"lechers" poems
we are waiting for you
exiled
hungry with lust
wanting you shimmering in blood and ***
like red and creamy white ribbon ornaments
so that every suffering
makes you shiver just so
be brave little girl
it will hurt like Dracula's kiss
pains pleasure
pleasures pain
enough
spice to burn
enough
addiction to beg
every sting and gleaming bite
an ******
perfectly sexacuted
until your body gives out
like a fluttering martyr
and then we will take you at last
like a million black toothed lechers
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 12:48 PM UTC
ahoy,
all of you,
shoppers,
loafers,
lechers,
ladies...
could you please
tie your handkerchiefs
and dupattas*
together
and all of it
to the end
of a stone
and fling it to
this open window
?
?
?
so that I
can climb
down
and flee
What?
Louder!
Yes,
I could have
just asked
the boss
but escape
makes it
so much
more alive
You
See
I
need
such
kicks
from
time
to
time
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 9:19 AM UTC
Expect us not to believe
You could miraculously fetch
Water with a sieve!
Till we return to dust
You, nothing better than a rust,
Could not quench our thirst.
Collecting taxes
Without combing out lechers
That spare not even the broke
Or the stone to siphon
Rather has an impact adverse,
For it is allowing few
Nation's wealth unfairly amass
At a cost of harm to
The credulous and
For air gasping broad mass!
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 10:11 AM UTC
An unholy night,
these two know those nights well,
it’s raining God’s blood
‘to the cracked gates of hell.
The demons are out,
the lechers and fiends,
a good chance to rob, ****
and listen for screams.
The Vicars head’s been cut off
on Joralemon street.
And such Neck-rophilia
seems just shy of obscene.
But that’s not why these two
are out on this night;
They want little kids
to make Angel’s delight.
You’ve never heard of it, have you?
It’s quite delicious in fact.
First they start off with the skin
from their ungrown, weak backs.
They’re peeling away
where their wings would soon grow,
but made too sore to fly
they fall down below!
And so catch them the wings,
shave them into a cheddar,
oh, but if it’s a girl,
make sure you be-head her.
Then break the legs like wishbones
and twist off the feet.
Make sure to save all that,
sssllurrrpp, succulent meat.
Last off’s the marrow
de la moelle épinière.
Get every last drop,
And let sit in stale air.
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 11:45 AM UTC
For now they perch on my doorstep
with tear filled vigor and remorse
pleading, little earth worms looking
on in my eyes trying to force
their seed in my heart... demireps
and lechers crying in their ash.
A monk's resolute howls draw near.
I close my shutters to the wind.
An infantile pitter patter
brings resolution to my pane.
I look out upon the tattered
remains of man; I soon realize
it is not them, but I who's sinned
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 10:53 PM UTC
Pressed hard against warm flesh in the barely illuminated darkness guesstimating the blessings of your fresh mess, I ingest the best and leave the rest unstressed. Soft caresses underneath the dress bring visions of ancestral ****** in jest. My accentuated ******* bereft of the simplest zesty scents leave jesters lamenting about the repressed nexus of flexing wreckers. Flickering trestles rustle as the mesh lays lifeless after undress and the pressures of the rescuers sheds ravenous blushers rushing and undulating such as plush calves do. Fissures, wet, impress impresarios investing in resting besties and ********** lechers; a pitcher, ditched by the rich, flashes in the marsh stressing the finches and leaching petroleum onto the beaches. I reach for another peach and beseech the mashed potatoes makers, “just take a rest” –
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 5:08 PM UTC
I must apologise for myself, dear friend,
for my self worth is not by means, but through the end.
I can't fully nor slightly dare alter my past,
You're so well adjusted, while I'm just aghast.
Issues and problems, I self destruct on a dime,
All the forevers were nevers, this and all times.
Only you know what's real and what's been unsaid,
But I will know, what's drowning and what's been misread.
I am what the players play, insecure up above
One of the hopefuls, musicians and lechers do love
No talks with my father, or walks with my mother,
I'm broken like the rest of you, we're one another.
We'll walk beside the highway, firey-footed steeds, left in town
You'll never pain me again til voices wake and us we drown
We'll walk beside the highway, firey-footed steeds, left in town
You'll never pain me again til voices wake and us we drown
Apr 17, 2011
Apr 17, 2011 at 4:15 PM UTC
Hello shiny loop of post-shower Rainbow,
you of mosaic-powered striated halo,
and so sages tell, a sign of faith.
You chaste secreter of much potted gold,
crescented magic of arc-perfection
your brilliant mixtures of shaded hues
break raindrops into states
of optic illusion which act as temptation.
Oh consummate sweep of bow-creation,
who can know when and what
day you appear, colourfully naked.
Favour no seekers, oh Rainbow whom
by digging for myth will
selfishly follow roads right to your end.
Make therefore no friends
of illicit searchers for treasure, those
who see you as meant lure
for retrousséd wealth-embellishment.
Rainbow you cover your real blessings
in pseudo-gilt with which
ingratiates have become obsessed.
Sedate then all lucre-lust with a curved
root at each end of your
rain-augmented foot to waylay theft.
Divert and deflect looters with luminous
know-how and curl into
spacial deception before desecration.
Bedazzle all lechers by preventing entry
to any pretentious view
of your sensitive and tremulous end.
You as writhe of kaleidoscope can keep
away crooked schemers
by retaining your varisome irridescence.
Alive with mysterious rays
behave like a ghost loathing the sun, be
as invisible, turn pale, fade,
and disappear to invalidate trespass.
Rainbow hide what is always your own
from blind passers by with
greedy spade-eyes, stay unmolested.
Stretch out your tracery uncontrolled,
a beauteous vision who keeps
her vaulted prism a glorious whole.
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 7:51 AM UTC