenty-eighth canto")
Come, look at my incredible collection of dice. Right next to my collection of mice. Next to that bowl of rice. Sugar and spice, everything nice. My head's full of lice. Don't think twice, just break the ice. Pup your puppy dog in the freezer.

canto 29
My toes are cold and so is my nose. I should be concerned with this situation but, strangely, I could care less. There are so many other, more important things to worry about. Like how many frosted flakes are in that box over there. And is there any milk left? And is it the real deal or that phony 2%? 1%? Skim milk is even worse. If it gets down to that point I'll save the money and use tap water. Don't think for a moment that I won't.

canto 30
Colored pencils expect risque answers to tame pencils. Unfortunately the quality of superior eggs is relative to the ice cream that has dripped down your shirt. You're starting to smell bad and I would highly recommend soaking in vinegar for an hour or six.

canto 31
There are times when I wish the planet would implode and **** every living thing into a void. I don't wanna die, but if I'm gonna I want everyone else to come with me. I'm tired of hearing about God's word. But even more so John Hagee's special gift for your love offering of any amount, the super duper Bible verse audio player, with selected passages read by the man himself. You can leave him behind.

canto 32 (the "same as the 31st" canto)
There are times when I wish the planet would implode and **** every living thing into a void. I don't wanna die, but if I'm gonna I want everyone else to come with me. I'm tired of hearing about God's word. But even more so John Hagee's special gift for your love offering of any amount, the super duper Bible verse audio player, with selected passages read by the man himself. You can leave him behind.

canto 33
Yazaa, yazaa, yazaa I told you I was gonna steal that car. You didn't think I had the guts, did you? But look who's laughing now! That guy with the big flower in his pocket must really feel like **** right now, realizing that his awesome vehicle is no longer in his possession. Maybe get an ice cream cone, maybe feel better.

canto 34
Come out of your hidey-hole, scurvy dog. Rat scabies be breathing down your neck and it's cold and old and you'll do as you're told. Pinch back that stray lock of hair, O Queen of Sheba. You shall spend the rest of your days parked on a green chariot overlooking Lake Erie

canto 35
You could have given me a reason for the season. Instead you had nothing to offer but a huge chunk of pepperoni that had mold growing all over it. Admittedly it was delicious but surely you could have come up with something a bit more expressive of the tender emotions I inspired within your fluttering heart.

canto 36
The prospect of a news reporter calling you a crack head based on information gleamed from your Internet social network profiles is quite terrifying, but when you tie the noose you might as well make sure it was time well spent. It's a shame you shaved your head because the painful truth is that now you bear a striking resemblance to Telly Savalas.

canto 37
Energy. That's what is required. And not just the kind of energy you can get from sugar, caffeine and butter. If it were that easy you could be **** sure that the Catholic Church would be the first in line to canonize it. They have a burning desire to fall off the wagon. "Which wagon?" you may ask. The one with the ice cream, of course. Don't be a fool.

canto 38 (a "short" canto)
If boredom is a sea in which one can easily sink into and drown in, I must be swimming the Atlantic.

canto 39
When the dog barks like that it's a sure bet that he's been neutered in the last few days. It's a sad and sorrowful sound that is only recognized by **** knockers in the deep woods.

canto 40
I could stare at the bars of this prison for the rest of my life. Okay, that's *******.

canto 41
Who was it that once said time is the only reliable concept in the universe? Oh, wait. That was me

canto 42
They tell you to wait. That's what it's all about. Wait, wait, wait, wait until I can almost feel my hair turning gray. The estimated time is currently number 7 the estimated hold time is 4 minutes, thank you for your patience. Well, you're welcome, comrade.

canto 42
I've only to surrender you to the world, lie down and wait for it to crush me.

canto 43
If I can only keep it together...if I can only hold it together this one time, I know the gravy train will come my way. Would it do any good to pray? This isn't the first time that enlightenment and illumination have reared their blessed heads. Would that I could live within them this time.

canto 44
Have I told you lately how much I hate to wait? Thinketh not that the Chair has lost it's financial imbalance, the very thread of chocolate that brought you here. It is still a very important and, some would say, a hot topic regardless of the amount of grime, sweat, blood and V8 juice is spilled on it's ivory shaped pear seat.

canto 45
The shadows turn into cloaks, dark itchy woolen capes that enfold the nothingness beneath them, the nothingness of being. You could have worked a little longer and a little harder on that one, amigo.

canto 46
It's been awhile but my wrist still hurts and I've written the word "moon" on the back of my hand with a Sharpie.

canto 47
I'm movin' this **** to WordPress. No I'm not. **** WordPress. Press WordFuck. Word FuckPress. On and on and on and on and not the least bit clever or entertaining. But I do like steaks.

canto 48
I swear to God I wish I had never taken that first hit of ****. Look what it's done to me. After so many years, I guess I was only fooling myself. Or maybe I was so dumbed down that it didn't seem to matter. But now things have changed. And I can do nothing about it. Dump a can of Campbell's Chunky Soup into a bowl, throw it into the microwave, let 'er go for three minutes, let 'er cool down in the oven for a couple more, stir in a quarter cup of Tabasco sauce, let 'er cool down for a little while longer, mix in a ****-load of Cheez-It reduced fat crackers and then go to ******* town. Go to ******* town, I say, **** the stoner days.
Looks to ****.
Blood being the only fuel to her thrill.
Wicked attitude is often too much.
*******, ******* to the touch.
She'll reel you in with the face of angel.
But with the click of a pen she could turn the tables.
Travis Green Aug 2018
An immense circle of thoughts was clouding
my brain in this room of reconfigured dimensions,
the spinning ceiling fan whirling into a windmill,
the ******* floors breaking into a wave of sharpened
metaphors, the expressionless curtains filled with fear
and crashing scenery, a dark hollow surface converging
in a rhythm of insane beats, imprisoned noted drumming,
disentangled sentences, shattering subjects, compressed
conjunctions and compounds accelerating into an eternity
of uncolored existences, as I stare at the isolated sky,
swollen stars diverging in a broken pattern of faded worlds,
the breathless moon sunken in a domain of interchangeable
languages, meaningless mazes, chopped consonants,
crumbling dreams, everything shifting in a sea of diminishing
whirlpools, while I drifted into a realm of uncaged thoughts,
a crushing cycle of unbalanced worlds, dizzy and senseless
paragraphs bleeding into timeless realities.  My eyes are
plummeting and shackled in drumbeating rhetoric, lost logos,
swallowed pathos, enveloped ethos, rainless cheeks, cloaked chests,
handcuffed arms, square root hips disassembling into deferred
depictions, distilled dreams, shadowed feet hardly more than a
poetic sound, a sore scrawled letter stretched in ragged angles,
stinging, helpless horizons.  I gazed at the shattered glass on
the kitchen floor, how its cracking vibration rumbled inside
my veins, how its impossible syllables blazed my soul,
the burning air around my inner being suffocating in Saturn,
vanishing in Venus, exploding on Earth, every ****** debris
splitting in horrid labyrinths, a screaming depth hidden in
disguise.  I glanced around at the broken wall where
my drunken dad fists where imprinted, the mangled wood
hanging in drugged vowels, the rotten symmetry disappearing
in chalky chambers, roughly lined hues declining without a trace,
as I reflected on the series of events that transpired, the way I
could hear the slamming door raging inside my vessel,
enflamed flaming verbs hovering in high rhymes,
hardened adjectives, destroyed derivatives, disintegrating
equations, the way his bladed feet dragged across the floor,
every reverberating step drowning the sunken space between us,
unwritten surroundings trapped in the atmosphere, confined in a
cloud of inconsolable galaxies, the raging fire stained ***** bottle
wedged between his grubby hands, as I could smell the reeking
breath sifting out of his mouth onto my monotonous flesh,
the same ruthless flow traveling in stuttering nouns, drowning
my heart in Neptune, while I listened to his blazing bloodshot
words, You are nothing without me!  You are worthless!  
You are just a filthy *****!  I wish you would die!  The rising
diction clenched every part of my frame, the way I could breathe
in the asphalt in his tasteless lips, a dying aroma that made me feel
like I was a featureless street seeping into underground dungeons, undone, a destroyed beauty shotgunned.
Lucy Tonic Jul 2012
You’ve got your ragtime, got the blues
Got country, rock, dubstep, each a different hue
Hip-hop, rap, Americana, funk
Disco, electronica, they all go bump
Indie, groove, folk and heavy metal
Screamo, emo, punk, they’re for the rebels
Pop, classical, tribal, thrash
Dark wave, bluegrass, techno, acid
Garage, roots, acoustic, dance
Alternative, jazz, *******, trance
Afrobeat, christian, reggae, jam
******-tonk, surf, ska, big-band
Ambient, industrial, club, tin pan alley
But who’s ever heard of plow music?
Edna Sweetlove Oct 2014
Spring is in the air and so is married love;
For marriage is a gift from up above.
Holy wedlock offers one unending joy
Which all the sands of time will ne'er alloy:
Once you're married both of you are free
To get stuck into some adultery.
From now on each new fornication
Will have an extra-marital relation.
So go and get your neighbours' tongues a-wagging:
With some adulterous randy ******* *******.
*Ah! que j'aime une nuitée chaude de fornication
(tellement, tellement mieux que la *******).
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
/                           beelzebub
    (given employs the spider a posteriori
and spiderweb a priori, and then back
into a bicemeral reverse psyche-analogy -
the id est contra the id erat -
             but there is no latin revival -
given that the latin encoding has been
translated into a.i. algorithms...
             forget putting the pandora
into a box into a box into a box,
   into an etc. or what is a russian
cultural artefact... forget it...
           a black fly would not take upon
itself to make a dustbin, a *******
maggoty brothel, like a green bottle fly
might... black flies have character,
               they're the ones that take
to tango, with spider architecture,
akin to the theological spider analogy
about an ad infinitum a priori argument)

   a bit like watching
a black fly - "washing" itself -
rubbing it's front limbs
together, "attempting"
to start a fire...

      god, those awful
green bottle hypers -
  with maggot excesses -
in a potential well
expressed into practice -

black flies?
     i can entertain them -
like i might entertain spiders
that do not require aquariums -
the non-exotica types...

so i sometimes find myself
rubbing my hands together,
like a catholic amounting
to an altruistic prayer symbolism...

so kommen faust,
  so kommen faust,
                   so ist pseudo-faust -
or rather:
             deutschland jr.
              deutschland sr.
and if that wasn't the case?
    oh me, little old slavic

i still can't explain rubbing
my hands together,
like a black fly might...
   keeping standards of where
to take a maggoty dump's
worth of procreation value...

black flies?
compared to the others?
the priests of the whole
     i sometimes wish they were
   so i could call them: the cardinals...

   not to be, god said otherwise...
but i can fathom the priesthood,
like i can fathom -
   an aspiration of a sleeping
samurai, devoid of the zodiac
   encouraged to make
chiromancy initiatives
                        (readings) to alleviate,
******* monotheism.
Ayeshah Apr 2013
I step up to the curtains
they weren't open yet,
but I could hear the melody of the music
I listen curiously,
the man performing before me spoke,
he used words to address me as a
Afrocentric --Soultress
with a little bit of Boriqua aurora ,
I bow my head and laugh.
The curtains lift as I walk out & up
I open my mouth softly
I tells of lovers wrapped entwined entangled
sheets become hiding places as lips taste of honey
from valleys of lustrous milky--juices
from a our oasis
of ******* *******,
overflowing valleys fill to the
brink with sweets raunchiness hehehe...
I step to the right to
look at the crowd
making sure they get the effect of how he tasted
I hold the mic
I gentle massage it
while motioning
to a man sitting right in front,
he licks his lips
I then turn my head to my left
the parties sitting right up front on my left,
I speak to them of the swells of his back and how
my nails dug deep as he enter me swiftly
with his Mandingo shaft...
how his blue eyes seeped into my brown eyes
he drove deeper inside of my mahogany velvet box,

a women in front crossed her legs tightly
wiggled in her seat,
I bow my head so I don't laugh,
I watch the center crown as
I explain how he  the man with this enormous
Mandingo ****
stuffs it down my throat
I **** him in choking as he trys to insert it deeper,
I'm lavishing up every bit of his essence, 
 the couple in the center hold hands even tighter
look at each other with a shared memory.
I flow with the music softly slowly
I connect with each member of my audience,
sharing with them the way he bent me over his stool inside
his photo lab
kissed between my cheeks as he spread me open
softly fingered my ***
while using the other to finger to lavishly assault
my chocolate velvety muffin,
I moaned he readily spread me,
telling me as he moved in front of me saying be still,
he tied me up to this tall stool, the crowd leans in
as if ready to hear the next verse,
I give in after a moments pause,
sharing with them how he spread my legs
tied them right after he spread
my hands on each leg of his stool.
In his photo lab he lubed up moving his hand up
his light skinned shaft,
I watched
longed for him to touch me again,
the radiance crowd
sitting on my left seemed
to be thinking as I did,
"is he going to stuff his **** back inside my mouth,"
I speak again
seeing how their all
longing to know he did in fact slowly 
walk up to me, lifting my head and saying open up baby,

I did as I was told,
the man sitting in the shadows
on my left
to be stroking his **** as
I proceed to explain in poetic
****** verses
of this tall
black man
with the
blue eyes,
he seems in tuned
so I keep speaking of how
I licked his shaft
then allowed him to slowly meticulously
his **** inside my mouth
slowly pull out again .
I tell the audience how he ***** my mouth first slowly and then like a beast, he was ready to explode I explain how he grabs the head and stops him self from *******,

I get an
from all the men in the audience
I laugh..
continued to explain
how he didn't want to just yet...
I explain how
he wanted to ready me for his assault
on my sweet *****,
using words to describe it ;
like mahogany rose buds or petals.
how his Mandingo shaft
would be his weapon...
They seem eager to know more,
I tell a tale of how this light skinned brotha had me tied and teased me in his photo lab,
explaining how he pulled out a ***** just
as big as
his manhood was
while eating me he slide it inside of me
I quivered and shook he'd stop,
it seemed right when I was about to ***,
he seem to laugh out loud at my misery,
he knew just what he was up to, the audience seemed to get deathly quite,
seems even the music died
as explained the rough treatment I received at the hands of this blue eyed light skinned devil
of a man,
He licked me even at timed used his fingers along with this *****,

I explained to my audience
how he stopped his assault
on me as he slide his Mandingo up and down
my *** teasing my *******
putting the tip of his head in and then taking it out,
I told them how he finally stopped for a second,
then he entered my *** with the ***** and slide his 12" ****
deep inside my ***** causing me to cry out,
I tried to stop him but my hands were tied and that of my ankles as well,


he moved with such force and swiftness
I couldn't utter a word,
the more he moved the more
my body betrayed me as it heated up
from the inside out as
if he ignited something new and longing within me
he moved fast and ferociously in and out of me in sync
with the enormous ***** until
I myself was begging for him not to stop,
spoke memories & fantasies out loud,
letting my audience
know how
came so close to a ****** I've never ever got to feel or come close to feeling again,
I acted as if there was more but I then kissed the mic and walked off stage ....
another night
Always Me Ayeshah ®
Copyright ©
K.C.L.N 1977 - Present YEAR(s)
**All right reserved ®
mxy Mar 2015
stripped naked in the figurative sense, I see a girl that is far overdue for a dose of joy. so much emptiness in her eyes, blood flow has become invisible. beauty. oh so much beauty in the way she cares absolutely too much for those that are unaware of her favorite color nevertheless asks how she feels every blue moon. perfectionist could quite possibly be her middle name by the way her heart beats in sync with the spontaneous moods that show their appearance every two days or so. anxiety equals a rapid beat. "if you feel worried then you must act on it" seems to be her philosophy because when she's sad and shaky the heart must go slow.
when the depression hits and vulnerability only shows its face behind closed doors im sure she would say that she feels as though she's suffocating. suffocating in the figurative sense, where everyone is there watching her but no one can differentiate heavy breathing in basketball practice from a ******* asthma attack.
so numb. she's so numb in the figurative sense. you ask her how she is and each time it's an automated "good" as if practiced hundreds of times before a theatre performance. an actress. she's an actress in the literal sense. planting a smile from ear to ear even when it's an obvious gloomy day for everyone else. she puts on a show of happiness that could very much earn her an oscar, if only she were literally in the entertainment business. I can see her falling in the way her back hunches just 10 degrees lower than it had a year ago. I would recommend a doctors appointment but im hoping she learns to fix it on her own. I'm hoping it begins to appear in someone around her that maybe she isn't as okay as she seems. this beautiful perfectionist doesn't just have bad days and doesn't just spare her low moods in spite of upsetting those around her. this beautiful perfectionist doesn't see herself as beautiful. this beautiful perfectionist is so far from perfect.
maybe if someone looked a little deeper in the literal and figurative sense, they would choose to ask, after her automated response of "good", "are you really?"
Martin Narrod Apr 2014
I trace my finger around. With red lipstick on I wear the skin of the pets I had, looking like a marigold shot through the head, my bare skin is barbed in the back. Such trouble and quiet with the wrap-around, the cross-walk, and floral shop as I browse. The white elephant in the upstairs bedroom, is making it hard for every one of us to sleep. With this Africa becomes a disease, that I unwrap from a cotton white sheet. When I breathe life is going good, under the spells of wicked and word. I like to call out in the night, so with no response I can plead for the courage to think; all the suburban philistines try to help me, but I can't tell a joke because I cannot read. Every thing amounts to being fat. Or liquidated in the most pathetic singles party for Karl Lagerfeld.

Numb fingers slur the words as I type telephone numbers that end in threes. I see a notice to be called upon, but it's hard to remember what day it is when your job only pays you in financial advice, "Don't do as I do, but please just do what I say." And I can smell that. The approach that a hunter brews in his midnight solemn cup of tea. Where a voice chimes in while a mouse runs out, dragging the corners of my eyes in a lagging meme, it doesn't do well to even be yourself sometimes, once while traveling I couldn't see. Come that morning I had left my hotel pass inside my favorite pants, black denim toting paint from a ******* shot, a picture that explains my disease.

The fifty inch fan hums an anonymous tune that when I turn quickly towards it becomes this feral baboon. And is it hardly based on fact or is it the illusions and the myths that Christopher Robins struck inside of me. With his griseous hands made of soot and of gouache, that worshipped animals that wear clothes outside. And even sometimes there are z's that transform into other creatures that hum real fast and talk out loud in nursery rhymes, a Whatsit and a Woozel are totally, too much for me. I turn the fan off and lay back down, and fight the world off with hands from another guy, much braver than I who doesn't even have tattoos but he's the top wordsmith from Buckingham. What a beautiful treat and such a magnificent surprise that the elephant lays down to die. Of course that's when my mouth dries up with smoke and my voice turns into the vanilla flavoring that everyone hates, and then too I felt like laying down to die. But I'm not 97 like I had thought I'm quite sure that I'm still alive. The white moon shines into my bedroom window at night and I pretend that I direct for the sky.
Universal Thrum Jan 2014
High speed **** generation
warped minds
strong hands
unreality stimulating, simulating
digital lights flickering
images of *******
endless variety of every kind
on demand
what has become of us
what has become of touching, romance
creepy accusations because genuine human interaction is going the way of the dodo,
Oh, he didn't follow the smooth script, no chance man
Maybe your testosterone was spent elsewhere and your vibes told the true true
either way no *** for you
the youth exploited and exploiting, insane cycles
the itch, the tingle, the curiosity, the drive for more, dopamine release
My generation had the first ******* access
point and click
no barriers can stop that drive, rooted in youthful pubescent longing
we're sick
on the digital drug

Touch me instead
bath me in your ***
not this crude moving picture
Let me drink you, taste your juice, feel you slide,
touch the walls of your world, explode them,
show the limitless illusion to boundaries, kink, *******,
stop watching, live it
chronic ******* robs us of the real intimacy,
don't drain your desire for me with this crude digital *******,
just because its there
You can touch me, not your keyboard, not this plastic and metal
I suppose you can touch yourself,
but have the imagination to fantasize
and then make it real
share your life force with a human being,
not some rag to be thrown away
Rise to your lust, conquer the animal
make its power serve
make love,
not digital mental war

— The End —