When did I become a ******
I lost my virginity somewhere in between,
Random one nightstands...
And drunken ******
Virginity lost so long ago
Can't even remember why I lost it for
Now I find myself on the delivering end
Of some woman who tommorrow,
I won't even be remembering
I don't want to be misleading
I actually have feelings for these women
But it seems to get ******* at the end of each meeting
Than they just become another notch on my belt,
Which I guess is good
Because it seem like the more notches I get
Seem to prove my manhood
When did I become a ******
Maybe it was in the 8th grade,
When I got addicted to ****
Or when I got to college,
And it became so easy to get a drunk female,
To my dorm
When did I become a ******
When did *** become an addiction
Maybe in high school when all the dudes would brag,
About females they than hit
And I just got tired of listening
So having *** became a mission
When did I become a ******
I guess somewhere in between,
Losing my virginity with my first love
And the women I slept with last night,
Just because
When did I become a ******???

Dear God. i hope You’re listening, i need to get close. im steady running in the same position.
i can’t get close.
my fingers hurt because i’ve been trying to pen down a letter to her & me & You for me.
im trying to be good.

these past few days i’ve been trying to get my thoughts in unison. working on harmonizing my processes & prioritizing my priorities.

im going to be raw.
i wrote letters to her but every single time i think of sending them to her, i remember that i won’t get much weight with my actions. so i throw them away.

im steady running in the same position.
she’s been thugging lately, in a good way.

i won’t even try to make sense tonight, i’ll let words flow.
****** of the youthful mind, hold me.

play softly, the strings at the back of my mind. be attentive, this tune will catch you.
she’s stroking my medulla oblongata, painting vivid images of passion.
steady running in the same position.

ever looked at someone and feel a conversation going on between your souls? no verbal action, just distance & the space between the two of you.

im steady running from nymphos of the youthful mind.
Father, hope You’re listening. help me to not bend Your will.
i’ve been good. dry cleaned my suit, im ready to walk with You.
i need to get close. but i can’t get close to You.
but im steady running in the same position.

****** of the youthful mind, tell me what do you want me to do to help you, help me, help you. she’s been straight thugging.

ever been so close to a beautiful conversation yet words halt at the opening and you’re left stuck with regret? days later, you remake the scenario and polish on what you could’ve said.

i wrote a letter to her & me & you for me. but i threw it away. wouldn’t have made a significant change anyway.

****** of the youthful mind, i need to get close.
but im steady running in the same position.

she’s been thugging. hat low, sweatpants low, afro hair, smooth skin, smooth **** dancing under the moonlight.
scorpion eyes, deadly eyes. i need to get close.

****** of the youthful mind, my gangster, i need you to stroke my medulla and play a thousand songs at the back of my mind.

im not trying to make sense, i was just trying to let thoughts flow.
Dear Father, can i run away? i want to run away with her, to a place nobody knows. us.
but please help me not to bend Your will.
send me to a golden forest, to the Garden of Eden, so she & i can be Adam & Eve.
we will be good. before then, i need to get close.

******, sing. sing me to sleep, sing away my troubles. i will run away with you.

Father, hope You’re listening. i need to get close, help me not to bend Your will. but i can’t get close. to You.
open the gates for me, im outside.

i need to take control of me and pour out vibes so hard the universe capsizes. ****** of the youthful mind, run away with me.

i wrote a letter to her & i & you for me. but then i threw it away.
don’t even try and make sense of the words i wrote.
don’t ask me how im feeling, just keep your eye on the poetry.

TeddyBearTribe.

Honey why don't you ever write me something romantic?
Those eye's of my once teenage wife looked at me in that same way whenever I knew I better cave or the fun time factory was going be closed for awhile.

Well honey you know that's not really my style and especially after getting back form the war and all it just seems like something inside me died.
But you weren't ever in the service.

Yeah I know that's what's so ****** up about it.
What?
Once again my use of choice yet altogether confusing ******* had worked  kids there so easily impressed  with *******   no wonder those ******* twilight books sold.

Gonzo !
*******.
Huh?.

Dam you Jedi mind trick you never ******* work!
***** you George Lucas for mind ****** me as a child  not that I watched those films.
What do you think I am some kind dork who post's **** all over the net  for cheap
laughs cause he has no true life?
Okay that was a bit harsh I have a life well kinda.

Gonzo! Are you listening?
My demented little ****** with a heart of a gold card asked?
Of course I'm listening duh you know I'm a artist I'm like always deep in thought
about serious ****.

Okay like what?  

Well if your a hand model and you book a gig is it called a *******?
Are you ******* nut's.

No sweetheart I'm a drunk.
Seriously?
Your right I've always been insane with a chance of brilliance in some misspelled ideas.

Look Gonzo I'm not joking just listen okay.
My little ****** just went speaking and like any good man I paid no attention and just shook my head in agreement it's a trick I learned from my grandfather.
Course now it's no longer a secret being I've let all the chicks no ******.

She kept rattling on all the while I thought pure sweet thoughts while staring at her *******.
I was lost on a sunny meadow  where all was soft and gentle.
I'm kidding it was more like a ***** involving  Jennifer Aniston ,Rihanna , and that total **** who was all the rage you know that former kids star you know Betty White.

It was all going pretty normal well aside from the pool of ranch dressing and Justin Bieber's
head on a goat's body I always knew he was into devil worship.
I just hate we have something in common.

I couldn't take anymore so I ran I ran so far away.
But still I couldn't get away.

So we have a deal?

Yes what dear lord what had I agreed to?
******* Betty White that Hanna  Montana **** ******.
Oh thank you baby so much  I just know it'll be great.

Yes it will.
I had no clue what this strange little female was speaking of for one I was lost
and I felt all naked and vulnerable to bad no hot stripper ****** were in the vicinity
yeah I know that's a big word for me thank you Dora the explorer sure I was disappointed
it wasn't a **** at first but you really have opened my horizon's.
That just sounds wrong but enough with the foreplay kids.

I was silent deep in thought and finally before I could ask my semi faithful
****** spilled the beans once always beats cutting them yeah girl farts they just take
all the fun out it.

Baby I cant wait to read your new romantic write.

What dear lord!
It was a nightmare from which I couldn't wake it was impossible task
a myth like if you take yoga you can blow yourself.
Gonzo cannot write romance.

It just doesn't happen hell I'm Gonzo and even I know that.

Baby after I read it   I'm going to give you the best gift ever.
It's something you always wanted.

My mind went spinning as to this want that would be worthy.
Hmm lets see .
So you mean were going to ****** Justin Bieber  and bathe in his blood ?

No baby even better.

What could be better than that ?
My mind was working overtime ****** I hadn't thought this much sense
that old teacher asked me what I wanted to do with my life.
Course then  I realized when he asked me to find his candy bar in his pocket that he was just a perverted janitor.

Yeah it's a long story don't ask.

You know baby you me and my friend  and her other friend and this time you'll actually
get to join in.

It was like Christmas for a pervert.

So looks like I was going to be writing a romantic story.

I could do this especially for some twisted freaky ***  hell it's what are country was founded upon.
Duh I mean bribes people they didn't invent freaky *** until the 60's.
You know right around the great depression.
Yeah I bet whoever invented the ******* put a smile on someone's face.  

See not only in my long winded writes do you get ******* you get culture and that history ****.
yeah I know your welcome high five to *******.

I was selling my soul but it's okay it wasn't anything I hadn't done before.
To create this masterpiece I had to get alone with my thoughts yet still have a good
internet connection duh  how else would I write this *******?

What do you think I am some dinosaur that writes on paper.
Do I look like I'm Amish yeah that shows about as real as my crystal **** operation
I have in the garage.

I'm kidding I don't have a garage but my grandmother does yeah like I'm going to blow up my own house.

I was off to my secret hiding place to be alone and write the greatest romance story off all time.
It would surpass all the greats of the past.
Like Gone With The Wind or that story of those two **** pirate cowboys you know
they made a movie about it called Wayne's World.

Will Gonzo be able to concentrate for more than a half second.
Avoiding ***** and freaky things on the internet like I didn't know you could fit that up there dot com.

Will anyone actually get to the end of this without falling into a coma or getting more **** not that my readers smoke ****.

Will little Timmy make it out of that well to find grandpa and lassie having a quality
peanut butter session  don't ask.

All this and more will be answered in the next exciting  and even more long winded
episode of Go **** Yourself A Love Story. Part 2 coming soon to poetry site near you.

Yeah I know I'm not right .

Cheers kids.

Stop resenting me
For the way I shop
The things I do
To make sure
My  food is fresh

I confess I feel blueberries
In my fingers
To make sure they are firm
Not too ripe

I confess I shake
Cans of spaghetti and ravioli
So that I know
The sauce is not
Congealed

I confess I pull  frozen waffles
From the back of the freezer
Less likely that they thawed
And refroze into
Oddball shapes

I confess I smell trout
Before I buy it
Placing it against my nose
In the most unabashed
Way

Spare me your hate
About my consumer habits
When I know it has nothing to do with
Food

As long as I bring you warm release
In the darkness of your desires
Pull your tangled hair the way
You like
Bite your darting tongue
In mad hunger
Deep appetite

As long as I reawaken the
Woman
Primal animal hidden
Within
Turn your heat into a river
For a long passionate
Swim

As long as I attend quickly to your
Every ***** command
The craving of your ******
Insatiable
Demand

Then  I can squeeze french bread
In quiet and peace
I can sniff cantaloupes
Without suffering ire
Or grief

I’ll take you tonight
In that filthy way
You like

Until then

Leave me alone

I’m shopping.

Dimples
Are simple
If watched
By red freckled ******'s.

you are the words that breathe through me. lift, move me. the item for a shopper's perusing; for use and abuse-ing. i'm your bend over barbie doll, your late night *******, the push over & the fall. i scrape myself off your boot; keep waiting for trees to bear fruit. it's funny how you can **** me til i'm lame & i still believe i deserve more pain.

how can i believe i'm worth your while when i know you don't care about proving it to me? it's so much sexier for you to see me beg, watch me grovel & worship your **** as if you are my only hope (for all intensive purposes, i mostly believe you are; you save me from facing myself at night. seminated distraction as masochistic salvation).

leave me mangled gasping hair tangled in your fingers grasping & you're lingering by the door, contemplating whether to leave me or take me on the floor. this is all i am to you: tested tried wrong used. bleed me until you stop seeing red, drag me willing or indifferent back to your bed.

The idea seemed like all my others genius why think  it through
had my parents ?
**** no if it wasnt for wild turkey  loud music wild women and
bad desiscions   gonzo wouldnt be here.
Thanks for being a party girl mom.

We had gotten hitched  i always said if i found a woman
who could out drink me under the table was smokin hot  and meaner than a rattle snake and would actully have *** with me without charging.
I would make my wife.

From the moment Skeeter had stepped into my life and said hey what
the ******* lookin at ***** ?
I knew that pint size ******* was the one.

And finally after my in house arrest and her brief vacation in Rikers was up we finally  tied the knott  and got married  but enough with the foreplay  children.

Like two insane people  with a shared thought.
The first night was outstanding the second even better she was like a
hot female  version of me.
A teenage hellcat who should have been busted for filling out that sweater  thank god for citezens arrest.

The first  week flew by Ya think we can everday?
My dear  if you just put your mind to it  and some other parts.
I know we  can.
Yes  to have a dream  and to be horney with someone
who shares  the same  dream is a wonderful thing.
Till you have to slip her roofies to get some sleep.
I knew thoose pills would come in handy  than for
just having them for  blind dates.

Although Ive learned your supposed to not take them also.
Then its just awkward waking up looking to the other person
saying hey  what happend and why are we in the burger king rest room?

After a few weeks i learned why people  actully spoke to each  other
and had these thing's called conversations.
I learned my Skeeter   loved halloweeen  for how could she not with so many costumes.
And she had a a real passion for law inforcement  with all the handcuffs  and tazers  a couple badges  a cop car  hmm makes me
wonder could it be yes your right.
People  really get carried away playing dungeons and dragons.

The first month was great the second made me rethink taking vitamins  she reminded of a  hamster in a wheel runnng without stop
just taking breif breaks  to hit the bottle  of Jack  Daniels
I miss working the pet store.

Leaving the house to  stagger to the bar  myself worn like a
a cheap motels matress.
Skeeter glowing like a neon sign if a neon sign were prone to random acts of violence.
Speaking sweet  nothing's to each other  like I love you sugar ,
did you hide the bullwhip ?  And hey wake up you drunk ******.

Her eye's  a work of true beauthy  that read  **** with me
and i'll knock your **** in the dirt   or light you on fire
ahh romance  it is grand and slightly dangerous and painful at times.

The night alive the drinks flowing  the waitress  a attractive  yet
soon to be mauled victem  of a five three spitfire.
The paper read of something i belive they call them numbers
dam you davinnci code.

Befor I could  down the wild turkey order four more and say in the name of Bono.
She sprang from her seat like a  miniture ninja leaping over the bar.
tackling the woman who had angred my mighty banshee.

the fight was epic and i did what any good red  bloodedand whiskey fueled pervert  would do I sat there and cheered on this cat fight.
get her honey it was a true sitght to be seen  hair being pulled
clothes being ripped off  okay i added that one.

And as a voice echoed over the crowd that said
hey who is that  hot crazy *****.
I turned  to the  man pointed saying  look its raining  
*****   and Adam Lambert  oddly enough he looked.

the sucker punch was fast hard and hurt like a son of
a *****  sorry but thats not just any hot insane horney carzy *****
thats my  teenage nymphomaniac  homicidle costume collecting halloween loving demon with a touch of sweetness wife.

The cops had arrived  but strangley enough Skeeter knew them all by
name.
Im starting to belive she might have a thing for tazers.
The questions flew around sir what caused this and why are you not wearing any pants.

She was in a rant so like any semi sober man  I decicded to set her straight  well  kinda.
And you!
I cant belive you take her number  the rage filling within her
building like a volcano  of pint sized sexiness mean chicks
are hot.

Well  honey I ment to tell ya mid flight  that was the bar tab.
Suprize.

And after i awoke from acoma  my hellcat in my hospital bed
I looked from a black eye saying skeeter  i love you more
with every day that does pass.
To which my teenage ******  replyed good.
God cause if ya didnt Gonzo id have to kick your drunken semi sane long winded  ***.

He was Daniel Kingery to the police.

Daniel Overstreet to his friends.

He was Dollar Dan on the streets.

He was Daniel,
he was wet rough kisses and anger and lust to me.

He found me one day,
18 years to his 37,
he found me when i was still a question mark trying to bleed red.
From behind a lens pointed at my naked flesh
he became a man of mystery,
he became the object of my desires.

I was a young, naive girl who got caught up in
how his pockets were always full- he flaunted it.
The flowers and the exotic dinners and the alcohol and the touch...
oh god, the way we fell into bed,
onto chairs,
into walls.

Then i fell in love on a broken sidewalk.

I was blind to the empty shadows in his eyes,
to the lines he had recited,
to the webs on his face.

I made a god out of a sociopath and i called him "love".

I was his ******, his baby blue.

I became wild under his touch,
manic when he gave me his attention,
suicidal at his leaving.

I was a flower that once was his favorite,
but he left me on the windowsill at a slow, burning wilt
and forgot to water me most days.

Why water a flower when you could have a garden?

Have you ever hated what you loved
until even their existence ate at you?

I have.

****** distresses
Insatiably

Only you
Can satisfy
The primal
Urges

Which you have
Inflicted
Upon me

Shackled
To the arrest
Of your
Seductive allures

Slave to your
Sensual pleasures
Prisoner to my
Ambitions

To be the
Utmost of your
Sensuous
Pursuits.

A Tale of ****** Excitement by Herr Barty Maulwurf

Often **** tales of my past I am writing and sometimes they are a little rude and porny but now I will try to be only slightly profane at request of new friends I am making everywhere. This tale very sensual story is, told by master storyteller (which is me). Filthy bits included. *Danke sehr.

Although I so much hate repetitive to be, Barty Mole must as always apologise for his occasionally slight errors in English-writing as he writes the English language not so very top-class (but he ***** English girls' tongues lots and likes them his tonsils to wipe so good). I (me, Barty) am German person but special type of that because as I are half-and-half black/white (not striped or even top half white, bottom half black, but mixed-up goldene-brun colouring), by this I must explain mein Papa was black US soldier in Germany who did enormous number of bouncy-bouncies with various ladies including meine Mutti (note to monoglots: this means my Mummy) - who was part-time Lili Marlen type tarty number, great **** and much-used **** - for tinned milk, coffee, ciggies, silk stockings and comfy underwear with soft non-scratchy gussets for once instead of unlined which tickle *****-*****, also she was a major sort of a ****** in her day so combined business with pleasure, and why not, we got these bits under our ******* so use them or they dry up (so thinks der Barty.). Also please you will remember black market utterly rampant in post-war period because the kind ****** Allies smashed my beautiful homeland (Germany) to little bits and then guess what even worse Russkies came and stole anything leftovers and did mass rapings of anyone with two legs (or less, in fact easier as poor tarts can't run away), but my Mutti ran and avoided Ivans, she not any kind of idiot, not going to give it away for free, and not liking cheap rotgut ***** anyway. Also Russkies never wash bottoms-hole so not much fun in the sack with smelly-bummed Ivans.

Nowadays Barty (that's me) am not so young, indeed now out of work living in Hamburg (home of inventor of hamburgers, Herr Wendi McDonald-Burgerkoenig) but I remember some super **** going-ons from mine mis-spended youth and middle age, my God I was a right goer, make no mistake about that, I had more lady friends than most people have hot luncheons mainly because I inheritated huge lovepole (23 centimetres, well over 9 inches in UK/US measurement style) from my dear Poppa, God rest his swindling soul. And ladies like the big bronzed stick as ramrod lovepole, you bet your fat wobbly ***, dear reader, 100% sure.

As often I say to my multitudinous readers, I never accept that it is only top-class ***-event to make love-humpings between male person who is in all one piece (full complementing legs, arms, naughty pieces etc etc) and lady who in similar state of repair (2 legs, 2 arms, 2 boobos, back and front naughty areas also) so I shall now recall romantic interlude with one-legged groupie I am meeting at rocking Konzert in Berlin with famous German group DIE TOTEN HOSEN (this means "The Dead Trousers" look them up on Google you think I am joking? no, German musicians have great sense of humour and also almost for free get to **** a lot of birds).

This story are total true, swear it on Mummy's honour (big joke, what honour I hear you said out of side of mouth, but watch your manners please or I smash you one in your effing gob) this not so explicit as usual so much apologies to filthy pervies wanting cheap smuttings, you come in wrong place (*******).

So now here we go with telling of how I got on good and ***** with one-legged lady I meet in bar of Grosse Konzerthalle in Berlin after we go from Konzert by Toten Hosen - noise so fickende loud we not able to hear each other talk as we total deafened for at least 1 hour, so just wink over bar to each other and Robert is dein Onkel.

I digressed - when I saw really pretty girl at bar with **** three-inch bolt through her lips and I think, WOW, if she got so much metal in her face, what the Fick she got in her *******!!!!  I notice she leaning against wall, I think she a bit drunk but I find out she only got one leg and it's because she has only one leg she would go falling over if not lean on walls. Never mind, I think to myself, I'll try this out for size, in for a pfenning (penny), in for a pfund (pound), except now it's in for a cent, in for a euro which sounds naffs. So we have several dozen beers and a couple of schnapplis and she is good fun, laugh at all Barty's filthy jokes and innuendos and then, out of blue, she says with naughty giggling, "The night is young but we're not so effing young and when you have any more beers you don't stand up, fall flat on handsome face, and not able to get great big ****** up me to shove it", WOW I thought, this is some forward one-legged piece of work. So no more further ado and we jump in taxi (pay 50:50 as Barty is gent and refuse to allow her pay whole fare) and go to her place.

Hildegard is her name and she was pretty good looking bird, great booboes, narrow very **** waistlines, very cute botty sticking out like great big pair of rubber footballs, but let's be frank, liebe Freunde, her main claim to eternal fame in Barty's immense ***-memory bank was the leg-stump, only one of them she had. She tells me missing limb result of accident with vicious bacon-slicing machineries at LIDL and I not like to probe too deeply, because I leave the probing up to my 23cm (9 inch) lovepole instead.

Thus we had many love-makes that night and I got to find her stumpy-thing quite **** in weird kind of way, very smooth skin on it and odd colour (purplish) too. Only problem of was hard to do it Alsatian-style as she topple off bed and me with her, especially since we have many more beers down hatches by that time. Never mind, make up for this with very high class (FIVE STAR!) "neunundsechzig" (German for 69 just in case you not understand)! WOW she utter hot stuff in oral department store. Her tongue like starving St Bernard guzzling the bowl of nice fresh spring water on hottest summer day in century! Swallow everything, stray hairs and all.

Also Hildegard very noisy lady when she does the comings, which Barty likes very much indeed. Like demented demon being bashed around her head with three-metre long metal crowbar every single time she gets one off, she screamed. "Ooooooh, ich komme, ich komme, ach, ja, ja, ja, ja," she shrieks GOOD & LOUD like fat Wagnerian heroine with immensely red hot poker up backside-hole (which not far off the truth when Barty gets stuck into his fabbo ***-rhythm, like whirring up and down piston on Mitsubishi motor tricycle). Even allowing for drunken prematured senilities lapse, I happy to recall seven times for me that night and maybe twenty for her, WOW, what a filthy one-leg hornbag!

We meet a few more time for repeat bonky session but never so good as first time round, but that's because Barty sober next times, nothing new in the history of love there which is very philophical pensée. Also Barty's interest in the leggy-stump waned a bit after a couple of weeks.  But Barty has good live-action photos to keep his memories warm, WOW, they are some totally hot ones! I know Hildegard must have the equal happy memories of old Barty, bet she never saw such a big ***** as his ever again (NB: 23 cm lovepole)!

Mit freundlichen Gruessen
von Ihre
Bartholomew Mole (=Maulwurf)
(23 cm brown lovepole)

In your very pure mouth ( god save it )
clanked metal mouthpiece
by cold water in a strange basement
or perhaps even less

Morning doves catapult
leukemia
Astro goth acid wars
White fire black ****** mania

Could we just kiss
right here this September
not have to wake up
or sleep ever again ?

She loves him,
or at least, a part of him.
She does what she does,
she loves on a whim.

© Matthew Harlovic

god... i can't believe i'm making comments
about this...
but i am.... i'm drunk and rowdy,
not sober & sane reality makes
point at this point...
        in ref. to cheryl tweedy...
"mum shaming"?!
                           not being able to breast
feed in public?
          these critics...
they are not inclined to make a fetish
out out lactating females?
  no? none of these ******* never had
the fetish quest of desiring to drink
milk from the **** of the mother,
so they would not become jealous over
the baby? no? so they jumped head-strong
into the latex gimp-suit fetish?!
handy...
        why would i mind some rat
of a leader worth the vermin of a party
known as the UKIP not bail out?
over a cleavage frenzy?!
             sure sure... **** things up...
bail out... and then jump ****...
good tactic...
                much applause...
******* wankers...
                      i did make one mistake
in my life... believing a 19 year old
Russian girl... to stick to her guns...
and take the ******* contraceptive pills
she promised to take...
i still don't know whether she was...
whatever the hell she was aiming at...
******? i don't mind the rubber...
i'd like some more...
in a latex suit, preferably...
i can't, lie...
   ms. amber is doing the polygraph
"thing" again...
                             i'll lie when i'm
not having fun, then i'm not telling
the truth...
  huh? which milk?
goats' milk... Behemoth's mother
good ****, counters every superseding
cover version of... cow...
              goats' cheese over feta...
you name it... goat has it covered...
creamy yum-yum...
            why would i lie to  begin
with? lying is a focus for serving
an imbalance for both the rhythm
and the tempo...
                              just play me some
drum & bass (base... might as well
throw this one in... bāß)...
i actually hope more mothers
feed in public...
hell... more cleavage...
like... an aversion to seeing a niqab
20 seconds later...
         what?!
thank god some people in Europe
still persist with donning their
sanity kippahs...
         what would the western world
do without them?!
     frown?
            or convert?
         i have actually found an escape
route from the excesses of
*******... the potential bound
to the inanimate picture of a revealing
posit of a cleavage...
   basically a woman donning
an *** on her chest...
and her ******* where her *** ought
to be...
      like fine art...
                     no no no, no thank you
Ms. Frankenstein, i'm not into
your ******- *******...
          but a woman breast-feeding
in public?
                     what's the problem?
you jealous that you're not suckling?
i bet that's it... ha ha...
that must be it...
   not playing out your fetish...
but i mean... like foreplay...
*****-******* and what not...
again... the sunday times
style supplement...
        the life of dolly column...
topic? relaxation...
         how do you guys relax...
one reply reads...
    oral ***; it's the only thing that works.
boyfriends should be incentive-
(please revise the adverb)
           to do it, government- (again...
-ally what?)
well... well well well...
you know what?!
you really wanna know? or are you
just kidding...
all that foreplay begot me thinking...
how about i... play milking
the cow?
       why should the baby
only **** on the ****?
         ooh... double-whammy-mummy
fetish... imploding spiral!
ooh! double-whammy-mummy!
**** that fetish outstretch of
                   role-play *******...
when lactating... let me suckle...
i want to erase the fact that i was
child in the minds of my mother and
father...
i want to be conscious of being
an infant...
                          i want to see
what it feels like to suckle at what...
my father did in a counter
variation of the biological function...
what? Nigel: Nigh-Gel ain't so hot
now... is he?
                      if i was going to father
a child... i'd like to taste what
the child was having...
so we're not competing for
first spot of: mummy's littler helper.
          
i should seriously stop reading
female columns of female orientated
supplements / magazines...
no, really...
              this is worse than ****...
then again... breast-feeding in
public?
          what could be worse...
scenes of Muslims decapitating
veterans, more roughly than
a butcher aiming at caressing
a torso of meat with a toothed knife?

Red headed ******,
Skin white and fluffy.
Marshmallow.
Spots on his skin,
Like dots of tan.
Leopard.
Mind always on ***,
Fan of internet ****.
******.
Smokes himself to death,
Always ******* on a cig.
Vacuum.
Always saying "**** my ****",
But only to men?
Closet ***.
Looking for something to ****,
I'm worried for the neighborhood squirrels.
*******.
Loves drinking some beer,
But only likes it light.
*****.
Always gives a good laugh,
Stupid *** smile.
Best Friend.
Drinking is okay,
Jesus drank wine.
Catholic.

So I haven't had time
To read many prose and rhymes
Sneaking pretty words like drugs
From all the **** poem writing thugs
Hide up under the bar
I've only read two so far
Work is cutting in to my addiction
Reading and writing, my affliction
Maybe I can hide in the storage closet
That gives me time to write one comment
Jotting rhymes on my arm
Who said poetry didn't cause harm
Its my obsession
This is my confession
I cannot hide it anymore
I recognise I'm a poem *****
I go from one poem to another
"Feeling" them up like a lover
Then on to the next
For more word ***
Yep, I'm a ******-poemac
Addicted to poetry crack
Your pretty words are my drugs
And you **** poets are the poem writing thugs

My nail polish
peels
like wallpaper
on a dead house

and i suppose
thats
what i am
a dead house

decrepit and torn
broken
down and old
from 16 years

of broken mentality
***
******-manically wanted
Lips, Hips, thighs.

But what if thats
gone
and my wallpaper is
peeling like ripe fruit

You've expressed you feel a ****** disconnect.
Feel yourself some kind of alien pilot.
What's love in this, this human shell?
What's self-respect, esteem as well?
You're ******* weird and that's okay with me.
You told me for the first time, I'm queer.
That's cool. If I'm your ******, you're my ace pilot.
You're ace as **** default, I'm gray ace at best.
Why do we sit this dusty rock ridge between worlds?
If you're one, I've seen this alien's appeal.
The most delicious sight of your skin shown will have to go on ignored. And that's fine. That's fine.
I'm your little ******.
You're my ace pilot.
And that's fine.

Find yourself
against again
all odds, with
the prettiest
******, in
this whole
region.

Gently caresses,
she does,
your genitals
says the
wittiest
repartee.

Come, calm
down, old
man it's
just your
imagination,
wake up to
that headache.

or the guys who love a ******,
they say you should move on to the next
cause when you ain't the one who's ******* her
she find somebody else for ***
these ****** women will love you for your heart
but love another for ***,
and for the real men out here i know yall won't go for that
to much *** only leads to 2 things
that's a disease and a baby
then once it happens
you'll lie to your man cause you know things will get crazy
trying to be slick when yall use protection
trying to be slick when yall change yall phones
when a man already knows whats going on
at that moment there she ready to cheat
that feeling of randsom hits her
it turns up her heat
Then once she get to you she tease you into ***
just to make it seem she's won
I be **** if imma fall into a trap
Cause i much rather be done
when thats the stuff that they wanna be on
shoot don't back to me when im gone

addressing my southpaw weakness...
don't know... my left hand is a bit...
weak...
   started to train it...
   by extinguishing cigarette
butts on each other knuckles...
have two vacant slots to fill...
and plenty of whiskey...
       why?
  i paid my Shylock...
  i was **** with the Gorbachev
**** on my right shoulder blade...
now comes the fun part!
the lesson...
of boxing, with not boxing gloves!
i want the ******* knuckle
to... hurt... the... the most...
like Tom Waits'
circus narrative...
  **** these teenage girls cutting...
how about their start burning
themselves,
with hot, metallic objects?
how's that?
less blood!
   ha ha!
                 two knuckles down...
two to go...
    i'm giggling with anticipation...
while, i, eat,
the, pain! ha ha!
who gives a **** about
predictability,
preachers / theologians
or stock brokers?
so who?
the Turkish barbers,
the English tailors,
the French chefs?!
      who?
              the roof, the roof,
the roof is on fire,
let the ******* burn...
we don't don't need no
water let the ******* burn,
let the ******* burn...
      i'm a simpleton...
catch the genie... catch the lamp
sort of scenario...
otherwise?
  bon voyage / bon soir /
    mon amí!
   god, i hate the french!
         it's like...
you want to lick them...
face to face...
and then... punch them...
        my type of ****** nationalism!
comes the third knuckle...
and the cigarette...
it will be put out onto!
- like an interrogator might...
you show the victim undergoing
the torture, with yourself
prior...
   and then?
  torture the **** out of them! ha ha!
i.e. who's the buckle,
who's the knuckle, and who's the knee?!
oh please! please!
don't mention the oysters
of the elbow!
  have some common decency!

Between these sheets of satin love
Violence breaks cherries
Serenity found in screams and moans
Yeah babe this is a *** poem
About how I'm going to take from you
The last of your innocence
As you put my demonic instincts on a leash
There will be blood
As if Jack the Ripper
Found his way between your legs
The pierced silence quivers as lips curve back
Hiding under your teeth
Moans rupture as hair gets pulled
*** cheeks spanked leaving clues
As to whom it was that made you a ******
Begging, pleading, praying for more
As the width of my **** grows
Pushing harder onto your ***** walls
The gravity defying length of its throbbing prowess
Plunging ten thousand leagues into your soul
The violent serenity of our *** life
Becomes a perfect portrait
We paint every night with the stains
Our love produces onto bed spreads
Needing to be burned after such defilement

loot the ***** boot the rich
Hang the snitch emancipate the
itch madness a bit saintly
Pitch a fast curve kick sadness
to the curb of broken dreams
It seems a thing of the past blast
passed the failure your always
will be searching for that someone that is me you irritate my peace of mind when will you finally leave me alone the thirst for success
Irresistible i cant reach without you in the drivers seat a deadbeat\

rhino walking softly carries a big
gun to compute the poverty disburse the novelty mute the donkey
Shoot up the ****** groove\
superb lock stock two smoking barrels manup positions dapple improve\
dry too flimsy ripple status quo fluid stain wet into a puddle strain\
stable ground disintegrate cry squabble hone grin refute scrabble tunnel\
cruising off a shotgun bang what up with that thang show her off hang *****\
sting know how ripe ***** in demand bite inflicting raw election dangle TLC\
exposed suckle foreplay bare the doom shielded knuckle brass boots ******* HooT\
BooM on blast mettle to the pedal sass passing windows fast exhaust throttle\
fastlane straddle last shrine wine tire popping the wealthy snoot channelside\
stealthy snoop crank dogg sly filthy in hind charlie brown restrain grand sighs\
define the grime be kind foresee the crime rewind lakhaim frame spine spinning\
wheel ordeals repeal sick figures concealed pinning children against frontal lobes\

memory versus\

skulls lost salam to lucifer in a frantic relay replay demonic delay foiling shalom\
band alaykoum in purse fulfilling evil curse droopy eyed fools drooling pearl pool\
diluting verses sheet smarts versions saluting sheer farce shuffling back\ rank pipe crack\
tears smear contract around virus rooms chasing bail resisting a ***** toned\
smears contract around virus rooms chasing bail resisting a ***** toned\
frown talking to walls of jail houses crowned end dead thread landfill clowns\
bumping heads bunk bed trash courthouse playground twisting ***** fits\
battered butter mutter peace cross the street forgetting to put up and fight\
shiest with height heist barren on the other side green lyres setting fear steep lower\
reflection revel mirrors deflection inflicting Ghostface highness pace rhymeless chase Killah\

stoke shady slim phone in remaining senses detain impurity capitulating dexterity fuse\
recluse stan granting badass roundhouse kicks rudimental trick chant chatterbox vamp\
underworld stick centerfold haunting Rancid activate superlative octave erupt glee\
sharply whiplash ash out the masses entrance serendipity multiply sentimental divide\
invincible prime knowledge footprint stepping benign modicum rootline stem enticing\ cognizant fledge camaraderie hack feasibility snare clear spear stupes stare look at\
that rearview it's you ******* a pornstar in the backseat rampaged **** dripping slit swept\

weeping tantric rendition ******* loose rocking out sweep companions check and replace\
**** tighten up crews shock and strut byob bend righty tighty string along aim gift dames\
chauffeur fate slate teams honor razzle the green fire dazzle gardens retire kinder\
inspire **** arthur passion swords struck within pyramid empires cured she'll always\
                          love you truly madly deeply combined nocturnal eternal WH navel\

*****
****
*****
******
******
nope. no more.
I'm sick. sick of you
let a girl have *** if she wants too
let a girl have emotions if she wants to
let a girl be herself without you judging her every detail and flaw
******* stop
you don't know her
you don't know her life
you probably don't even know her family
so stop judging based on what you can see till you can dig a little deeper.
either look closer or don't look at all with those beady little ******* eyes.
get over who you are.
because you may think you're perfect, but that girl you called a **** is calling you a *****.
and you're repeating the cycle.

At times poetry, I need something more than the courage
to endure what life presents itself to me, a series of events, for I want to be my own
    person, than being apart of something larger
    the only thing I can do good
     Is writing something in poetics.    
The wonder is filled with everything I don’t know. Initiated now as a outlaw.
Poetry, kiss me, breathe inside with cello melodies, haunting fashions, not of trends. I’m content to say good-bye.  Parting memories. Until the end of time.
Maybe it’s the individual in me.
We all wish for the pain to go away, but I cannot under it, all the time.
In those lonely times and facing death, the tears, the sadness, the regrets, wanting redemption and complete forgiveness, wanting to start from scratch. It’s all the same thing shared in humanity. We’re all going to die.
Rare is the one that wants forgiveness for the everyone involved with life.
I’m a kisser of romance. I’m a ******. It's easy to fall in love. As for that. I’ve been behind closed doors with most that I meet. The heart wasn’t built for heartbreak and the secrets of others.                      The civil servant, the priest, the maid of honour, the best man, whoever, they should up forced, press upon, harsh and hard thoughts and the spouse should always second guess. Until all that lust is cleanse out.                       Oh how little love there is in today's marriage. I’m laughing as a ******. Strapped with poetry and I romantic lean back, hanging with original romantics. Giving love only to purest romantics. They’ve got no love for you.
                                           Life itself, a blessing and a burden.
                                           It’s the same for everyone you know.
                                           For I felt the most holy feeling any
                                           Human could feel for another. And it allowed me to hold faith that everyone has a soulmate, someone that is just made for them. Wondering this earth’s surface.
The world is overfilling itself with people and life.
Grandeur in poems that are written and left for everyone to find.
Everyone is capable of sinning.
Knowing the Devil.
Trust me, not everyone wants you to be an individual, unless it’s like them.
A talent show, no. make waffles, with my hands, poems are my wetspot, don’t miss the chance to walk away into the world, there’s better things, but it’s a matter of how you think, don’t forget, yourself has to go with your better. If there’s a revolution going on, join in, even if it’s evil, there is revenge, but there’s something satisfying about seeing your teachers upset and especially seeing for the first time, they’re not as cracked up to be higher and holy. Life has a veil. I *** hard, like Lisa Simpson, I’ve meet Princess Di and it’s the first thing I said. And prayed harder for Princess Kelly, but I said it in neither English or French.
(knowledge variable)

He told me that he was afraid.
He told me that he had loved just one girl in his life.
And that she had crossed Seven seas and eight worlds by this lonely moment
That we were caught up in the swirls of the green grassy smoke of Mary and Jane.
He told me that I was too pretty for his eyes, mind and soul.
I told him,
It’s a heat and that I was not there to **** him.
I told him that we were just caught in the jingle of the purest heat,
I told him to relax and sleep.
And that I will not touch him.
I told him that I’m a sweet ******.
I told him to stop staring at me with those sweet puppy eyes,
So that I can control my arousal, nausea and heat.
I snuggled close to him on a single bed,
Lulling him and sending strong telepathic heat.
After a while, he turned.
He asked how wrong it would be if he would go soft in between the sacred art of love,
I told him that is the passion and that is the heat.
And that it is to be simply genuine to your rushes wherein *** comes.
I told him *** is not an exam.
I told him that *** is a rush.
I told him that *** is the Heat.
I told him to be simply genuine.
I told him *** is to love.
I asked him if he loved me.
He said, ‘Ami tomako Bhishon Bhalo bhashi’,
Which is Bengali for, ‘I love you very much’.
I creased my brows
And scorned at him saying that he’d just met me,
He said,
That was enough,
And that I was his own soul,
In flesh and Blood.
We made sweet sweet love,
That night.
All night,
On the cold floor of his shabby apartment,
On that sweaty night,
When power was never there.
I went to my flat in the morning,
I bid him goodbye by the evening train,
I never asked his name.
It was as if I had to know it later,
Not now.
Not today.
Not this week, month or year.
Just another age.
He never asked my name.
He must’ve felt the same.
For telepathy, never cheats.
Today, I wonder. I trip.
And I imagine him as all that I want,
For all that I know is his sweet puppy eyes,
And the ablaze heat that taught me that somewhere,
There lies a momentary passion bigger than me,
Inside me.
Waiting to burn, Roast and Shrink
My ego, my identity and myself!

We were lying on the lawn
In the park when the Shooting star,
Made its first appearance.

"Make a wish honey, you'll not live forever",
He told me.

I looked at him with the same contempt,
I’d given birth to,
Since the day of our holy oath.

"There's an old man called God,
in the sky is what world preaches.

No.

There is just a man in the sky, ******* shooting stars too hot n bright.”
I finished with sparkling euphoria.


"you ******”,
He addressed me, to deliver a mocking pat,
But his heavy muscles excited itself too much,
And my skin broke red a drop
Upon his slap too tight.

"***** mouthed *****",
He emphasized his love again,
Hence I shut my mouth too *****.
And stared at the starless sky.

Sarah the ***** passed by,
And he asked her if she'd spotted the shooting star.

Sarah's lips shrunk too little,
And she nodded a hefty no.
And he got up on his legs,
And walked away from me.

I saw him moving his hands down her jeans,
And Sarah bent further down.

Then, I saw another shooting star.

And my rage wished for a gun in my palm,
And,

Lo, there it was.
A sleek black gun too comfy in my palm.

I could see their back.
I could see Sarah bending,
Responding to his fingers down her jeans.
And then he pulled down her negligee' too transparent,
Ripping off at his touch.

Then, he turned and looked at me.

I saw his eyes widening the focus on my gun
And his brows creasing.

I clicked the safety off.

I wanted to lock the eye contact,
And savor it for my eternal future.

And I shot once, straight into his heart,
That dragged him to the ground,
Dead with a tent in his pants.

Then, I shot again.
Just to sweep the obscenity off the frame,
His *******.

And then, I looked at Sarah.

Another shooting star passed by.

'Make a wish hon, you'll not live forever'
I told her.
She closed her eyes.

I shot her four times.

Mouth, ******, left
And then the right breast, just to emphasize.

And then, something heavy stuck my chest.
I looked at Sarah and the big gun in her left hand.
I gaped and gasped at my bullet hole.

I said,
"Shot with a shooting star,
******.
I should've ordered a tank.”

She shot me thrice, in the head.

Then, we're both dead.

And then, there was just stars.

She'll always be mine, in my mind, she was just too kind, she didn't see I was blind, she didn't hear me in rewind, gripping the gears we grind. Slipping through the best time of my life.

My heart's shredded like weak lettuce, no function ******, relapsing ***-addict.  Choice is asymptomatic my anticlimactic, sexless ****** maggot.

She found out, I was ground out, last boxing bout.  Hot flame snuffed out, no more volcano spout, just get the **** our , you're off this route.

This is my dream now, gotta get back somehow.  I gotta get a rolls Royce, then she'll feel my voice.  No need to waste no more words, she only wants a new purse, she gonna jet or else.

Sorry story has yet to unfold, I'm bearing my soul so don't betray my song.  Ice any intuition, your heart will always win.  This body is prepossessed, we are slaves to libido's blessing.

What will you do when the flesh shrivels.
When the lines form.
When the cosmetics refuse to cover.
When the ****** becomes fickle.
When the baby comes.
When the abuse you feel.
Oh darling flesh....
When will you yield?

© S. Wesley Mcgranor

I knew you had at me first
But at last I'm gone
I'm free at last
I gave you my info and you threw it away
I called you a ****** and you stayed and played
How do I know if this is okay?
Fraying away a while ago but Id be up right after you'd say
There are lost souls in the crossroads
Life is what you make it
If you fall, you'll lose
You grow, fold and glow between the crust
Suicide is just something you can take
Not something that you should fake
It slams and hits your face
Now you're awake
Aware of your surroundings
I knew you had at me first
But at last I'm gone

Danny was a good boy
He kept his engine going
But he never found joy

He had many CDs
But he left them in a pile

He had a girlfriend
But he hasn't ****** the ****** in a while

So much for love
She threw him into exile
He was her toy
Her lover boy

The island fit him like a glove
He started to smile
Without her constant trail
He was a freeman
Setting sail

**** this love
He has music
Sad music
Doesn't have the same effect anymore

Die young drink a **** load
Oh boy death!

Pain is long and deep, it broadens itself, at self-will, running wild

      motivating any artist to dream, poets dream long and before acting with
grandeur and in youth, there’s nothing but dreams,

                                      as lust doesn’t cost a thing    until all that youth drys up

and the ability to stop dreaming isn’t felt, just aging

to achieve harmony in this life, one must struggle for years, especially in poetry, where they can all articulate love, like the Tenor or the Cellist, over composed symphonies. And the ******’s praise them all.

                               my heart is in my hand, because it’s pierced
                               those who have content, are the ones who
                               dared to live in the first place and I’m still hung
                               up on you, because those who’ve lived, seem
                               to have experienced love, my heart is caught
                               providing a helping hand to write any poem.


      People had made love without poetry, because lust is easier.

                              And when awareness kicks in, it will be too late and poets join time to mock them with heavy laughter.


    
                  I grow tired of waiting, fatigued after actions with efforts of affection


Life goes on


No-one likes the lovers lost in love, because it reminds them,
of what they don’t have, wondering if the love is wild and roaring
or if it took their youth to tame. No one likes the lovers lost
in love, because it can devalue any romantic piece, those
lovers in ****** acts, intimately fusing their souls together,
getting to know the ecstasy of illumination and addicted to
sparking awakening in each other. For no one likes anyone
in love, for their souls are free and without void and despair,
so they shun those lovers out, in return those lovers build
a world of their own, forgetting the earth for the rest of
humanity, never to fit in again. Can you love a smile? Can
you love a glance? Holding hands? Would you tame beauty?
For without love, the law means nothing and the poets will
turn out as serial killers. For no one likes people being truly
in love, because it reminds them what’s without.

                          I can read any poem, for such things as love, is not written,
   only expressed in actions, whispered in the ears of night,
                                 spoken by the mouths, who’ve been to the horizon
                                 and back.
Only in love, where it can strip anyone down to the ****, bearing to the world, all their faults, sins, mistakes and regrets, revealing all their secrets and transcend into a saint. A Muse for the world. I don’t know about you, to what I think about those first kisses between yourself and your lover, is conversation  between Angels, closing lips, each other’s breathes felt lightly pressed upon skin, and the Angels sing when the lips are closed, holding hands and finally the delicate souls can meet and begins to feel safe for the first time.
             And everyday sounds, turn into love songs, that we’ve grown to accustom
  to listen to, without knowing their meaning. Living now, like life ends at the end of the day, you can blame fate for falling in love or you could just go out and experience love. It’s a place that we all ache to go, twinge at the sight of it, love involves the energy of any supernova that births beauty on site, creating memories for poets, adding
charm to this present, parenting the future, dragging things up from the heart, when we dared not to and finally for the first time, you shrug your shoulders and let go.

                            As for anyone telling that you have to work for love.
                            Slap them as hard as you can. Than recommend them
                            a good lawyer and a young lover for their spouse.

(knowledge variable)

No Needy Eyes,
want for nothing,
only freedom eyes,
we have everything,

don’t mind the metaphors,
please pardon the ego,
I’m at Delilah’s high and,
I’m with chillin’ with some villains but they’re kind folks,

all vocal all loco,
let’s have a staring contest,
got a grip on my soul like a chokehold,
staring at me till my face melts,

humble as a roamin’ Nomad,
uncomfortable as a *** addict with a bad rash,
actually I take that last add back,
yeah I’m a ****** but no I don’t have a rash,

but I do have a pocket full of cash,
and I feel good but I want you bad,
swear to God I love You,
always will always have,

and that’s fact,

so real,
I wrote this on the back of a kin nap,
or rather a napkin,
either way I’m back in like I’ve been back,

back in,
this City of Angels,
with a bottle of Sin,
and some Best Friend Strangers,

all in on that God Level,
and I don’t wanna go even though,
I here the Devil callin’ and suspect I might be in trouble,
so I stay in the fast lane and take it slow,

gotta it right here so there’s no reason to go,

no Needy Eyes,
want for nothing,
only freedom eyes,
we have everything…


∆ LaLux ∆

October 8th, 2018
Hollywood, CA.

My heart is on fire - that I do love
but when my *****'s on fire, I love it more
This is what I craved to be - your ****
This is my wish - what I need, a long repressed
"set me free" all over me

This is me - short skirt,
and begging for (your) ****
My fantasies breed - you're the man I pick
I am not sorry about my moans
and all of my wet thoughts
I am not sorry about none, I am not sorry
for love