My auspicious and audacious assault augments the annoyance of aged accomplices.

My bodacious broadside of boffolas berates and buffaloes bros beneficently.

A classy crusade Clownishly chiseling and criticizing childishness.

A devilish ******* of dillydallying dullards; devoutly denying dimwits the dulcet dream of defiance.

Excessive, exuberant edification, ebulliently eliminating education-evictees.

A fair-weather frolic in flippancy with furious fools floundering in flawed foppishness.

Gregariously grating glum guys gleefully, growing grander garnishes of gripping gallantry gaily.

Heckling hooligans highlights my heavenly humor.

Irreverently irking irritable, iniquitous idiots in inestimably infuriating and incredible instances.

A jolly, jocular **** joking with jerks.

A kreiger kicking kleptomaniacs in the karyotype. (Cut me some slack, this is 'k', after all.)

A ludicrous, laughing lambaste of lollygagging lunatics, loftily loosing luscious lunacy on lucky losers.

A magnificent masterpiece of malfeasance, a monstrous, malevolent mission of massive misfortune for the minor minors missing no malicious missive.

A noxious, narcissistic niggling of nitwits, niftily nixing the noisome naivete of niggardly nobs.

An offhand, off-color outburst of outlandish observations to outclass the obnoxious overtures of obsequious offal.

A pragmatic prediction of possible platitudes or platypi, a placid parley of pyrotechnic pleasantries provoking Pyrrhic protections by prurient prats.

A quixotic quibble quarreling with a queer quarry.

Ribald ribbing, ruining the robust reality of the repreachful, repugnant, and rapacious with risque ridiculousness.

A silly, slighting slander of sluglike slavishness, succinctly sinking sloppy simpletons sourly.

Tracing the titillating talent of towing tyranny to towering terrors to tactless, togless, terrapins of the times.

Lately I've felt held back by a lot of constraints.
Burdens on my mind that I can't contain.
I want to express myself through words but it's getting difficult.
Because, frankly, **** rhyming, and **** watching my language.
**** all this depression and being hypocritical.
**** those lines I just wrote and **** how I feel about this poem.
**** how I came into this wanting to be reflective and negative.
**** it, in the words of my mother, "**** it all".
Just try to have a good time with your life before it's all gone.
It can be pretty ******* hard, but it's worth it.
Whenever life confronts you with obstructions, get the **** over it.
It's YOUR life, YOUR decisions, and YOUR results.
When you waste time on the things that don't matter, you've wasted too much.
So the next time something is irking you that doesn't really matter,
or you're not feeling well enough to  be positive,
do me a favor and think to yourself "**** it".
This is all we've got.
Don't waste it.
**** the small things, be happy.

T'was little fun
T'was a little town,
No virulent delirious runs
No irking sounds
As t'was a little dangling town

All t'was a feasible brew
No meanders to sought
No conundrums of anew
just wired timely things to rot

When all t'was a portent upcoming
For t'was clad and veneered
In a amicable sun-daze groaning

T'was a peaceful loop of mono-gradient seasons
and all to do was ponder
For t'was guzzled with reasons

T'was yesterdays jigsaw puzzle
T'was a nightmare in sun-light
But for now, let's retch our unknown dazzle

As t'was,
A flippant fuss
For what shan't be
A beguiling me

This tongue broadcasts
hushed tones of satanic nature
And strange snickers
resounded throughout the canyons
Chanting nocturnes as irking
as a rhino horn against a chalkboard
yet the prophecy remained clear
I had to find this beast

I didn't push you
You decided to walk away
Couldn't bear the taste of
Defeating over a heart that
Was once in your hand

I'm not even surprised
I would throw up, too
'Coz my heart is dark and bubbly
Bitterly smelling and rotting slowly
In a chest of a girl
Who's perfectly alive

And now you're here again
Visiting my mind
But I won't let you stay
You've started a graveyard
In my head and in my heart

Maybe if things went different
There would be “lover” on your stone
And few days ago I saw here “friend”
Now I can't help but write “stranger” again

And there you are
Wandering in my mind asking for flowers
But I won't visit your grave
Not even once again

Because there's no point
Mourning over people
Who are dead, yet alive
Why would I cry again if I did it before?

The corpses are falling apart, slowly
Memories idealised, lying
Pretending how pretty it was
When we were together, trying to
Make me remember things I don't want

The look in your glassy eyes is irking
Not even trying to pretend the woe
Over somebody you've lost
Because you don't care enough to go to the funeral
Of someone you loved and trusted blindly
Calling me sweet and holding me tightly

And in my thoughts
It's like kissing a skull
Dead hand grabbing mine
Reaching from dirt and mud

We are the same
Living skeletons of one another
Living without a shame
We lost a lover

You started a graveyard
As a first man
I started a graveyard
By not loving them

And you started a row of lovers
But their love was never requited
So I pushed them down a cliff of disappointment
Or they choose to go the same path as you did
Not like there's a difference

Because whatever way you choose
I'll let you down, either fall or walk
And at the end you just see your name on a stone
And me, putting the heart I ripped out your chest
To put it in another and bury it six feet down

Where I can't reach it anymore
Unfortunately, where you can't reach it, too
So after all this time, I still have your heart
But I won't call you mine

You're just a memory on faded photograph
That I put by the stone
One last time I visited
And never came back again

“Have you seen a broken man? “

Ah, a broken man.
With a broken soul trying to gather all the shattered pieces
to put it all back together.
The eyes, which seem appealing, yet ironically are, devastated
Trying to find their release.
The shivering hands, wrinkled
which put all efforts to not reach the kitchen
and pick up the knife.
The stomach which can’t help but give collywobbles
as giving the butterflies or even the slight content from
the scanty amount of happiness
seems to require the world’s strength
To hide the pain and shove it inside the blanket
and never let it peep out.
The legs which have lost control
as laying in bed with the pillow that remains soggy
has become wonted over time
Time
which brings with it absolute nothingness
not a single blob of diversion or bliss.
The mind that tries to figure out ways
to escape from the crowd and vanish into solitude as
nothing else seems to give pleasure.
The eyes which have become unaware of any chore,
Other than holding back the heavy flow of the saline drops
descending down the cheeks
Unremitting.
As being sensitive is
probably the most irking and repellent trait one can possess.
The heart that longs to disappear into the abyss
never wanting to come back
pleading Him to take away his life
As the only release,
the only emancipation
he hit upon was eluding from the mayhem
and give up on holding his very last breath.

“Yes, I have seen a broken man and to tell you, it’s the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.”

T- Take all his rules and directives on board
H-Heed them well or he'll put you to the sword
E-Edicts he announces mustn't be ignored

S-Stay within the definition of his pit
I-Indent it into your mind's memory fit
T-Test not his patience nor his fab wit
E-Enter good work that will be a great  hit

M-Mad as hell he'll become when he sees a bad post
O-Ousted you'll be if he doesn't like what you boast
N-Niggling him will obtain a certain kind of verbal roast
I-Irking his upright position means you'll be put on toast
T-Travel within the hallowed guidelines he prefers the most
O-Opposing him means debarment at a far flung coast
R-Riling him over his rule's will disappear you as a ghost

i feel a certain sense of
exhaustion and tired and dead and dull and dread and
i wish i could explain
why its cutting and twisting and irking and twitching and
it's really not easy
to just write it off as
a thing
that we
all do
because
why not
our bodies like it
i'm not you and you don't feel me
you don't understand
this thing is a twisting writhing turning
and it is mine not yours never yours
so shush.

Once, in thirty summers past,
I walked in shadows, moonlit cast
And broke my daylong journey's fast
with sausage, honeymead and bread.

Then in among the piney trees
A sounding crash my nerves did seize
And set my rushing blood to freeze
A sounding crash to wake the dead

I stood at once and looked around
For what had made that terror-sound
and peering through the branches found
An old man working, felling trees.

Carefully, I wandered to
and brought the man back into view:
An ancient woodsman dressed in blue
with woodsmoke drifting on the breeze.

Silently, I stood there, lurking,
For a time, and watched him working
Then I hailed him, with that irking
He met me with an icy stare

He loosed his tongue and dropped his axe:
"beneath the stone and craggy cracks
slept the dragon Cathagorax
Grown old in years beyond his share."

Young Cantabridge the brave and fair
left his father's bedside care
And called to all who gathered there,
Who'll put their courage to the test?"

He cried to them, "I have a plan,
to **** this creature if I can,"
No other, single, mortal man
Would join him on his foolish quest.

And on his way, the young man going
the creature then, in dark ways knowing
Awaken-ed, his hatred growing
prepared his evil darkling cast.

Darkling words and phrases chanting
Screaming, shrieking, raving, ranting
And finally completed, panting
Settled to the ground at last.

Cantabridge stepped in the cave
his face afear-ed, grim and grave
A final warning cry he gave
among the icy water floes.

"Worm my father couldn't fell
******* steel and fly to hell!
Its ring will be your funeral bell
and bring your seasons to a close!"

Wings swept down and armor flashed
Claws rent flesh and hammers crashed
Contending sinews groaned and smashed
And formed a hymn of battle-cries.

Falling down, dank and muddy
Bodies broken, torn and ******
Each warrior turned to study
Each other's watchful, waiting, eyes.

Cantabridge, with strength afleeting
By darkling magic, heart un-beating
Realizing and retreating
His victory had turned to death.

He thrashed about, his body lying
Struggling and vainly trying
Against the magic, finally dying
and with that breathed his final breath.

And in my bed, awake and dreaming
I saw a vision of him, seeming
Like a ghost with armor gleaming
Lying dead and in the sun.

So here upon this piney tree
I hammered, ere I talked with thee,
And in the valley, I could see
The fun'ral pyre for his son

In the moonlight, by the river
I searched and in the night air shivered
and for the woodsman's son delivered
a single, wild, yellow rose.

So on that night, I stood and turned
and watched them while the pyre burned
For the warrior boy who'd learned
The darkling magic a dragon knows.

We’re hungry
But we lacking

We can’t even dare ask
Cos for us all, eating food is really an heinous task

Their moving out in their cars
While we, in here we are, hiding in our infectious scars

I wanna go out of here to there
But what about these ones I’ve got as friends

It’s really irking
But can I be in such a hurry?

If I have the brain to leave!
How will my younger ones live?

If I have the power to go and beg!
What about those in here, living without legs?

But then, we’re hungry
And we’ve got no one sending us daily meals

Seems I just have to make a run for it
And beg a few things for human being to eat

We all don’t have a choice but to live our time this way
For we are children of those who didn’t make good use of their young days.

©Emmiasky Ojex

"Remembering the Soviet’s silent sufferings!"

Chechnya, Georgia, Crimea…… Kiev!
There they marauded cruelly combing all  
And souls they severely sought to take like hogs
Souls they fatally fought-these Dmitri dogs
In death jails-a hell more than purgatory’s punishment
They put souls to pleasurably slaughter them all
And a soul at its time they picked and hacked in elated excitement
Severely they severed them these trigger happy Zarkozsky fools

Hunger and starvation their invasion caused!
It is a saying: To suppress small states-hunger and violence cause!
And out of these societies’ desperations, demeaned humans
Will subjugate freely as miserable subjects-slaves to any rule
The soviet sacrificed us to their animosity and brutality
Our children, our parents, our experts-we all fatally fell
Of their gallous guns or cruel squads or unnatural hungers
Humans, hardworking humans became bones-NOTHING!

We did the donkeys’ hard works-indefatigably  
And they ungrateful, kingly collected our all
All our tills tires they unjustly carried away
And all was left in sustainable villages were huge hungers-
Everywhere were war casualties: tension, desperation, mass starvations-
And when angered we couldn’t bottle anymore we staged rebellions
And they cursed us with all sorts of chemicals contaminations

They combated and convicted us with any known brutal cruelties
Innocent infants they injured with their injustices-fatalities  
Little angels they hewed with brutality-others they made all sorts of slaves
They collected us, us resilient and begun murdering our mettle vitalities
Men, all able men they collected, killed and covered in mass graves
Them they carried in transport trains, some they threw away in trenches, in rivers…
Their remains they concealed to deny us a claim of their atrocities and animosities

Babies remained, crying for their dying mummies and daddies
Long after finally they have given up fighting-living
Poor innocent babies, unaware it is death……
It is not death the devil but Dmitri dogs the devils
That has fat fed on their last of defenses-able parents
Times ahead of them were tough if not toughest

The Petrovs’, the Pavlovichs’, the Mirovics,
The Lenin’s, the Stalin’s, the Sarkozsky’s.....
They are animals raised from hells horrible
There not to pamper and foster but to decimate  
Ruthless and cruel they killed without a soul-a heart  
Death is their rite, blood is their eucharist
Mass mortuaries of mutilated bodies are their sophists
Killing is their glorious celebrations-theirs sacred sacrifices

In jail, doors opened and rude were ruthless soldiers’ orders
Chains crinkled on ground as sacrifices lead to little altars
Prisoners were time to time collected and lead in cruel commanders’ commands
And from distances came echoes of targeted bingo bull’s-eye shots
A LOW ROW of shots followed by the silences of squeal of sailed souls and their guilt
If a day or a night-if any able to tell from chained scary dark chambers  
Passed and found you fit-alive, you counted yourself very, very lucky!

It was dark when we escaped from the jaws of our starving starring deaths
Out, the moon shone silvery sweet and bright on these sad ******-white snows
Its silver speckle lights letting lurid luminous sparkling glows
The snow rained with such sadness and bitterness
On our ears it whizzed with fury and ferocity
On our bare skins it bit with brutality and cruelty
On our near naked feet it froze and frosted
We endured, we had to!

Had we managed to rob death of its celebration and elation
A taste of our starved wounded bones-surviving skeletons
We had to struggle to live and hope give, we strived, we had no choice
If we were to be counted heroes of our hopeless humans
Saviours of our suppressed peoples
We had to reach a safe distance and our rural homes
To stage the war from the roots, the stems, the base!

A death in nature by nature is better than one in Dmitri dogs hands
Their deaths were inhumane, their deaths were merciless
They were mocking and shocking-laughing and loathing while killing
A mocking moustache peeking from their elongated mouths smiles
A cigar smoking from their mouth and emitting from their nostrils
A red star labeled soviet beret on their ***** irking hairy heads
They killed you slowly loving and laughing of any strength you gave to live
Until at last you are lost-in the abyss arenas of death, your are done
Such a point you give up, you can’t fight, resist anymore

They chased after us–they pursued us
They were too determined to not let any of us live
But miraculously we lived-we somehow survived
Here in this snowy arena it is a fair ground for everyone-
There is no grandmaster, it is improvisation
Survival only for the willed-fittest
Not how well you were equipped or trained
Though too skills and determination also counted

We trapped them in their own constructed coliseum
A lot of them free-froze and fell in these forgotten fields
Their bones never to reach their of-kin commemorating cemeteries
Nature is JUST! As us, theirs too had to bitterly mourn their nature lost
The never to see graves, reminders of their never returned fighting loved ones
With God’s grace on us, we cheated their beginning to tire authorities
We reached home; we reached the earth’s of our ancestors

And here we gathered to charge back-to seek backups
To restore the lost glory of our nastily punished perishing people
Some we sneaked to safety in case we all perish we have remnants
Backups to tell of us-our sorrowful story-our liberty struggles
To Kiev and its heroes; to Kiev and its strong heroines
To Kiev and its resistant living; To Kiev and its resilient
We gathered to kick back, to tell the world of the evils of the Soviet Satans
To mourn with grace our gone and done in this dehumanizing disgrace!  
O Kiev, her heartless Holodomor; O Crimea, O Georgia…..
The Satanic Soviet infiltration brought you eternal sufferings!

© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.

he told me once how he had this urge to **** himself, this feeling irking in his bones leaving him breathless and striving for something to hit him in the head and end it.
i asked him if he wanted to go out to eat  
but he said no
i asked him why
he said because he was too good for me
and then i realized i was talking to myself

You never felt mutual,
but I don't really care.
I don't know if that's true,
so my judgement is unfair...

When I wanted to see you,
you cut me off. Why?
Is it because you see
that I'm soft,
and gentle,
but more of a man,
than you've ever seen?
Or maybe you can't
comprehend what's
in between?

When I read my poem
about my mom, I looked around
at everybody in the classroom,
and your head was down.

That showed me
you're weak to emotion
and have been sheltered.
My goal was clear:
I knew I wanted
to help her.

Expose you to this world,
and show you love,
I suppose you're
like a dove
Peaceful, and pure
with style,
But innocent too so
this could take a while...

Me being impatient,
won't get to you quicker
But the longer it takes,
only makes me sicker.

Then came this
irking feeling
when I thought
of something:

What if me
meeting you
ended as "we"
being nothing.

I hope that's not true,
so I'll just end with this.
It's a pleasure to know you,
and also to write this.

Love, Jimmy

Driving down the streets of Berkeley
Everything is irking me
And I've got hypnosis today
What is going to become of me?

I'm coming here to deal with grief
and maybe a little anxiety
but when I sit in the office you see
I'm calm and my eyes are dry

And I get put into a relaxed state
Although it didn't feel like something rgreat
but it was fun and kind of interesting

But when I arrive back home
and open the mailbox
Suddenly I get caught

A letter from the vet
consoling me for the death
of my beloved pet
Shakour

Twelve years, two continents
and countless moves
he really was there and saw me through
and suddenly the tears just come pouring out

And I'm caught off guard in a storm of sadness and doubt

Each step
In common sense
Makes you more
Like the rest

Moment’s uncommon
Can become commerce
If you’re immersed
In what it’s birthing

Unearthing
Un-earthlike belongings
On your person
Is illegal
Only in the laws of earthlings

Case in point
Anyone can chase and point
The obvious, obscure
Object erected
In what once was a pattern

But to shed a lantern’s light
On each instance
Is a dim-witted decision

The whole picture
Is much larger
Then man made flame’s
Can harbor

Alters
Are needed
When Altars
Are constructed
In place of
Church of thought

Irking’s small as these
Have potential to be
Crusades on uncommonalities

The worst casualty in war
Isn’t death
It’s birth
Death ends
Birth has potential
To grow into something worse

History dictates
The future’s fate
****** masquerades
As bright ideas
While ideal massacres
Take place
In front of our face

Who chooses
To be the flaw
In this perfect picture
Of hell
And shed true light
Like halo’s over
The well

I warn you
Or whomever
Should play womb
For dissent

Society’s mob
Makes martyr’s of those
That fight the current

Headless
Portrays an ironic display
Of the punished
Mindless crowd’s “Hurray!”
In the kingdom
Of dumb kings
And followers led astray

I.
not daily

yet
tucked in safely, i'll think of
your thin hands tarnished by the gleam

of something that isn't mine

i know sometimes you wish it's scent were

my skin

of my thoughts

of my irking admiration

a badge; one you'll never wear
'cause you ****** it up, buddy

i hope her gawking mouth makes you feel adequate

that you're safe. deluded
her touch is the one that saves you
and makes you feel complete

Romeo hath *******
and gone to the pub
to partake of six pints of ale
with his mate Scrub

thy hopes he doesn't
get booked by the cops
as he drives home
with his portly belly full of hops

Romeo is vexing and irking
me no old end
he's been excessively visiting
pubs all weekend

doth his affections
for me no longer exist
hath beer swilling
taken priority on his list

thine shall be stowing
his wallet away
so Romeo can't go out
on the town to play

pressure pressure pressure
hollow paper skin
I'm not a paper airplane and
I can't pretend to fly
through stormy wednesday mornings
when the rain begins to drop;
here begins the tailspin
structure folding under
paper-coated hollow bones
the skeleton that shivers

here begins the pressure.
irking little seed
with roots deep cut,
knees cut down
to bleed you on the street
and stretched upon the ground
pressure curls you under

I've got here this paper skin with
tons of flesh to mark
reorganize to find inside
organs tucked in battered skin,
with paper thin
crumpled in your hand
you thought it ripped;
really only crinkled

OH, sometimes we slip
cumulative experiences, missing
keys, but on and along some other's
new patterned-rhytms. just buy some
character; hit in hopes to stop
irking measures. we all end up
minding another. hoveling
the initial, and first-prime
enslaver, to rip free from Natural
objection in reality. static-cra-
ziness to me when joints,
droning ambient, crackle
like bubble wrap. pondering
on for far too long, and was I
even to speak, alongside
your falsified grace.

The Agent stood on the corner,
Smelling faintly of bourbon and stale cigarettes,
Loss and despair.

He was a rising star when he had started,
A keen eye for talent and shrewd in business.
But those times had long past,
For all he had now was the bittersweet yearn of nostalgia and just enough in royalties for a dumpy apartment.

A light rain started,
It's cold droplets stinging lightly on the Agent's reddened nose,
Irking him,
Beyond not just having a drink.

The Agent spots his shelter,
A bar just down the street.

As he walks in,
He shakes loose the rain that hadn't clung yet,
And shuffles over to the bar with hands shoved deep in pockets,
He goes and orders a drink.

It is then that he looks over to see a band getting ready in the corner,
It is then that the Frontman belted out the count in.

And the agent dropped his drink.

my dismal attitude is still there,
although the downcast of my emotions
hit it's peak yesterday. today i am deranged and infuriated. not by the fact that i am alone, which is my preference, but at way the irking wind blew against my sleeve on my way to class this morning.

i despise the contented souls who have never fantasized about death and it's properties.

Always closer than you ever think it is, one
Little slip, and you're straight through the abyss
Finding out in the end, all life ends. Carrion.
Vultures with eight tracks and tape decks

Copulation and emotion means I'm breeding ****** hatred
And I hate it
Mockeries of notions once raised
In earnest
Flirting with danger, burning moth to the flame
Stirring up anger with a few thoughts on pages
Irking, and senseless, the ******* sensation

Self righteous indignation, taking words of the page
Same goes for the gumption, with wars that I wage with myself
Heath goes first, better or worse
Slit eyelids, cause it can't hurt to see straight

It's always closer than you ******* think it is, one
Little slip, and this bleakness you insist
In existing in, ends, without a prerogative
As opaque as ever, severing lungs

Servitude, I could never miss, its
Fluid as my thoughts on narcissist

Stomach churning
Knee irking
Weight ballooning
Self-confidence parachuting

Day in day out
It's a scream wanting to shout
A mirror wanting to turn away
As I take in what I am in full dismay

**** me, *******, **** me
**** me - anger talking
******* - spite retorting
**** me - desperation joining the party

Technical confusion
Physical contortion
Emotional intrusion
Personal obstruction

And they roll their eyes to the high heaven
Not enough time to deal with the craven
Searching for a misunderstood form of attention
Staring blankly at a familiar scene panic stricken

Eager depression
Making a concession
Slutty self-pity
Throwing itself a party
Where is the intervention
Can someone please stop the obsession?!

Here, there, nowhere, everywhere
Look and you will find anxiety as your au-pair
Babysitting a overactive imagination
Sabotaging a once gentle loving person