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zebra Mar 2018
sleep walking through you
dead brain with a hard ****

a man
all pretense
hiding behind your skirt
who hurt you like a cold razor bleeding
and who was hurt by you
like a bullet in the chest
your charms killer ray guns
making me collapse from the inside out
like a house in flames
screaming

left out of your dreams
oh dread
an empty shroud
with a charred mouth

who twisted your heart out
a man with a winter corpse for a soul
short ***** and dead tree eyes
who ravaged your bones
and ate your marrow with belligerence
crushing your fragrant garden
my feet pebbles and stones
trampling your bed
while you sped by me
in your new man's muscle car
sneering

you
a laughing hot *****
wearing cold silver sunglasses
and flaming lips
that ***** hearts

blacktop down
in a red fast car
like a rocket with fat Dunlap's
spewing
mud in my mouth

like me
he looked at other women endlessly
like rows of sprinkled cupcakes
for the eating
loving their form
imagining their slick glide
and wet kisses
insulting your tenderness
so you would believe in nothing
until you where an endless black pit
until i found out i needed you
and it was to late for us
your absence a lesson
that your presence could never teach
like snow in the summer

in youth, i was a deadbeat
somnambulist
struggling with angels and hellions
tedium and desire

i feel
remorse for all i have done
and did not understand
only now dusted white am i ready to love you
so please come to me
and we shall make a home
of this tortured cage
and turn it to
heavens tremulous kiss

i have finally learned my lesson
have you ?
Sam Lopez Mar 2015
We all have our demons inside of us.

I just happened to swallow the devil.
Jeremy Betts Aug 7
Pit answerless questions
Against questionless answers
The stuff no one mentions
It just sits and it festers
The best of intentions
Played out by the worst actors
Heathens and hellions
Aren't the back stabbers

©2024
Pearson Bolt May 2015
count each and every grain i
cherish them all the same
they're the only friends i have
across this endless plane of
granular particles kicked up
every so often by a storm
that shifts this desert from one
spectrum to the next like
filtering time through the sieve
of some infinite hourglass

i will drive this lumbering beast
across theses seas of sand
reclaim what they stole through duplicity
coax this hunk of junk to life
if need be to outrun the
lingering fear of inadequacy
i don't know god but i met the devil
i've been his captive for 7,000 days
a hostage of hellions obsessed
with a decadent religion of misanthropy

the shifting wind-swept dunes
my only markers on this winding road
a roguish rebel defying hegemony
manifest in maleficent misogyny
i'll strive to live not just survive in this
endless wasteland hope may yet arise
Rob Sandman Apr 2017
Chorus:
Back to the Mud! (the roar of the crowd is the beasts only food)
( The ****** Nine eyes shinin', I'm up to no good!,)
Back to the Mud!(fear starts as a trickle then you're drowned in the flood)
-I'LL BATHE IN YOUR BLOOD!

Feel the trickle of Fear in your bones take hold,
proudly I walk with my eyes Hell cold,
to the centre-a circle o' shields in the grass,
some young buck tryin to keep the hole in his ****,
dropping straight out from under him,
no wonderin-
why? you're gonna DIE cos your mouth got blunderin'
SNAP! steel trap,cause you got me skin creepin'-thinkin...
would you plant a blade while I'm sleepin'?
now you're just a seed,and this field you'll be deep in,
hold the shields up, everybody brace up,
don't hold the line-then my blades in your face up-
to the hilt, try not get kilt,
when the Nine's off the chain there'll be much blood spilt,
its Ambrosia,Ecstasy-my mother's milk,
I'll be be swimmin' in it soon,warms skin like silk...as for you(heheheheh)-you're goin

Back to the Mud! (the roar of the crowd is the beasts only food)            
( ****** Nine I'm Malign and I'm up to no good!,)
Back to the Mud!(fear started as a trickle now you're drowned in the flood)
-I'LL BATHE IN YOUR BLOOD!

I've killed Named Men-Feared men from North and South,
a little runnel of **** runnin' off at the mouth,
wouldn't usually rouse up the beast in my chest,
but now I'm back -you'll be soon on yours gettin' blessed-
you can pray for the day to sway and go your way,
but "ya gotta be realistic" I always say,
you've less chance than a snowflake kissin' a Forge,
as I go to my work on ya-the crowds gorge
rises as one, feel the kiss of of the sun,
on your face...tick tick...time freezes in place,
(as the cold in my soul drifts out to my fingers,
it always happens to me-time just lingers)
,
I start remembering then I start SCREAMING,
Friends,Wife Family-Insides Steaming,
used to be man now they whisper "a DEMON"
hand in a fire don't question the Burnin'-It's time to go...

Back to the Mud! (the roar of the crowd is the beasts only food)            
( ****** Nine's in the Line and I'm up to no good!,)
Back to the Mud!(fear starts as a trickle now you're drowned in the flood)
-I'LL BATHE IN YOUR BLOOD!



Axe blade swoops past me as I fade through,
like a ghost of the mist sinnin' skin clad blue,
while yours-soon RED,then soon DEAD,
wind chimes whistle through the holes in your head,
as I start giggling you stare frightened,
The Titan inside me starts ridin' the Lightnin'
skin steamin' heat Volcanic,
channellin' Hellions as Sheep start to panic

blind terror in the face of blind rage,
Built my crew up from Heroes who've marched off the page
of the History books, some fell to left hooks,
the rest I tore lumps out of til they gave up...
(why did I hold my last blow those ten comrades over?
when since then I've set good friends pushin' up clover?)

I'm the Red Rover rangin' your skin is my hood,
won't be happy til someone gets lucky and puts me right BACK IN THE MUD
Obviously this track is inspired by Joe Abercrombie's First Law Trilogy and I want to thank him for the inspiration,
GO READ HIM!
more Grim Dark Poetry coming soon
Don Bouchard Mar 2015
Homeward headed, I was driving my way
Down I-95 past the Old Mill Way in a yawn,
Turning the radio on and looking to play
Something to keep my consciousness on.

Few cars out at 1:00; it had been a long day;
I'd stopped off at Charlie's to sit with a friend
To blow out the kinks and let myself say
What a **** the company minion had been.

Four hours burned off like the late morning haze;
When I'd sobered back steady, was able to drive,
I paid off my tab, left my friends in a daze,
Headed the Jeep to the feed ramp for old 95.

At one in the morning, the traffic was thin;
When I heard Harleys roaring behind,
I scoped the mirror for the lanes they were in,
Double-blinked then to see if I was road-blind.

No bikers behind, no bikers beside, but sound
Like a squadron blared loud, and I felt a cold chill,
Thought better of having the last couple rounds,
Wished I'd stayed an hour before I'd settled my bill.

I glanced to the side, though the sound was all 'round,
Saw a glimmer of green glowing chrome in the dark,
And fire ethereal from pipes blooming sound,
From a Shovelhead, barely visible, flat black and stark.

But the rider's appearance emptied my chest:
Dark goggles, full beard and a gray flowing mane,
Black leather with signs on his tattery vest
And a number embroidered below the man's name:

"Rider 88" glowed red through the gloom,
A ******* burned on the withering arm:
"We rise again!" I heard a voice of doom,
"We're meeting at the old red barn!"

He wasn't alone, though I couldn't see
The posse he rode with, the pack he was in;
I felt a squadron of hellions run through me,
Concussive, incessant, their rattling din.

And then, except pavement beneath the Jeep's tires,
The howling of wind and crackling "Cotton-eyed Joe,"
Nothing but the road after midnight, no sirens or fires,
And me, shaking hands on the wheel, alone.
Ghost stories....
Ethan Grothues Jan 2013
The Elder Supremes are staggering
Under the Pillar of Superposition—

They who stream emotionless minds, streaming
    Scripture as alcohol to tea-head Kneelers, praying
        The elixir of Olympus isn’t turpentine; tarnishing
            The great, drear light of child-minds like onions in the Sun
Molding through its layers; the taste extinguished—No poetry Survives!
    They who crackle doom over whitened rooms
        Filled with the white coats of Nature’s secret Heroes—
            The best minds, sagging like iced-over limbs—
Made dim by a false Heavenly connection.
    Oh! They deprived the gears of Grandfather Night,
        And deemed Him wicked in his flickering sight.
            They who are Hollow, yet still colossal; these spinning Hellions,
This Machinery of Older Skeletons;
    That steams and heats and comes to life for an innocent
        Bottom, with the name that lies in Sin of Archaic Text,
            Vexed, hexed and expressed in all Prisons and War—
Prisons and War reverberate like bad music in the name of a doG;
    A name the Sun once owned and cast below to a dimmer Star,
        It billowed and screamed:  Keep it in the ******* Church!

Now it comes to Damning the Beast:
“Get thee behind me Savior, for the Microscope is over Prayer.”
TheGardenOfWords Dec 2021
Bones decayed
Muscle & skin flayed

Near decade long agony endured
Endless wait for no remedy procured

Persons laugh and gibe
Hellions unable to repent or apologize

Lovers leave or never give a chance
"Meeting you was an unfortunate circumstance"

21 years of life lived
Nothing but difficult and destructive
Thought my first proper poem on here should be about myself
Seclusion

Tonight is a dark night
Here within the garden of the deceased-
In this place where wounded spirits who have lost their sanity
Are banned from the world outside,
Here in this desolate place where nobody sees the light of day.
I am alone where the walls are barren and
The floors have yellowed-
***** stained and tiles are cracked-
I stare at the ceiling through a curtain of tears falling from bloodshot eyes-
Moribund, I cannot escape past memories of merciless abuse which are colliding with
Recollections of profound neglect buried in the depths of a graveyard of despair-
As in a scene from a tragic film, I have become the infamous star,
I hear the wall clock outside steadily ticking
Rhythmically in time with hellions screaming from inside the fortress of my mind-
My emaciated body is robed in a sallow gown and
I can feel serpents twisted about my calves constricting.
This is a dark night-
This is a dark night where I have lost my grasp on veracity-
This is a dark night where I have been separated from the outside world-
This is the garden of the deceased, where
Phantasmal gravestones surround my dissolving soul-
My mind is in a wretched state and my thoughts are bellowing lunacy-
My cries for help have been silenced.
My worm infested brain is decaying-
I can only hear above the screaming stillness
The ticking of the wall clock outside, and
Threatening voices emanating from inside of my mind-
Putrid scents of rotting corpses infiltrate this cell and
I vociferate madness as the dirges that echo about my mind attempt to deafen me-
Neither moonlight nor sunlight can penetrate this windowless chamber-
Within this garden of the deceased where my spirit has just perished-
This is a dark night and I have been banned from the world outside-
In a desperate search for relief my outstretched arms attempt
To reach towards heaven as I can feel
My dissolving spirit sinking through the cracks in the decrepit linoleum tiles below-
I believe I can hear angels singing ‘Abide with me’ mourning the death of my soul-
The wall clock outside ticks on and on as I have lost my battle with fate-
I have become a lone cadaver buried here in the garden of the deceased-
This is a dark night where time has unobtrusively slipped away.

Claudia Krizay
W D Haven Nov 2014
Your mind,
to me,
is an undiscovered treasure.
Furtive,
I try,
to gaze into your soul
I like what I see,
no judgements or opinions
promises and hellions
slide right off my coat

This moment that we share
may last until the sun has risen
Surly or debonair,
Time decides
sporadic rhythms

We've tossed our fear and care,
Relinquished expectations
Green and firm and fair,
I forget my suppositions
Montay Henson Mar 2012
Grim Raven- vaunt at the right time
To salvage my corpse from my last lie
I honored my fractured vision
And forgot my righteous mission  

I played imprudently with demons
Brewing many wagers with the abyss
I slipped at the cap ‘sheaf of madness
And was beset by my fellow hellions

They all want me to help them
And can’t see that I’m a weapon
It’s obligatory I’ll eventually explode
I’m sorry this was never my goal
Melissa Blair Apr 2013
Once again, I'm forced to neglect my chance of happiness to instead give it to others.

Once again, I sit and listen to perpetual moaning about the differences between who I am and who I should be.

Why should I abide his desire to put me under? He digs himself a deeper hole each day and unconciously awaits his own bloodstained burial.

Is is wrong that I don't care whether I allow him to breathe or dump his stiff carcass in the nearest river?

I've never been tempted by ****** but lately, the vision of his lifeless eyes has been swimming in my head like the souls of a thousand unavenged hellions.

Hell hounds howl my name as my wrath is unleashed upon his wreckless soul and screams fill my ears as my vision turns a sickly yet thrilling scarlet hue.

Believe me, sweetheart, you've been begging for this for too long and when you turned on me with your petty, insolent disgrace of an excuse for breathing, I relished the thought of ripping your heart from your chest with my bare hands.

You don't want to know the things I'd love to do to you. You don't want to hear the chilling screams from my nightmares which seem more of a blissful dream lately.

This is my last warning... next time you wrongly decide to size up to me, you'll realize your mistake... but it'll be too late. By the time you notice the lack of oxygen in your lungs, your ashes will already be scattered across your mother's dinner like parmesan cheese.

That's it. I'm done. Rant over.
zebra Jul 2017
there is a place
in fetish land
where breathing idols
live below the belt
their busy mouths unveiled
soiled shimmering lips yielding
warm spit
thick and wet
the crimson flood
is the flood of love

Dark Hazel
plays
legs spread
like a baby in a bathtub
wiggling her toes
and circulating flesh
in vaporous waters
with scarlet rings through her nose
and smarmy Gods command
neoprene priestesses
***** with a switch blade
and an ***** to die for

color me on my knees
grateful
**** lovin derrière kisser
reading comics
from
the book of *****
while she queen's glare
through ***** party masks
jitterbug arcane rituals glitter
hellions in love
you can smell the volcanoes

malleable baby dolls
with tiger skin bindings
evoke eager spires
through tribal unga bunga
shimmy **** and ***
drenched in yearning
night fires and sacrificial rants
*****'s like fat plums weeping pink milk
mouthed terrorized ******* drooling

tarnished yoga's
of dancing feet scorched
inferno's of pleasure
vanquishing the temples of normalcy

the sky is red with rituals
souls set free
in a **** for all
like a cluster of stars spooling a galaxy
MikeyP Nov 2016
Slowly, I can sense the caliginous feeling heavy over my eyes.
I tell myself to stray from hortatory hellions, yet still I am charmed by the falsely intriguing happiness...  
Darkness is addictive
Just like a drug, it's hard to come back once you're hooked in.
Can you relate?
W a i s t i n g  a w a y in a world of
Hellions bent on the worldly
Extortion of the Beautiful
Rarities, Bewitching their realities and leaving
Exposed Bones and Broken Hearts on a
Dim evening, on the corner of a sidewalk.
Insubstantial, empty Words cause
Discord in Souls whose
Temperament is pure and Kind just to be
Hit in the face by Cruel Monsters.
Earnest faces of
Young Children were once
Glowing and Knowing no pain besides scrapes and papercuts,
Only to be s h a t t e r e d by this Unholy Desolation.
I wrote this less than a week ago. Inspired by a myriad of people and things.
Elizz Oct 2019
Shiver
    Patter
Pitter

Ombre colored
         Gout
           Pressed flush to bone

Hellions march
Witch tip  
        To cat tail

Rift n eager
           Expectations above meager
                                        Grammarly says this texts sounds dissatisfying

Ouch  

So upon couch I settle
Lights ground to the pestal
Twill flicker no more

So no knocks at the  door
Happy Halloween everyone be safe! (And aware Big Brother is watching)
Miah Dearing Oct 2013
We are new 

Original 

We are the sun 

And 
The stars. 

The destroyers 

And the creators. 

We are the hellions 

And the angels 

We
love 

Live 

And die for the ones 
We love.

We are the generation

Of the 
Creative. 

The unique. 

The ones that
will make a difference. 

The ones that care. 

We are the ones

That 

Will

Change 

The 

World.

-m.d.
Phoebe Apr 2018
The best part about these boys I grew up with

Full of clammy hands and half-eaten hotdogs offered out bitten end first

Is that they always made everything into an adventure.

It was always a grand expedition with these boys;

One did not simply go outside to play frisbee

Oh, no, you had to come up with new rules, new bases, a new game even

And nobody went to the kitchen for goldfish

No, you hunted down the best fish-shaped crunchy treats from older sister’s back pack with two standing guard just in case

The best part about these boys is that they made and outing out of anything, anything at all

And I miss that.

Because they don’t eat goldfish anymore.

The frisbee has long since been lost and forgotten along with the rules to the game

Along with the willingness to be recklessly happy

Along with sloppy smiles and real laughs

It’s all been lost. And I’m trying to find it again
CJ M Sep 2015
Hellion Romance
I am the waters that brace against land barriers to force them down enough for me to devour them, then conquer them and force them to submit to the weight of my aquatic life.
Ask Hawaii.
You are the moon, it is by your hand that I can do what I do, for you are what forces me to rise to your bidding or sink and sulk away with the tide.
We are partners in crime.
Partners in love.
Partners in terroristic excitement that we call our lives.
Hellions in romance
I'm not sure at all
Ian Sharkfish Nov 2014
Last time I promised to tell you a story
but couldn't, for then fell the nights veil
These are the words of horror, not of glory,
so be braced, it is time for a tale:

- - -

The Goddess, poisoned of mind
had a plan of which to me she did not tell
She would help me, so my love I could find
and then send us together to Hell

Out of envious love she would do this
and out of furious rage
She would rip us off of our bliss
and place us in a fiery cage

- - -

She appeared to the edge of the pond
and spoke these words through tears
"You know not that of You I am fond.
Love me now, or face your deepest fears!"

She understood my answer as I grasped my sword
and cast a dark spell, then took a step back
Thru mists of time came the words of the Dark Lord:
"Welcome to my domain." and all went black

- - -

We were spun in time and spun thru place
we were spun and spun and spun
We were spun before the Dark Lords face
to a world void of golden rays of the Sun

Hellions fell upon us, they fell with numbers too high
pressing hard, almost to our death it came
Back to back we fought, my Love and I,
but suddenly it stopped, the wild now tame

Upon us he gazed, then upon us he spoke
as he strode from the Shadows of Flame
"Be it final death to whom takes the first stroke,
hear me now, for only once I make this claim!"

We did battle with the Lord of Agony and Grief
we battled, and nigh was our win
I struck his chest and for a moment so brief
Time stopped; as if to touch His chin

Then came a flash that blinded our eyes
the Lord lay, breathing with a dying tone
with his last breath he gave us his prize
"Just look Beyond the fire and you shall be home."

This we did, and indeed we did with joy
and true his words, for we passed the Veil;
That day marked also the birth of our Boy
but his deeds, they are yet another tale
machina miller Jan 2016
carrion swells
amassed hoard
cemented shutters
itching hellions' fingernails
mansion fever
Patrick Oct 2019
There is a sound that many of us hear throughout our lives. It’s a keening, a high-pitched call, the rumble of our names on the lips of monsters and hellions. They cry out from the pit, screaming for your blood, for the things that makes you whole and sane.

They grapple amongst themselves, luring us closer the outs edge with lies and deception and cunning.

They terrify us, because we know not from where they come and why they crave our blood.

But then, someone, some words, some situation, or some revelation comes along and carries you to the Pit’s edge and shines a light down on the things that cry out your name in the night.

And as you peer down, you see the monstrosities that pine for your life and a horrible realization strikes. Underneath the claws, the serrated fangs, and the leathery wings, the monsters all wear the same face as you, as dark and grotesque as they are.

One is called destitution, one called pain, and another called self-loathing. All familiar faces after all. Faces you thought you would never have to see because you buried them in a pit and covered them over with bad habits and denial. You scream, YOU CAN’T HAVE ME, yet they continue to wail until the syllables of your name sound like a horrendous thing.
What is the meaning of life?
Is it to love and be loved
Would that be all there is?
To have a house and a nice car
Three little hellions roaming around
A beautiful wife with beautiful hair
And eyes that sparkle throughout the night
You pump weights and are a vegetarian
She fixes herself up to make you
And everyone notice her
To say how beautiful she looks
And your kids are well behaved
Good years lies ahead

Is that all there is?

I feel purpose have to be involved
If that's one's purpose then have at it
I've experienced all the wrong things
And yet I pray it will help others out
What am I praying to?
Is there a God that hears me
A personal creator who will help me
Through my own experience I have to say yes
He wants me to choose his will
And love him as he loves me
But through my excursions through life
I really don't know what love is
I feel it's putting others first instead of myself
But I tend to be extremely selfish
Can I escape the trap
The one that has me wrapped up in myself?
Can I put my energies to do God's will
And not my own?
All these questions are good to ask
But what am I doing about that?
Don Bouchard Jul 2020
The questions exist:
Whether lock down in this space
Preserves the life or just saves face?;
Why quarantine locks healthy up
While hellions riot and disrupt?

She's 92 and all alone
Stuck inside a nursing home
"No visitors," the Guvner said,
And fear became the COVID dread.

"Bring out your bodies!"
"Bring out the dead!"

She walks a bit from bed to door,
Must wear a mask, if nothing more.

Alone, she rests, though it's a chore
To see faceless helpers on her floor.
Her handlers? Gowned, masked, and visored
As if she's the one who's virus scoured.

"How will I speak my 3000 words a day?"
My mother asked on the phone today.
"Speak now to me," I edged words in,
And listened to my Mom, cooped in.

If COVID doesn't **** her, empty hallways might;
She tries to speak to anyone who passes nigh,
But they are in a hurry to cancel someone's light,
And so the nights and days go crawling by.

"Bring out your bodies!"
"Bring out the dead!"
Trying times. I am 1000 miles away from my mother who is experiencing COVID quarantine, though she is healthy. We couldn't visit her if we were there, and we try to speak with her every day. She is one of the rare ones who has a Chromebook and who writes every day, so she has it better than others who are isolated and suffering. God help us all.
bulletcookie Feb 2023
furiously they appear like apparitions
straining their engines and wheels
belted steel, industrial rubber, woven demon fibers
crossing white broken lines in darkness
weaving frozen traffic in seconds
a nightmare of TV movies, ‘juegos de muerte’
while horror etches into glass faces, oblivion

this highway stretches across a city
concrete and metal ready to explode
into oil black, blood red, eighty-seven proof fire
arms, legs, torsos, leaning into death’s curves
steering too slow, certain motion’s end
gathering random unwilling victims
just for the fanatical flight of hellions

-cec
Through tangled wight-lit
weald she wends, one hand
on veinous sword
For in this boscage
fiend does grow, in bile-
brimmed pustules nest.

Beware the night wood,
bladed lady, it’s paths
do twist and gambol
And hellions of the dim
do know its ev’ry
maze-cursed bent.


“Oh come to me!” she
sings out high, into
aphotic brake.
“My vein-sword fears no
devilry. No imp or
soul-baned blight.”

With ringing snick her
blade does flick, to warble
through the murk.
It’s long vein fills
with fiend-blood spilled
from conniving lurk.

Beware the night wood
bladed lady, though first
foe has fallen.
There are still miles
of treachery afore
you find your love.


The dim around her
quickly thickens, with
creatures best not named.
They have come squelching
from fetid pool, from
rotted bole and fen.

Too many for a
veinous sword swung by
skillful warrior,
though still she stands, her
shoulders square, to face
the squalling din.

“Halt!” Calls a voice of
crackling ice from grim
and toothy smile.
“I’ve come to proffer,
lady knight, a means
for your escape.

“Your maiden fair, within
my lair has pressed on
me a wager.
If in fair combat,
I take your life,
she’ll be mine forever.

“And if in turn I
am the one who falls
in ****** failure.
You’ll be hers till
end of time, your strength
ever greater.”

Beware the night wood,
bladed lady, and of
deals forged in the dark.
Though bound by word,
wise ones know, the Night King
can’t be trusted.


For quite a time the
lady hummed in careful
deliberation.
The night-king watched
motionless for her
tiny grim-faced nod.

Then with ringing snick
blades did flick, and warble
through the murk
and history’s greatest
battle was fought for
ghouls within the dark.

When the Night King fell
it was with
a subtle grin of triumph
As fiend applied a
black-thorn crown to
lady’s sweat-streaked brow.

The bladed lady
did achieve
her heart’s earnest goal.
She was wed, ‘neath
dripping bough to the
one she’d come to find.

But while in death, her
foe was free, she
could never leave.
From deepest copse
she still rules, Night Queen
of the night wood.
Call me hope.
Before we turn to goblins
Internal monsters.
Rummaging and mustering
Through marshes
In the swamplands.
Talking in demonic
Prophecies
And rocking monstrous
******* mosh pits.
It's a gathering of college kids
With bottles tucked
Amongst the ballsweat.
And the scent of
Problems in my nostrils
Smell like monastary
Organs in this gospel


Run for the record.
I check. Devils
On the daily.
I make impeccable
Choices.
Whisper **** no.
Yes. Or maybe
Till the grave that
Has my name
Is strewn with canadian daisies.
I'll be gladly.
Calling shots
Like chicken pox.
Itch on a baby...
You *******
Chachi looking
Lady
Just try to
Disobey me.
I'll be there to drag
You in the flames
*** hell cant keep
On waiting.
That's the apomorphic nature
Of the
hellions
We been raising
One day their just a baby
Next. Their giving
Helpless old ladies
Rabies.
I said. Hell cant keep
On waiting baby
Break a leg
You ******* ancient *****
Just writing bull ***** as usual. ******* funny as ****. Good night.

— The End —