"monstrosity" poems
Kapag ang lupa'y nag-alay na ng huling hininga,
Alalahanin mo yaong sayo'y sumamo ng tiwala,
Humimbing ka sa mga nalabing labi ng karumalan,
Ilubog mo ang sarili sa pusod ng kawalan.
Tama kaibigan, ito na nga ang kamatayan.
Death
When the earth has breathed its last,
Remember the people who gained your trust
Then, sleep with the ruins this monstrosity has created
Plunge yourself in deep desolation
Yes my dear friend, this is no longer an illusion.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 9:27 PM UTC
Lollipops to cigarettes
Cooties turned to pregnancy
The cute little girls and boys we once knew at recess are no more, some are drop outs, some are on the news for ****** and others have seemed to disappear from existence
How did this happen?
How did the life we knew so well as children, filled with jump rope and four square, turn into the monstrosity of modern society
The drama now is about boys, drugs, and flunking school, the only so called 'drama' back then was when someone else had the blue crayon you needed to finish your color by number
Computers, televisions, and phones take over the lives of children nowadays, the big pass times when we were kids was to go back in the woods behind our houses and catch salamander, play hide and seek and cops and robbers when it started to get dark
Now?
It's lying to your parents to go out and get drunk, skipping class to go smoke **** and and turning the lollipop in your mouth into a cigarette
Did you ever consider that the lollipop tastes better? That maybe this sticky strawberry mess gives you a better outlook on life?
When you're a kid and you're happy with your crayons and hopscotch you don't care what problems you're faced with: if someones lost; find them, if someone's feelings are hurt; say sorry, if you wanna lose weight; lose it
This lollipop of yours has turned an upside-down world right-side-up again creating brighter perspectives and healthier pass times
So instead of curling our fingers around disgusting cancer sticks and pregnancy tests, maybe we should grab hold of that lollipops taste and lever let go...so the only downfall to life, is cavities.
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 4:32 PM UTC
I woke up, panic attack in full swing. This wasn't right. He wasn't supposed to win. This wasn't supposed to happen!
Morning call to my best friend, we're sobbing into each other's phones. We fear. We fear because we're not cis or heterosexual. We fear for our brothers, sisters, and siblings lacking a title. I fear for what will become of the country I live in.
I promise I wouldn't stand for my country's flag any more as long as he is our "president". I can't respect someone who is accused of ****** a 13 year old girl. He is no man, he was a joke for the Internet to feed off of, until it became too serious and real. Until the day youths of the LGBTQ+ community woke up terrified for their lives because his Vice President would favor having a dead child rather than a gay child, until the day Muslim women questioned if they should wear their hijab anymore because they feared retaliation for their religion from xenophobes, until the day the the chance of hate crimes seemed like a more likely answer for bigots because someone isn't white, until the day laughs of mockery turned into tears of fright.
This monstrosity may only be with us for four years, but a hell of a lot can happen in four years. I don't trust this person to run our country, I don't feel safe. I feel exposed and abandoned by the rights I was promised. I wish to join hands with everyone else who is in my position, and let this sink in until the day in January comes, where he gets his wish, and is finally in control.
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 5:55 PM UTC
#*Only One
can bear the
monstrosity
of our hearts'
defects and
devotion*#
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 10:12 AM UTC
What truly is the definition of righteousness?
Is it determined by act or by mind?
They say a good man fights for justice, peace, and prosperity.
But then, can a man of such moral truly remain so
if he turns to violence as an answer?
Does his intent to create marvels render him of moral status
though his methods may empower death and promote war?
Oh, this man is peaceful himself,
taking letters instead of bullets to battle
but his lyrics dislodge society in a manner not all approve
and so begins combat.
Can this soul carry such holy title,
if the repercussions of his strung together words are strung up necks?
Or is the good man the one who turns away from the world's fight
to be his own embodiment of ethical beauty?
For the one who remains silent causes no direct pain;
he himself is passive and tranquil
and moves to inspire such conduct in others without commanding it.
But his silence encourages fierce vehemency and wildness.
Does this fact not taint his name?
The first man had pure intent,
but with his tongue he spit sparks
which others used to ignite a fire and burn the world.
The second did not fight himself
but his chosen hush could never end the blood rain,
and so his lack of sharp verbosity allowed knives to flash and blood to spill.
So I will ask again,
what determines morality?
Though this time with a grounding response;
morals define morality.
Each man's mind renders his own flawless ideal individually,
and so one's perfection will always be another's monstrosity.
In truth? There are no good men,
or at least not one to all.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 10:35 PM UTC
#*Only One
can bear the
monstrosity
of our hearts'
defects and
devotion*#
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 3:07 PM UTC
There's a person I don't speak about
I try to push them from my mind
But there's a self-control drought
I can't leave the past behind
They introduced me to something dark
Something steeped in despair
And when the knife hit its mark
When I needed help, they weren't there
It began as curiosity
But grew into monstrosity
Now our friendship is spent
All I can do is resent
The person who ruined my life
Who showed me what you can do with a knife
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 8:32 AM UTC
Abigail slides the glass door shut.
As beads of water percolate off her body
and land on the faux stone tile,
the smell of chlorine from her swim
and the smell of coffee from my brewing *** blend.
My uncle, Abigail's father, and my mother
are seated at the sticky, spilt soda kitchen table beside me.
"Go get ready for dinner," my mother's brother says, sending
Abigail's bikini'd frame through doorway and around the bend.
The brew idles, and I'm all porcelain and sugar substitute for a moment,
then back by my uncle and mother.
"Abigail has gotten so thin," my mother says.
"Is she eating?" my mother asks.
"I know it's tough for girls her age. When they're looking to marry," my mother says.
I want to bash the smoking cup into her face.
My uncle says she's been training for a marathon.
My neurons get tidy and taper off.
So, it's out of the kitchen and into an empty living room
to park my *** on an empty piano bench.
I set the coffee on top, and press eight of my fingers down
on black keys.
I hear toes-to-heels, toes-to-heels.
I gaze over my shoulder.
Now, Abigail's in a black, black dress. Mid-thigh.
In her left hand,
red fuck-me-shoes with a heel that could turn a curious man blind;
in her right hand,
black pantyhose and cherry lipgloss.
"You should have swam," Abigail delivers with hushed precision,
like she'd been reciting the line throughout the duration of her swim.
Abigail has long brunette hair,
and it's sticking to her neck.
Deep permanent dimples frame her lips.
She's a nurse in Waco.
Each time I see her, I think about
Bukowski's 103-pound "Texan".
It makes me rash, violent, a heady monstrosity,
and trembling sick.
"I forgot my trunks."
"That's no excuse."
I would respond, but she's sliding the hose up her leg.
In the living room.
While my uncle talks a second mortgage around the bend.
Her right leg crosses her left,
an overpass and an interstate.
My forehead overheats in a flash,
and I feel like she's staring back at me.
When my leering eyes shift from
her toes to her eyes, the pupils beckon:
"All roads lead to me."
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 12:48 AM UTC
Love hard, my friends. Love noticeably.
Love does not deserve to be shoved under the rug, to be disguised, or to be quieted. Love does not mean conforming to the idea that genuine affection is “sappy,” “cheesy,” or “cringeworthy”; instead-- love loudly.
The world wants to tell you that relationships are to be silenced. That posting multiple photographs of each other is tacky, uncomfortable, and something to make fun of. That devoting time with your favorite human being is disgusting, overbearing-- especially when you are young and the future does not exist in your hands.
Too bad, future. And how unfortunate, world. Because at the end of the day, the world does not own love. You do. It is yours to have, to keep, to share, and to do whatever it takes to hold onto it. It is mine.
When you find love, shout it from the rooftops and frame a million photographs. Post selfies of the two of you smiling wide and unwavering. Wear its colors on your face and shamelessly declare it to the whole universe and beyond: You are in love. You are alive.
And likewise, this is my philosophy: Love intentionally, fiercely, tirelessly.
Love so hard it makes people dizzy. Take it as a compliment. In an exhausted world that spins with violence, hatred, and monstrosity-- praise its joys. Snap those pictures.Tell your friends. Scrapbook it, publish it, make art out of it. Laugh about it, display it, live it. Put an end to the grotesque concept that something so beautiful, perhaps life’s most magnificent, should be sheltered. Let it grow.
This is a declaration. I am boisterously in love. There is no quiet here.
One day, you will find someone or something that your heart will never be able to shut up about. And that’s okay. Let it scream.
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 9:33 AM UTC
Step aside and let the others have their way but what about you?
A doormat on the muddiest of days for everyone's messy shoes?
After you my dear I insist
The door wide open to my heart you missed
Your chance to come inside and have a seat
Instead you'd rather be alone saying you need someone to be with I'd even ask to see you, you tell me you're beat
Bed time, but you're online stalking
When we could be talking
But hey, I'm nobody special just a normal dude
Just remember one thing I tried to always be there for you
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 1:36 AM UTC
You float through air that doesn't care
The air you share that isn't fair
The air that makes me think we're a pair
I wound up in your wind tunnel
Not understanding it's singular funnel
When you were there
I glided through air
But then you had to fly
As I fell from the sky
Cursing your absent kind
You swept me off my feet
With your tornado broom
Until you were complete
In sealing my doom
Your wind carries loneliness
With a scent of love
I recognized the phoniness
In the flight of doves
Your hypnotic breeze
Put my mind at ease
Until you began to tease
Whispering wild winds into my ears
My hurricane head hammered with fears
Of the intensity of the high velocity
Of your elemental wind monstrosity
For it brings powerful gusts of sorrow
When it's your oxygen I must borrow
If I hope to see tomorrow
Your air is cold
My heart's not bold
And begins to fold
Under the weight of your wind
My mind is giving in
And my eyes start to make clouds form
When your absence creates a lonely storm
Sep 11, 2017
Sep 11, 2017 at 5:51 AM UTC
You know I keep it caged,
Deep inside me.
I always did so well,
At keeping it quiet.
Nobody ever had to know,
About this monstrosity,
Right beneath the surface.
I keep my face straight.
Not a smile or a cry.
I'm constantly reminded,
To keep it well inside.
I always did so well too,
Till the night I lost control.
The monster from inside,
My own Pandora's box.
The monster's not inside,
Will never sleep again.
This monster on the inside,
Called emotion.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
Oh this feeling of utter alienation
This endless road trip without a destination
Trapped inside this metal monstrosity of a car
I feel like we haven't made it very far
Constantly around the same round about
Enshrouded in fog made of doubt
I'm endlessly confined
Within the labyrinth of my mind
Shifting corridors, dark spaces
Constant bombardment of familiar faces
I gaze out the tinted windows
And try and figure what no one knows
To try and bypass the security of my brain
To do so and remain sane
To see what cannot be seen
To tap into the source of inspiration
Feb 20, 2012
Feb 20, 2012 at 10:04 PM UTC
lying in the street
a thin shell
and broken on the inside
some ****** with a gun
rifles for the kids
at the storefront
let them learn
before they can’t forget
i say
this will run
as deep and dark as you allow
whether or not you can tell
*get on your feet
it’s a thin wall
and won’t weather the shells*
i tell you
we americans have agreed
you are either prisoners or refugees
and we must know which
although,
if you are prisoners
you are criminals
if you are refugees
you are blameless
there is no room in our heads
for honest prisoners
and no such thing as
a guilty refugee
tell me brothers
what crimes have you committed
to be in such a prison
how black are your hearts
tell me sisters
what monstrosity displaced you
what savages took your home
let me help you
a man from here once said
let those without sin
send the first rocket
tell me, friends
who is to blame
because we in america
need to know
who to root for
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 9:08 AM UTC
Who is Lucifer? Who is this being we never wish to meet?
Some say he was sent down from the heavens, causing mayhem in God's keep.
Consuming the soul of evil, he is the creator of monstrosity, upheaval.
A living lie or a horrible truth, for me and you will there ever be proof?
His existence is unknown, a passenger of evil unlikely to make atone.
Is it an angel, an human soul, or an evil creature? For all we know he could be following out procedure.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 7:11 PM UTC
A dying man does nothing easy,“Lock and load. Let's do it”,said G.W. Green
Right before Jack Pursley sent 3-5 grams of sodium thiopental coursing through his veins
in Texas. Sticking with the states motto it was probably 5. As lethal drugs flowed into his arms, he used an obscenity to describe life, gasped once and made no further movement.
Imagine his brief confidence in the face of this adversity, before the heart’s blood
Settled in the ventricles.
Some have called such confidence a monstrosity titled, “Hubris”--
Alexander of Macedonia thought it necessary, to cross the turbulent river against fear
-ful odds. For destiny demanded imitation of his exemplar Achilles
Quickly eroded was this by the pleas of Parmenio, who reasons it would be,“failure at the outset.”
Imagine Alexander reciting the words of G.W. Green, instead of heeding to this squelching caution
How quickly we’d throw this decisions bones in the pile, with ******
In Stalingrad & Nixon in Vietnam
All to be shoved in to, a mass grave of faulted zealots.
Covered with soil, bitter compost not to be forgotten
Rosemary sprouts next to a burning
bush in Iraq.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 5:36 AM UTC
As a child
I wasn't really afraid of the dark,
There weren't really monsters in my closet and the feeling of checking under my bed was never something that I had to fear,
But as I grew older,
I learned that the monster was always in a far away place,
I learned in school that monsters didn't really exist and there was nothing I should have to fear,
I grew up in a Christian home
Learning that in some way I needed to be saved and I accepted that protection
Learning that living in hell for eternity was worth being saved from
But in my innocence I forgot about the monsters that live here
As planes are crashed into buildings
And snipers in cars
Inciting terror upon innocence
As a child in a free nation is oblivious to the fact that there is something to truly be afraid of
Something that's hidden
The cracks in the glass of this facade only seem to spider across the dark crevices of my brain wishing to...
Wishing to be free
Clawing their way up my throat
Asking for forgiveness instead of permission
Wishing to let go of their bonds because the only thing that's keeping them there is the thought that they could be kept at bay
Brittle chains with keys in the locks and the only thing that stops them from being set free is us
I've been told the eyes are the window to the soul
That if you look closely you can see their thoughts and desires
And demons
And as it turns out I'm blind to the fact that when I try to look in the mirror
That monsters won't chase me in my sleep and claw away at my soul
That no one is in control of the monsters
The monsters are in control of me.
Humanities greatest lie is that we can save our selves.
The monsters won't be free because we won't let them take control until they do
And this great deception has conceived this monstrosity that nobody has seen because everyone is afraid to look inside ourselves to see how awful the wound really is
We can't see our own glass houses caving in
The monstrosities of this world are our own creation
With homicidal tendencies
and a Picasso like disposition
Spraying our own blood upon this ripped apart canvas and calling it art
As a child I was told monsters didn't exist
That, the monsters were in a far away place
They couldn't attack me in my sleep and that there was nothing to fear in this world
I just didn't realize it was all in my head.
As children we are afraid of the monsters under our bed
Asking our parents to look under neath them for us so that they can prove that it's just our imagination,
"There's nothing to be afraid of" they tell me
Running to the parents room in the middle of the night to ask to stay with them because we don't grasp the reason why we are scared to begin with.
I wonder if nightmares are from the monsters trying to be free
Breaking out of their shackles of our parents lies telling us that monsters don't exist,
That there's nothing you have to fear because the monsters can't touch you.
And you as an innocent young child convince yourself that they only tell you facts because you can't comprehend that,
It's all in your head,
The greatest lie that the devil ever told was that he didn't exist,
The second is that there are no monsters,
Lying to ourselves cause we are the monsters
And they lie to us so we put them off as non existent
It was all... in my head.
I'm gonna ask you to look in my eyes,
I wonder,
I wonder if you can see mine
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 11:34 PM UTC
Wilted flower, ageless in
A time of frailty, never wishing
For her glow to fade, but
Every flower wilts over time.
She was weak in sympathy
Seeing everyone though her
Outer shell was, of ill taste,
Souring there eyes.
So those of younger skin she
Spat upon in hated gestures,
Until she could not see beauty,
Only those having what had
Faded upon her over time.
She was a seamstress of cloth,
Fashion was in her eyes, beauty
For beauty now all was bland
As her image tainted, She was
Upon a plan.
She would take beauty from those
Unworthy souls, who abused the
Gift for it should be collected,
Harvested, so began her crime.
The first was a nose, cut off still
Breathing jagged edges ruined.
She slashed upon beauty as stillness
Settled in there eyes. Like a canvass
Now ruined, ugly in her sight,
Discarded in to the river the fishes
Feasting upon her crime.
She harvested, parts each dead
for moments but stillness brought
precision, each flawless gem, with
Precise loops each part fell in to place.
She only needed one more ,the lips
So delicate, so fragile. She carved
So many kisses from the bodies,
But never the correct, impatient
She became, enraged with failures.
Her moments of rage, became news.
"The patch work doll"
"The seamstress of beauty"
She liked this name for beauty
Was a puzzle that she stitched
Together to hide the ugly inside.
Then upon those fated moments,
"Excuse me do you know the"
Her mind forgot to listen, transfixed
Upon those ruby gems, Yes ill
Show you the way.
"Thank you mam"
Ill fated beauty, single breathes to
Take. These where her jewels of
Her crown as each most delicately
Removed, stored so not to break.
The patchwork was finished, **hideous
Monstrosity** of flesh dead, but she
Revelled upon her creation. Missing
The point that she was only faded inside.
She wore this mask, **the seamstress of
Beauty** now wore the blood of others
Upon her face, each was a life taken
For this moment in the mirror, she
Looked upon in happiness, in joy
Of others pain, but the moment faded.
All she saw was others, her beauty hidden
Upon the stiches of others face, she
Couldn't see herself only the faces of
Each life she did take. The lips moved
Spoken words upon this face, you want
This beauty take it cut it with the knife.
She cut upon this mask, deep cuts
Upon her own self, the mask fell
To the floor, spare parts of meat.
She cut around, bleeding down
Kissing the floor as it fell. Till she
Stood there, her skin, meat upon
The floor.
Those final moments the seamstress
Saw she was beautiful, that it was
Underneath that was what she had
Missed, so much beauty spilled for
What, as she ran screaming towards
The window.
Like a mirror shattering shards
Showing her a reflection of the beauty
She had become, she was the seamstress
Of many faces but know only one
Face hits upon the unforgiving ground.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 5:33 PM UTC
It simmers inside like a *** set to boil, this roiling bubbling never ending restlessness. Like a rabbit in the forest, seeming content for a time, yet never letting down the guard. Always alert, always watching, always ready to run. Fight or flight a way of life, there is no life without this strife. Content to be and sit and relax, claw my eyes out like angry cats. Punching holes in walls with fists, and screaming into pillow fits. Drinking drowning all it out, for false release and sultry pout. Use them up and toss them out, not what you were talking about. You knew you needed something there, to make this life seem somewhat fair. Nothing going right at all, this anger eating feed it’s call. growing green monstrosity threatening lives all around me with negativity. Bringing darkness to the light the shadowed soul of fight or flight. The angry red and growing pain is searing every dried up vein. Till nothing left but this monster, blinded slave to all it’s incurred. Anger never served it's master, turns the tables shackles of disaster, and satisfaction never gained by feeding what it thirsts in vain this rain of destruction all around never makes a life abound. The monster growing stronger still will hunger more and never filled and feed it though you might and try it will never ends until you die.
Unless you take a sword of light and fight it with nobility and tell it truth and peace and love and right it with humility. It can be beat, it can be killed, it does not have to win. Surrender anger to the Lord, and turn back from your sin.
Jul 21, 2019
Jul 21, 2019 at 5:16 PM UTC
My life is a paradoxical monstrosity
A contradiction in itself
Where to start?
Anywhere, everywhere, nowhere perhaps
Occupation,
I play with words.
How naughty does that sound?
Really, I'm in a complicated relationship with words, terms, definitions, metaphors
Writer by day, storyteller by night
And of course I love what I do
And I hate what I do
How very poetic of you!
Why thank you!
Sorry, the inner child speaks.
Back to writing,
And the moments of fantastic ecstasy
Where this jumble of verbs and nouns and adjectives you're trying to assemble
Clicks.
The bigger picture develops with crystal clear clarity
No fastidious statements
Or meaningless passages.
Just words, feelings, meanings
Soul.
That doesn't sound so bad you say
IT HAPPENS ONCE EVERY MILLENIA!
For the most I am frustrated.
Stumped to the point where rage overcomes and the only cathartic release is to sleep.
When I do manage to squeeze something out of the depths of my mind, it appears substandard, to say the least.
Zadie told me to get used to non-satisfaction
So I am satisfied with never been satisfied; does this make me satisfied?
Ow.
Please, I need an answer
I've been looking for answers for nineteen years,
But have I been asking the right questions?
Are there any answers?
Another question
No, that was the question
Confusion and befuddlment ravaging through your mind?
I recently realised there are no facts
Only really good suggestions by excessively knowledgeable and esteemed
I quite fancy being one of those guys
A visionary complete with the stereotypical glasses and overgrown beard
And I'd declare that being yourself is the first step to finding your purpose
Fact.
But what if finding your purpose is your purpose?
I'll leave you with that.
This is my life.
Complaining would be ungrateful of me; it's a good one really.
I can walk and run and play basketball and see my friends where we laugh endlessly.
Oh and Saturday morning cartoons.
I have problems, enormous world ending problems
But it's all relative.
Some think I'm strange, I prefer quirky.
I wonder how life would be if I'd chose the 'normal' option
Most likely, frightfully boring
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 7:36 PM UTC
frantic antics rewire my brain,
almost as if it were never a brain at all—
circuits and switches and copper thread,
my computerized cerebellum, my inorganic head,
as biology becomes machine.
what powers my body,
this metallic monstrosity?
there is no plug, no battery—
only the cogs and gears of a watchmaker's fever dream
and sheer, dumb luck.
because, while they stood around
and waited idly for my parts to rust,
i was killing time in a vacuum,
ignoring the earnest embraces of air and rain.
and thus, here i rest,
with the sound of my own meek ticking
thrumming against these pink asylum walls
but because i stayed awake to tell the tale,
and to rub their sordid noses in the dirt,
i suppose my isolation was worth it.
Jun 23, 2012
Jun 23, 2012 at 11:05 PM UTC
Did it hurt? Seeing the disgusting look upon my face?
I bet it did, the monstrosity of how you tried to fix it.
No one cared. Not once, about you but I guess you already knew.
Three seconds. Three seconds is all it took.
1-despair and agony filled up you along with regret.
No wonder why you longed for her.
2-our life was ruined , because of you.
I bet she liked how much she ******* us up.
3-wake up ******* You may be the one who was wrong this time.
No longer do I have to wait for you. No more. Never again
0-have fun ******** your life up.
And are you sure you won't cheat on her , too?
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC
Please excuse my drivel of words as I ascertain my inexcusable lustless love life.
However,
humor me for a second…
But I’m looking for Miss Alabama Worley.
Mississippi Isabel,
**** it, Lady Macbeth would do.
That ***** knows crazy.
Where is the incomprehensible insufferable beast?
That will take my heart in one foul swipe and refuse
Me rest till I’ve given her lust the spearing of a hungry tribesman.
I want the lock and chain around my ***** because my naked vulnerability
Is hers for the taking.
Beat me,
Oh monstrosity of the bedroom
Let the blood drip as I lick your foot.
Indulge me with the endless sweat and tears of the night.
And **** me like a rock star
Till I taste the rubber.
Where is the whirlwind passion?
Love at first sight.
And not the giddy looks of something Michael Cera starred in.
I am talking tattoos on the first date,
Reckless marriage doomed by the 50 pound ring on her finger.
Put me in a ****** east end flat,
Let me starve because ******* is food for the brain,
And her ***** tastes delectable when I’m high.
**** my brother in our bed,
I never liked him anyway.
A best friend is a man who’s shared the same hole.
And trust me, we’re closer than ever.
You’ll be all I’ve got.
I’ll sleep on the couch and crawl back to you,
Because I'm wrong,
I am always wrong.
Laugh at the scars on my wrists
Pity isn’t there for the taking.
Leave me shaking in the corners of my mind,
Let lust grow like anger and revenge
Let anger and revenge grow
When I go soft on you,
Put those cigarettes out on my chest,
And choke me; asphyxiate me from the inside out.
I want to burn in the hellish rapture
Betwixt your thighs.
******* fire in half an hour,
God knows where you got it from.
But those who care share, right?
But then,
Perhaps I’ll just end up like my parents,
Settle down with a nice girl.
A nice normal girl,
Missionary position isn’t that bad I ‘spose.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 7:18 PM UTC