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Yenson Aug 2018
Commissar Dumbrov of The Red Republican Army at his desk

Grego, Grego , what is happening with the Regal in the Gulag
Is he mad yet, has he hanged himself and committed suicide

No Commissar, he is writing poetry and growing fat like a pig

Are you crazy, this is a ****** Revolution, not ******* poetry class
Did you not put him through the program.

We did Commissar, we hounded and tormented him, we persuaded his wife to break his heart, we fully destroyed his career, we isolated him, we ruined him financially, we made the proletariat hate him,
we taunted him and provoked him everywhere, we scandalized his name and reputation, we bugged him, we oppressed him, we bullied him, we made him friendless, we invaded his privacy, we mocked him and depressed him, we tried to confuse him, we mix him up. we harassed him with noise, we've terrorize him we've done everything and more. he has not been with a woman for 20 years.

AND HE'S WRITING POETRY, what a pack of ******* fools you are, that's the trouble with you ****** Proletariat, you have no brains, must be all the ****** gruel you lot eat, your ******* brains didn't develop properly, all you ******* know is how to be ***** and violent, any wonder these Elitists see you as nothing but animals. that great Leader of the Revolution wrote, I forget his name now, he wrote that the best and only way to deal with these Elitists is to attack their minds, **** up their ****** brains, make them paranoid and fearful. drive them crazy, turn them into jabba labba locos, dribbling at the mouth locos crazy,

We tried Commissar, we did all the things to make this happen, we spent a lot of time and effort on this, we used all the grape-vines and contacts we have, we even threw the Kitchen sink at him. So far, nothing.

You threw the ******* Kitchen sink at him, what's that for, the Kitchen sink belongs to the State, its not meant to be thrown at ******* Elitist Dissidents.

Its a manner of speech, Commissar.

Now you are a Comedian, are you, a ******* Revolution is going on, we are creating a Classless Society and Equality for all and you are making stupid jokes!

No Commissar, I mean we utilized all resources so far, we have continually harassed him, we have created so much disappointments, betrayals, let-downs, frustrations for him, but he still remains calm, stoical, composed, dignified, erudite and sane.
maybe its true that these people are a different breed. Its frustrating for us and quite honestly, embarrassing!.

Shut up, are you saying he's some sort of Regal Rasputin, even that ****** one, we got in the end, now you're saying this one is bullet-proof. Have you tried Advanced Slander, spread the nastiest rumors about him. So bad to make him take his own life. Who was it that said,  “Show me the man and I'll show you the crime”

It was Comrade Beria, Commissar. Yes Commissar, we have framed him many times and made thumped up allegations against him. We have done all that Commissar, we even said he walks like John Wayne or a broken crab.

Who is this John Wayne, are you a time-traveler now?

Have you tried spreading the rumor that he goes to the Cementry at night and sleep with dead women, he digs up.

No Commissar, I don't think even the stupidest Proletariat would believe that one.

Have you tried spreading a rumour he has *** with a dog.

Commissar Natashavo hasn't been anywhere near him, Commissar

Are you being funny again, Grego

No Commissar!

So what is happening right now with our Mr Invincible Elitist Poet Romanov or whatever his name is,  the MAN that you ******* useless Republican comrades, can't drive mad or make commit suicide, a simple thing, that we have done thousands of times. Why is it that when we do these things to those Class-traitor Proletariat, they die or go raving mad loco coo coo  within six months.

The Proletariat are brainless  cowards Commissar, they can dish it out but they can't take it, Commissar, that's why its so easy for us Senior Members of the Po-lit-Bureau to manipulate and control them. As regards our MAN we are still actively harassing him, we are presently mixing him up again, mentally and doing voice to skull tactics with him. We also make sure he remains frozen in a time warp. This is useful in allowing us to demonstrate to the imbecilic Proletariat that we are powerful and can control people and events, this makes sure they realize our capabilities and might and of course, fosters espirit de corps. It keeps them all in line.

Well that's good thinking Grego, yes, that's good, as regards our Poet, why don't we just blast off his *****.

We did Commissar, but he grew bigger ones!

Are you being funny again, Grego, do you want to be sent to the Gulag in Siberia to keep the Poet company.

No, Commissar, I have a date tonight with Commissar Natashavo!
Amoy Feb 2018
By Amoy

Hiding behind the mask of shame and pain
I pick on you just so I can build my confidence and look cool
Who will help me to unmask my pain and show my true self to the world?
I hide in the hole of my mind waiting for someone to care enough to see through my game.
I hurt people because I’m hurt; I pick on you because I was picked on
I suffer in silence only to spew the nastiest thing that my ego dispels from my soul
Can’t you see that my venom masks my pain?
Help me too; I am the victim who only knows pain and anxiety
Everyone helps the victim; can’t you see that I am a victim too?
Can’t you see that my hurt takes shape and camouflages what lies beneath?
Can’t you see I hurt too?
Tell me who helps the bully?
Is it you? Do u have time to help me?
No one will
I guess u think that I’m a lost cause as well?
I’m not a lost cause I am a worthy cause
Who will help the Bully?

If you can get me to admit that I that I need love too then you have done your job
Help me see that I am worthy, that I can be confident without causing pain
Help me to love myself, that's where most of my pain lies.
Help me; forgive me so that I can forgive myself.
Who will help the bully; is it you? We are victims too
Who will help me see that my future can be bright too?
Who will help the bully is it you?
Brent May 2016
Never let her go.
Even if she has the nastiest tongue,
that not a single sentence she speaks doesn't have vulgarity,
but when she speaks those three words
makes the most beautiful symphony.

Never let her go.
Even if she's the craziest girl you know,
that not a single day you spend with her doesn't have her constantly nagging you,
but when she gives you her most tender kiss and her warmest embrace,
melts the most frozen peaks.

Never let her go.
Even if she loves taking pictures of herself,
that not a single day doesn't drown you with her selfies,
but when she gives you her most beautiful smile,
makes the brightest stars go dim.

Never let her go.
Never let her go.
Because the single day that you do,
will make you regret that you ever did.
I shouldn't have...
sweetrevoirs Oct 2016
One day you'll find yourself missing her in the worst way there is to miss a person.
Bones in your body cracks in every searching steps.
You can't differ between your sobs and a ticking clock.
And your soul, it wrestles with the one in your head. Daily bloodshed of "This is not real, she is still here." and "This is. It is. She has found another home and she is now whole."
One day you will find yourself missing her in the nastiest possible way there is to be an empty shell.
To breakdown in every intersection you walk in,
and to look at a carcrash and think 'at least I can survive that'.
To feel every fiber every atom in your whole being burn and scream,
they are begging,
they are begging for you to ******* breathe.
To inhale air on to your lungs and not her ever leaving scents,
to put air on it and not chants of 'I miss her' because repeating those words won't take you anywhere but the graveyard.
You'll start making god out of every thing.
Your home, your mother, your socks, the ring you never get any chance to give her.
You just need to hang on to those beliefs, that even if your god won't hear your cries, you can still beg the other ones to return her.
Your knees touch the ground more often than your lip does the cigarette.


(But now that she's still here she'll still be the one taking all the pills.)
Tatiana Jan 2015
"Would you like some cake"
A women asked me politely as she was exiting the door holding a tray of cake.
"No thank you, i'm not a fan of cake."
I respond, laughing politely because the situation was a little bizarre.
"That's probably why you're so skinny and not fat."
I didn't respond after that and here's why:
repeat her last line, except with the nastiest tone you could imagine.
Then imagine her glaring at me as she left.
...
What did I do? Why did that escalate so quickly?
What just happened....
I don't understand why that was at all necessary.
“CAAAAMON-CAAAMON-CAAMON-CAMON. *******. *******, YOU STUPID *******!!!!”  I slam on the brakes as the traffic light turns red, the front end of my car now parked in the middle of the intersection.  

A bunch of headlights begin to move towards me, and I rev the engine, slamming the car into reverse.   Now behind the white line, I lean back and take a few breaths.  I sound like my old man.  That nasty, fat ***** was always screaming at those useless racehorses as his soggy, limp cigar would bounce from his lips, spit landing all over the paid-in-full fakies of whatever blonde ***** was cuddled up next to him for the afternoon.  Having lost everything by the end of the day, he would always plod home and deposit his soiled, checkered pants on the laundry room floor and crawl into bed to make love to my mom.  

Ugh. I need to stop thinking about him.  I already wish I could be one of those old horses who gets shot in the head.  Today was my five-year work anniversary, and on behalf of the entire department, volcano-face Emily bestowed upon me a massive dog bone, which now sits tauntingly on my passenger seat.  As she suppressed that nasty giggle of hers and handed me the bone, the room erupted with laughter, someone shouting from the back corner, “Hey, Ed! Get it?!  You’re always like a dog with a bone!”  Maybe I should go back to work and make that ***** play fetch.

No. I’ll save that for later.  Right now I am going to go get that Philly Cheese Steak sandwich that’s been on my mind all afternoon.  That is if this light ever turns green again.  But ******* is my mouth salivating just thinking about that sandwich.  

What the hell is that?

A Ford Bronco is blazing towards the intersection, directly into oncoming traffic.  It swerves onto the shoulder, speeding past the rows of stopped cars and blasting through the red light.  The driver is leaning out the window, swinging around a sword.  He notices me staring and looks straight into my eyes, solidifying his unspoken threat by pointing his medieval weapon straight at my heart.  

Fine.  If that ******* wants a duel, I would hardly be a gentleman if I did not oblige.  I reach behind the passenger seat and grab the antique cop light that’s been gathering dust on the floor ever since I purchased it at the neighborhood thrift store.  I slap the thing on the top of my car and punch through the red light, cranking the steering wheel to make a quick u-ey.  As I gain some distance, I can just barely make out the license plate.

DR PEPR

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Dr. Pepper ignores the fact that I am only 20 feet behind him and turns up his stereo, blasting a Renaissance dance tune from hell.

I’m going to end this, and I’m going to end it by sticking that sword up that Shakespeare *******’s ***.  

Dr. Pepper slams on his brakes, the sudden jolt causing him to drop his sword.  The passengers in the back of the cab burst into a slow-motion uproar, and I take the opportunity to cut off their escape route.  Now stopped, I pull out my mocha-flavored e-cig from my front pocket and look over at my dog bone as the vapor fills the car.  I snag the bone and step outside, feeling the weight of the rawhide in my hand as I approach the truck. Not stopping to bother with the driver, I head towards the back, kicking the forgotten sword into traffic.  My clothes are bathed in red from the brake lights, and the coked-out frenzy of the Renaissance men reaches a ****** as I stand before them, looking like the devil himself.

Adrenaline is surging through me.  As I take a drag of mocha, I scan the faces of the annoying pukes in the back of the truck and locate the nastiest in the bunch sitting in the middle of his troupe, completely stiff with fear.  I look deep into his eyes and slowly exhale.  I pull one more drag as I raise the massive bone and bring it crashing down, making full contact with the left brake light.  The red shards explode into the sky, and I do not hesitate to follow up with the other break light.  Adrenaline coursing through my veins, I can’t help but swing even harder.  

Wow - what a beautiful explosion.  

“Unsheathe thy sword!  UNSHEATHE THY SWORD!”

Dr. Pepper searches frantically for his sword as I casually approach his door. “Dr. Pepper,” I say calmly. He continues to desperately ***** around the truck, so I lean forward, “DR. PEPPER.” He turns begrudgingly to look at me.  Wanting to bid farewell to my defeated adversary, I raise my right hand into a 90 degree angle and wiggle my fingers “bye-bye” in his direction. His blood-shot, brown eyes widen, and it’s clear that he is terrified that his face will be the source of my next fireworks display.  Lucky for him my stomach growls, reminding me that my quest for a Philly Cheese Steak sandwich remains unfulfilled.

I walk away, the cherry light still flashing on top my car, so I take my bone and take a hard swing, unleashing the last set of fireworks in my perfectly-directed scene.  I get in the car, and as I start the engine, the oldies station is blaring Clarence the Frogman Henry’s song, “Ain’t Got No Home”.  It’s the best part of the song, and without hesitation I begin to tap out the rhythms on my steering wheel and sing along with Clarence in that high-pitched voice of his:

“I ain’t got no sister,
I ain’t got a brother,
I ain’t got a father,
not even a mother,
I’m a lonely boy,
I ain’t got a home.
Whoo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo!
Whoo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-­woo-woo!”
FIDELITY?  I've always been a strong believer in fidelity until i met him.
He was nothing like the other men, there was an aura about him that pulled you to him, the man was an enigma, sexuality had never been so portrayed by a man but this man was special!
ADULTERY! This man had charmed his way into my life and boy did i not know what i was in for! He was married yes, i was entertaining young men yes but i was overwhelmed by my feelings for him that i embraced it and loved the fact that he was married and i had a man, men? i really didn't care.
*******! The first time he took me was on his office table, we didn't make love, all we did was ****, he was rough and would say the nastiest things, i felt like a ***** and i loved it. he wouldn't even bother closing the door, made it more intense. we would be at it for hours but still, i wanted his filthy **** after we were done, plunging in so deep, filling me with his seed, spending time in his office in the pretense of working. Well he was working me and i was rocking his ****.
LUST? Lust was all i felt for him, it wasn't love. i wasn't so gullible to think so because when i woke up i couldn't even remember his name. maybe it was a dream showing me how the other half lived.........
Brent Kincaid Nov 2016
How do you sleep at night
All the stuff you did ain’t right
You cheated and you lied
It’s known about far and wide
Every day more comes to light.

How do you hold up your head
You should be ashamed instead
You’re the cause of many quarrels
You have few detectable morals.
Your honesty balance is in the red.

We all know all we get from you
Is promises that won’t come true,
You don’t care about any one else
All the matters to you is yourself.
You’re outrageous trash in all you do.

So how do you live with yourself
As Santa Claus’s very nastiest elf?
Every rule you choose to break
Is based on whatever you can take
Regardless of hurting someone else.

Wishing you bad usually isn’t cool
But in your case I’ll break that rule
Since you so often serve up hate
What you deserve is that same rate.
I’m polite, but I am nobody’s fool.

So, I hope you get exactly what
The people you have cheated got
That you end up with just a stone
And spend your time all alone
With your hopes and dreams all shot.
Emmky Jul 2018
We've known each other for long
But still, you can't say a thing
That would define me
What's that spark you see?

Well, I don't know
You have no clue what lives inside my guts
No way you could see within
So why are you still here, wondering who's under the skin?

I don't want you to get *****, finding out who I am
Coz there's a lot of **** inside my head
And much more ***** in my heart, both can't be replaced
No point in cleaning it up, trust me I've tried many times before

And I don't really need you
To see the mess
People around me have done
Coz you've helped them too

I'm sorry that it's true
And there is no cure for me
So don't try to find it
Or else, regrets will hunt me down
Because you've wasted your time not only
On me, but on my issues, too

How many times have you cried because of me?
How many times you wished you were dead
Because your feelings were accepted but not given back?
Tell me, I'll listen before I go, disappear on the quiet bubbly road

There's bulimia in me, I figured it out
Vomiting feelings I've once accepted, not able to answer them
And now giving them back in the nastiest way possible
Covered in dark bubbles, smelling like death

And I would kneel by the toilet
Throwing up all the things I didn't mean
But said with a smile, hoping you'll be glad
Because we are friends, right?
It leaves bitter taste that stays for days
And I can't help but think

Why do they try to see the darkest part
Where everything is messy and covered in blood
Examination of my fakest smiles leads them to realization
There's something wrong with my heart

And I appreciate that you care, yet
I'm sick of it
I can't handle feelings of others and
That drives me insane, needing more shots
So I could spit all the mess out from my mouth and get rid of it

You really are there when I need
Thanks about that by the way
But you can't heal a bulimian heart
That's sick of all this attention that
You're giving me

It's not your fault, it's just me
Knowing people who get too much attached to me
Will get hurt
So my brain starts fighting against it, leaving my heart with a message

Don't let them in and if you do
Get them out like stomach does
When it can't handle the food
Don't play it nice

Still, I can't help
But don't want to hurt you
Yet you're difficult
So now I'm standing here
Saying these words I've made up
Of what I threw up
For the girl and boy who grew too much attached to me
Brent Kincaid Oct 2016
Almost all my most popular poems
Are the ones kicking Trump’s fat ***.
I know after November sixth for sure
This particular issue will lose gas.
While that will slow me down for sure,
It won’t make me loathe him less.
He’s a charlatan, a liar and a ****,
In almost every way a total mess.

Donnie, Donnie
You are such a creep!
Only fools would elect you;
Good people would lose sleep.
It simply doesn’t make sense
They don’t know what they’re doing.
A Trump-like presidency
Would bring this world to ruin.

So I will have to maunder around a bit
To find a juicier source of poetic satire
Than the Big Cheetoh has often been.
He’d open his mouth and spew hellfire.
He frothed and threatened and whined,
And for the most part the scorching
Ended up being his own big ****.
And never was an *** more deserving.

Donnie, Donnie
You are such a creep!
Only fools would elect you;
Good people would lose sleep.
It simply doesn’t make sense
They don’t know what they’re doing.
A Trump-like presidency
Would bring this world to ruin.

He’s arrogant and babbles lies
One of the nastiest people ever seen.
He only seems to make sure his face
Shows in photographs in magazines.
He has little understanding of the job
He thinks he wants to be chosen for.
He expects everyone to bow and scrape,
To compliment, effuse and to adore.

Donnie, Donnie
You are such a creep!
Only fools would elect you;
Good people would lose sleep.
It simply doesn’t make sense
They don’t know what they’re doing.
A Trump-like presidency
Would bring this world to ruin.
cr May 2014
i ruptured into a
million flickering stars
too long ago, breaking from
touch-induced trauma and the
poisonous aspects of
bleach. my thoughts drip
from the ink veins
of pens; ******* it,
i cannot allow myself
the privilege of
saying, “this

is every secret i
ever hid.” i am not
soft or pretty or
loving; i am small
and hurt and reticent
and guilty and abandoned. i
long to be the

little girl i was six years ago
before he shredded my
insides, sprouted roses
in my blood, wrapped his ******
thorns around my throat. there is
no recognition of that beloved
innocence. the girl in the mirror
never looks back at me: she is knotted
hair, decaying paper skin,
scarlet gashes, pink
scar tissue. i am not

sweet or darling. i am
ravaged. van gogh swallowed
yellow paint to create some
feigned happiness, and i understand
that in the nastiest way. i spent my time
trying  to shelter the black and blue
daisies on my hips with makeup,
camouflaging razorblades in fields
of sunflowers, pouring every
unhealthy bit of my starved
stomach into the beautiful
lilies in the flowerpot in the
bathroom. i have unearthed
that home is not the
safest place to be.

i was infected and diagnosed with
the disease of loneliness
by age eight. this wound
has burdened me yet the
ticking time tomb nestled in
the crooks of my devastated
personality will soon detonate; they
told me i was sick, and i think
i finally believe that.
Zoë Jul 2015
i once heard a quote
it went something like
"one of the cruelest things you can do to someone is to pretend you care about them, more than you do"
that's actually exactly how it goes
might sound nice off some kashi poet's lips
but the feeling is what really makes this string of words strong
one's feelings
real or not
can completely ruin another
and when you finally see
that they don't care for you as much as they used to
or care for you at all, even though they said they did
it hurts like hell.
feels like bullets to your already ****** chest, from your heart being previously ripped out viciously by good ol' reality's unforgiving hands.
and that may be an understatement.
anyways, if you don't love another
or care about them,
don't pretend you do,
because even though those words,
sweet like honey off of your pink lips, make her smile big.
the tears that follow lies
are the nastiest of all
and no sweet words
can fix a broken heart
Sarah Wilson Apr 2011
Hey, Cass.

I’m doing this letter challenge. A letter a day for thirty days.
That’s a third of our whirlwind summer.
Today’s topic is, “someone you miss the most”.
And at first, I didn’t think of anyone.
You weren’t even in the list of possible people.
But something triggered something, and you sashayed your way into my head.
And you’ve been stuck there for awhile.
So, this will be about you. Because now that I’m thinking of you, I miss you.
I miss you so much there’s a hole in my chest where my heart belongs.
I spent all of sixth grade on the other side of Professor’s classroom.
I watched you and the boys simultaneously befriend and annoy everyone.
Except me. I don’t know how, but I couldn’t feel anything either way.
Except when we started writing in English class. I don’t know.
I don’t remember much of what you wrote, except it was dark and scary and…
I loved it.
You had the best way of taking the nastiest words and making them beautiful.
I don’t remember the details, though. Isn’t that strange?
You did always tell me to look at the big picture. I’m still working on that.
And, anyway, nothing much happened until the birthday party.
The surprise one, where Amy picked up all the guests one by one from their houses for breakfast.
Sort of a reverse surprise party, and I told you, “this is the only surprise party I’ve ever had.”
And you tactfully reminded me it wasn’t for me, and I told you, “it’s close enough.”
We went to breakfast, and talked about how creepy the indoor balcony was, you know which one.
The one with the chain hanging over the edge. We shared a glance, and I knew we had to talk.
So we did. The entire day, we talked and talked and talked. Antisocial as they come, the both of us.
You almost convinced your mom to let you stay the night, but no. You left for Tennessee the next day.
That night, I pieced together and guessed the letters of your screen name.
[It had melted mostly off my arm by then.]
I found you, right as you found me. We both said, “found you,” at the same time.
We always connected in the most creepy ways.
And anyway,  we talked all that night. And the next. And the next.
I skipped sleepovers and birthdays and we talked our way through the summer.
I learned so much about you, from you. Too much.
And then you started cutting. And cutting. And cutting.
And then you went away for two weeks. I missed you so much it hurt to breathe.
You came back, and actually called me. I hadn’t heard your voice in two months.
Except for in my head, anyway. You told me how the asylum was.
“It’s the most beautiful place in the world, Sarah. I’ve never been so happy.”
We both agreed it was probably the drugs, and we laughed in our somber way.
You started writing more, and talking less.
You started cutting more, and smiling.
I just stopped altogether. School had started again.
I was talking to your ex-boyfriend’s best friend, and it seemed like he took your place.
Then one night, you weren’t there at all. Two weeks, I waited.
I called your house. Your number was disconnected.
I spent hours and hours and hours rereading our conversations.
I was scared of you, the absence of you.
But I was scared of us, too. You ****** me in, like quicksand.
But I never even knew. I’ve never seen you again.
Never spoken to you again.
I can’t explain our relationship to anyone.
The only one who understood what I couldn’t explain was your ex.
And well, I don’t like him anyway. So I pushed you away.
Very successfully, I hadn’t thought of you in years.
Until this letter, until these two girls who remind me of you.
They **** me in like quicksand, too. One of them’s gone already.
One of them is going to leave. And I’m so, so scared of all of you.
But god, Cassie, our entire summer was based on our fears.
So I guess you’d be proud.
Wherever you are, darkest angel, I do miss you.
I think, maybe I might have loved you. But we’ll never know.
Dance with your demons, and make sure you lead.
Don’t be afraid to step on their toes.

-Your favorite demon.
letter fifteen of a thirty-day challenge.
this one's for my darkest angel.

my internet's been down.
it's still not fixed.
Mary G Nov 2012
I didn't realize how much it hurt
Until the next morning when the toxins escaped my blood.
I didn't realize that blood had pooled in my foot,
Leaving the nastiest of all bruisers.
I didn't realize how it had happened,
But I knew it had been done by someone else.
I didn't realize how much pain it caused,
Then felt the pain when I hit it against the door jamb.

I didn't think that it was broken
I didn't think that going to the hospital was necessary
I didn't think that I should stop running to let it heal
I didn't think it was as bad as it was...

People have had worse then broken foots,
And so I am grateful to only have a broken foot
Because having no hands would be worse
Having no hands mean having no expression through writing
Having no hands means not being able to talk without words
Having no hands is much worse than a broken foot.

So I will give into the pain,
Acknowledge the bruise
And realize that all of this was caused by a girl who had one too many shots
And will live with my punishment
Of a broken foot
This is one of those moments in life when you wake up the next morning and wish you could remember what happened last night. Instead all you have to figure out the store is a broken foot.
Olivia Kent Nov 2015
In love forever.
One pen.
A woman.
Intriguing stylish.
Dawning sunrise.
Night that's black.
Daggers pulled.
Put them back.
High heeled shoes.
Having a snooze.
Dozing,
A nap in the afternoon.
In bed.
Head games.
Man calls his woman.
The nastiest names.
Eclectic electric,
that powers the light in her head.
Midafternoon, leading into goodnight.
Just about write.
(c)LIVVI
Constantine Jun 2018
I mean if im being honest the love i deliver
is kinda creepy
but it isn't when you're on your knees asking for
the nastiest things you could think of
;)
inksignificant Oct 2013
sometimes we laugh,
but tears always follow.
sometimes we smile,
but inside, we're hollow.

the eyes tell everything,
but not many can read.
genuine care and some lovely hugs,
maybe that's all we really need.

what you think,
isn't always true.
i promise,
i'll be there for you.

your beautiful smile
is what gets me through bad days,
but i cry inside because
it utterly hurts to see your sad gaze.

your lovely kind words,
they make me flatter,
but nothing's compared to
your love that's grown fatter.

honey, with me you don't
have to bother lying,
because i see it in your eyes-
they're no longer shining.

all i want is nothing more
that to see you at your happiest
even though
you go through the nastiest.

because i long to see
those lights again,
together we'll pull through
this horrific pain.

these last few words
i have for you-
you're strong, you're incredible
and i love you.

**(a.p)
IL Mare May 2015
give my words back
the ones i have earned through
the books that i've read
in all the years that have passed
give my words back
even the nastiest ones
the sharpest, boldest, the lethal
give my words back
for i cannot even write
for the simplest memoir anymore
give my words back
even the ones you cannot
and will not take
give my words back
i beg you just to grant me
enough power to be sane
and writing is my sanity
don't take it away from me
give me my words back
because even if you
did give them all back to me
they will always and always
speak to you
they will always speak of you
but at least let me keep them
after all, you can only be mine
in words
Ceida Uilyc Jul 2015
I remember you as the heat of a vague howl.
Of a faint,
distinct yet enthralling moan.
Of the ****** nubility of a forgotten feud.
Reviving and enthralling to sear.
To etch the purple into the nastiest blue.
David Cunha May 2017
I like the nastiest bars,
Those where the waitress is called names
But she doesn't care 'cause she's too kind
And tries to keep it all clean for 400 a month.

Those bars have drama
Whole worlds and stories continuosly entangling,
Whisky on rocks, vomits and shouts
Here comes Rita the waitress to clean it all again;
Dogs bark in the streets
Women cry in their beds as men get drunk
And kick the innocent trash can over a discussion about gibberish.

The loner cat lurks the street at night
Hunting for hamburgers that fell off the trash can,
The drunk men start a fight,
'Here comes the police!' 'Run-run!'
One falls, gets the blame and a free trip to county jail,
Three others join a party and feed the ******
Money and **** --- tails.

Finally, the last one goes home
To beat the crying wife over the same junk
And the repressed anger only a coward can hide.
Mitchell Jul 2011
When your asked to the nastiest ball
And all you want to do is fall
Where mother can't help you out
And your soul heavy like a stout
Take to the streets which are dreary n' beat
Take the road un-wandered n' ponder
What you'd be like without you and me
To help this worries is to make me feel sorry
For' the afternoon we spent together was meant
To hold up for an hours worth of eternity
I mentioned that letter you sent the other day
To a friend that hadn't seen in a thousand years
We spoke about the joke you read in some book
And giggled the night off feeling like crooks
Our heads are heavy with the weight of this world
My feet are soggy from this world's bitter game
All this repetition is starting to get the better of me
The mind is struggling to get the body to believe
Now when I get around to start loving again
And I can raise my head without much restrain
Take my case as that lily blue flower vase
Shines in the morning sun light and hits your face
We could walk for hours as these drunken cowards
Wash away their souls for the Devil has foretold
But me no better with no job just a feather
A lick for the rest of time but don't nickel and dime
Born again born anew born to see the frothing croon
Waits waited but drank too much
His fingers ain't broken he's just getting some lunch
These rattling rips come from a place not of time
This brain ain't mine and it ain't that much fun
A prisoner of the classroom a prisoner in full bloom
Turn to terror and you'll burn just like the bun
Bout round this time people roam in from nowhere n' bored
Heart with her is a thing shared to the nearest core
Ask me the name of a foreign diplomat that knows his math
And I'll ask you to leave with your hat gripped to your back
Jack Dalton Nov 2013
I wish henry didnt do the thoughts that he thought
Was his suicide.
I wish henry could talk.
The point being henry is gone.
Feels like the empty pit of an ocean poem.
The empty walrus has a beard
In it grows the bankers heart
And the crooks on wall street.
My father wasnt what destroyed
The crazy heart of a thurough poet.
Im to normal to feel the big haul
Of the god of henry.
But never the stinking less.
The god that kills poets.
The god who always comes back for more.
If the posh bar in new york closed
Henry would of went next door.
Henry would of been around
A little more to know where he sits
In the book store.
The ****** way to be perfect
Was the nastiest game in
Snowy Michigan.
There ought to be fences on that bridge.
But he would of just climbed over.
Mr.  Bones what made henry do it.
Mr. Bones what made henry
Killed henry like the banker
And the revolver from
Oaklahoma.  
Empty is every ship returning home.
Henry isnt on the list of survivors stranded
In the aftermath.
Captain henry stayed on board.
AJ Aug 2015
It was false,
And you were false hope.

You were small bursts of attention,
With the nastiest of intentions.
You were late drunken nights,
With thoughts that sounded right.
Your words slid down my throat so smooth,
I didn't even realize it was poison.

Don't dangle the antidote darling,
I'm too proud.
I'd rather die than beg.
I'm not the weaker of the two of us.
Tick tock.
You know you won't let it end like this.
I'll watch the clock run out.
It will stop us both.
Emma Jan 2015
We fought
and fought
thinking it was just
petty little fights
But you were different
than when we first met

Saying things like
"I would die if you ever left me"
or
"We're soulmates and we'll never
break up"

And hey,
months ago I was naive
and stupid
and thought maybe that was true

But you said
the nastiest things to me
Making me feel worse than I did
without you

Telling me
No one else would ever "stick around"
Telling me
I need help

I ended it
because I waited for an
apology
that never came

And maybe it's for the
best

Because I was never one for
forgiving
And you were never good with
apologies.

-e.w.
Stacy Mills Feb 2016
Have you ever felt like the tiniest piece of ****,
on the smallest fleck of *****,
sneezed out by a disgusting snot filled nose,
which sits on the face of the nastiest,
disease filled being in the universe,
eaten by a cockroach,
devoured by a rat,
consumed by a cat,
digested by a dog,
and shat out again,
then picked up,
flushed down the toilet,
torn apart by a crocodile in the sewer,
only to be caught by a trapper,
Then made into a pair of boots,
that stomp through manure all day?
Standing on shores with a sunset so brilliant;
setting up camp in the sands.
I'll burn the bonfire till your name catches flame
I don't know what I did, but I feel so ashamed.

Why lie to a person so enthralled in your thought,
            just lead them on a noose to a cliff.
The stool is not broken so just give it a kick,
and I'll tumble on down to the waters.

I walked into town after sand became glass,
and I conversed with a mad bartender.
He said, "son, listen here.  don't waste your time with beer,
'cause you're caught just like a deer in a storm."
I said to him, "man, just give me your nastiest poison
I'm lookin' to nullify these neurons."
He filled up glass fast with a laugh and like that
I was knocked on my *** like a child.

The storms came in, not too long after;
a maelstrom of vicious intent.
But suddenly light broke,
I was soon filled with laughter.
The past is nothing but a joke.
Lora Lee Oct 2015
Small Issues

When she unlocks her heart
It all comes out
Pouring in a stream
Without seeming end
Everflowing, not always like a river
But rapids
Frothing and bubbling
Heart flushing out poison
Like after a hard night of drinking
When a friend holds hair back
And all the ugliest, nastiest parts  roar  out
Pushed , upchucked
Without control.

Outflow of bitter
Salt of tears
Tears, unsewn, sometimes ripping bigger
Sometimes just bearing it
The worse for wear.
The fabric of her soul
Is often many-layered
And multi-hued.
Rough-spun jute
Next to softest silk.
But today, as heart is opened,
The key misplaced,  
She cannot hold back.
Dizziness and nausea take over.
Silk is torn and waves like a flag.

She raises hands, in supplication
Before holding onto the nearest
Steadying object, be it chair or rail.
Hope arises
for sweet beneath bitter
for clean, warm blood
pumping with life, and flowing  purely
for feeling clean after all the poison is out.
She knows it is there, deep down under
muscle and tissue
She knows
light-filled energy is
somewhere shining
in a low rock pool
right around her solar plexus.

"How we only need,"
she thinks.
"To work out
a few small issues."
Relief
And exhaustion
Take over
As she reaches
for tissues
to wipe away pain
and lie down to rest.
There is some down time
before the next test.

Feb. 2014
River May 2016
I'm the most negative person
I'm the most positive person
I'm the nicest, kindest, loveliest person
you'll ever meet
I'm the meanest, nastiest, cruelest of souls

I'm so skeptical
I'm so open hearted
I live my life with bounded feet
I dance to the beat of my own dream.

I am a conglomeration of contradictions
How the **** am I supposed to know who I am,
What my purpose is,
In which direction to follow
When my soul is both north and south
Light and dark
Love and evil
David W Clare Dec 2016
By: David W. Clare

Her Korean Dagger eyes, led me astray that otherwise sanguine night at the...

Going-out-of-business bankrupt sushi bar!
 
By far the nastiest *** I ever had; I was glad until she cut my head off and puked down my neck…

Oriental ladies are peculiar that a way...

She was the succubus or the seductress or perhaps the demure murderess…

Who knows?

All I know: she was the temptress; the fire-wild waitress in a Seoul sushi bar

 I was on visa overstay; drunk almost every night and day

Akin to a spastic kid in a candy shop!

We met in the ladies room; smashed into each other like a pair of rusted nails!

Her pantyhose ripped open like cobwebs in a raging windstorm…

We sloppily kissed after she slapped my face!

Next thing I know; she stole my wallet!

Then I awoke; the joint closed down, the dark roused me up…

I was glad she ran off with the boss…

Now, I can go back to my guest house room and sleep it off!

© In perpetuity all rights reserved
℗ FilmNoirWorks
Strange things happen in Asia... Gee, I hadn't noticed!
Whenever I went with winsome Kate
She’d say, ‘I’m a witch, and that,’
And while in bed, with love in my head,
All she would do was chat.
She’d chatter about the latest spell
She’d found in her old Grimoire,
While I would lie, and dream of her thighs
And hope she’d surprise me there.

And so she did, a number of times
Each time that I’d reach for her,
Like shifting sand, I’d find in my hand
A handful of ***** fur,
The black cat under the counterpane
Would wriggle and spit and scratch,
And I’d withdraw, away from its paw
I’d find it more than a match.

Then she’d go on about frogs and spawn
While up above in her flat,
And hanging down from her ceiling fan
The nastiest looking bat.
‘I hope that’s not going to drop on us,’
I’d say, but she didn’t care,
It often lay on her pillow case
All tangled up in her hair.

‘Wouldn’t you like to make witching love?’
I’d say to her, in despair,
While she would lie, with spells in her eye
And some that would really scare.
She said she needed to concentrate
And would make some terrible moans,
They seemed to come from the mantlepiece
Where she kept a pile of bones.

She called them Fred, he was certainly dead
And he stared at us from above,
She’d cry, and say that there was a day
When he was her one true love.
But he’d fallen into her pickle jar
One day, when casting a spell,
And she’d pulled him out, too late, no doubt,
He’d pickled his way to hell.

I bid farewell to my witching one
Before I suffered his fate,
I’d prayed for love to heaven above
Knowing it was too late.
She’d filled a cauldron with toads and newts
Then turned and reached for my hand,
But I had fled, the moment she said,
‘Now all I need is a man!’

David Lewis Paget
judging me
for the scars you can see
but the nastiest mark of them all
is not some physical flaw
you could laugh at with your friends
or pinch at on my skin
living breathing being shame
never taught to be another way
guilty for existing that's my bad
they'll make sure i know of that
little whispers poke
but they're just a thread in the rope
i don't even feel anymore i think
i survived but did i really
i love you, i love you
so i don't know what to do
i'm panicking and scared
for this, i wasn't prepared
you want me gone, it seems
i never expected this in my wildest dreams
i thought our love was stronger than this
but maybe i just didn't realize what was amiss
the way you look at me says you love me
but the way you act doesn't seem to agree
what did i do to cause this divide?
or did it form because of you and your endless pride?
do you really want me to leave forever?
do you want a two year love to truly sever?
i can hear my heart breaking, tearing at the seams
nothing could hurt more, not even my nastiest dreams
please don't tell me you want me to leave
or you and our love, i will forever greave
i am heartbroken
violetstarlights Apr 2019
there's beauty in the flowers
there's beauty in the trees
there's beauty in the showers
and the great blue seas

but then it reminds me of you
and now it's ugly again

the pollen makes me sneeze
the leaves block out the sun
the coldness makes me wheeze
your face ruined the fun

stupid, stupid!
when will you know?
that "do you like me"
is a ******* yes-or-no!

a black and white,
nothing in between.
but your answer, oh my,
was the nastiest gray i've ever seen!

"not now", what's what supposed to mean!?
what was I supposed to do?
your lack of emotion made me want to scream,
why did i fall in love with you?!

they say love is beautiful,
the reward of life.
but **** this ****!
i'd rather die.

than to live with this feeling,
to swat it away, like flies
but then it comes back,
and i must tell myself more lies

lies that i hate you,
lies that you're bad,
they hurt so much
because you were all I ever had.

your smile was my sunlight,
your laughter was a cool breeze,
you kept me up at night,
yet i knew you'd never love me

so to rid myself of this burden
i must cancel it out
but if you're still out there,
if you're thinking about me too,
please don't ever know
that i still love you.
i probably shouldn't use rhyme schemes again, like ever, honestly
makes the whole thing sound like a forced essay from a 5th grader
labyrinth Apr 2021
I’ve never heard of a dishonest leopard
Or a cheating cheetah for that matter
I haven’t spoken with a corrupt eagle
Doing things I find rather illegal
I didn’t meet with a warlord grasshopper?
Nor a giraffe being the nastiest plotter
Never seen an ethnic massacre of sparrows carried out by pigeons
Or Panda’s killing koalas in the name of panda religion
Neither did I hear a drug-dealing squirrel
Nor a cat applicant with fake referral
Newspapers never read an alligator
Acting as the river’s agitator
No birds to sink so low being the bid-riggers
Or fish terrorists pulling the triggers
These are the problems that humans face
The ultra-superior, ultimate, master-race
These are not even problems, man! Just basics
And we succeed to fail in all. Let’s face it
Being the only incompatible creature
Of the whole system, we call nature
Answer me this! Who are the irrationals?
Honestly though! Us idiots or them animals?
Dishes Jan 2019
I'm doing well,  I'm still moving forward.

Only slower now,
More cautious of who's caught in the wake of my journey.
The thoughts of victims passed surface here and there, but they dont float for long before they gurgle back below the surface.
Where they belong.
Our odyssey has seen us lose many moons time caught in storms and whirlpools,
There is none left to dawdle with,
Only enough to finish the journey.

I rest easy,
With no time for troubled dreams.
I keep my eyes forward,  
Set on finding the truths obscured by the mystery of life, and the beauty therein.

I'm never alone on my journey,
I'm thankful for that always,
It makes the days breeze bye
When they feel the nastiest.

I'm mapping the coast as I go along,
Making note of the fauna and flora I can see,
I'll keep it close,
And stay the course as long as fate allows.
It's been a long time

— The End —