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zebra Sep 2018
have you ever seen beauty in a silky nightmare
have you  ever seen the monster of deprivation in heavens promise?

we speak of private things
we should never talk about
about vailed women
and their terrible secrets
and about myself who remains no longer a secret to myself

somewhere i went off the track
like a  daisy chain saw of honesty
to ensure you knew i was sick
a sick **** with a trick
as if i ate some ****** up hallucinogenic' s
making me spill my obsessions all over you
like some weird perfumed *****
down a swirling rainbow toilet
that turns out to be only jelly and whipped cream
wrapped in colored ribbons on cellophane tampons

i feel like  having *** or going to the toilet in public
while waving my hands up in the air
screaming yahoo i'm free
to blow to kingdom come
the temple of normalcy
you know
the church of rose gardens, cemeteries and deprivations
except of course for the sneers, smears
and self loathing vanilla demons
who wear long see through dresses and crosses
like dash board plastic virgins
with bobbing heads
that make hissing sounds about sin

i confess
i'm attracted to the darkest women
strange *******
and  ******
the stranger the better
who shake their butts
like hoodoo enchanted show girls
doing what they shouldn't do
crying and scrying like cooing moons calling
"drink me like ****** Mary
daddy **** lollypop"
all inky tats and razorblade ouchies

or
you can join those
covered in white collared black as death habits
begging the invisible *** cake in paradise
waiting for mercy and a little ****
that never comes
stuck in an empty
loveless bar of crucifixes that only serves up theology

oh baby
***** dreams do come true
pink ****** ***** gladly widen their haunches
like **** without boots
not caring if they go to hell
playin
like a joy ride of fiddle **** sticks
all freaky tongues and tingling licks
thick saliva multi lingual blow jobs
lathering flashing lipped saliva for the squirt  
with fiery wet hypodermic kisses
that make screams
like creamed upleaping lava and ash
for a million hungry sexed up twisting tongues
in occult ecstasy
fecundating shrouds of steamy clouds
in stained red black lighted rooms
with cherub crowned *****
and their drooling snatches buttered ****

eat quivering
like fowl mouthed piranhas
crying more raw meat please
while you drag your perfect person visage
into hollow caves of despair
cold and lonely

so you forlorn love struck weeping
horney pathetic scarecrow
socially engineered robots
if you want love
like heated buttery waffles with sweet jam
just give your self away like slutty putty
to lust criminals and *** addicted pervs  
until
you feel someone swallow you whole
soul and all
and lick their lips
like your their cherry pie

then look passed your
rats nest of pride and exhaustive approval list
and love them back
like free beer
bang their brains out
be their slave and make them yours
in the mad house of love
of warped shimmering mirrors, straight jackets, and squeezy insertions

and if one day they don't appreciate your imperfect perfection
if they weaponize like critic's
teach them respect
shove it where they breathe
lick your wounds
be brave
throw them in the trash bin of history
and move on

Eros and Venus
take a million forms

look around
your swimming in a giant bowl of broken hearts
hungry mouths, drenched ***** and hard *****

you whimpering little beasts
dress to ****
undress to live

its a movable feast
advice to the lovelorn young
thank you to Lora Lee for the line
" swirling toilet rainbows"
Jaz Dec 2013
I've had my share of pervs.
I've been groped.
I've been peeped.
I've seen them watch ****.
I've watched them play with themselves.
I've seen them drunk and hanging with women.
Yeah, I've had my share of pervs.
The only thing that's unchecked on the
Perv's checklist is:
Getting *****.

And I pray to God it stays unchecked.
jeffrey robin Jan 2016
.


******
Muslim loving
Queer





You know the type !


Lazy

Welfare scamming

*** pervs

And drug addicts

• )?( •

An dey hate god


An dey hate you    

and dey wan ***** yer wife

And da kid !!


)(

Bad bad libbie !!!

""


So

Let's deport them all back to hell

And build a fence so they can't get back in

And ban that compassion crap

And give government the power to **** anyone

Not opposed to Big Government

That'll show em !



.
k e i May 2017
her patience was starting to wear thin, impatience growing as one of the pervs from the table across his eyes preying on her. she gave him the finger and her hardest glare.

where the hell are you  she typed out, texting him

be there in ten i kinda just got out of bed...sorry

she just sighed looking out the glass panes that gave a view of the busy street, letting her thoughts wander. sam was waiting for her bestfriend, noah to show up. she was going to help him find a flower shop that caters black roses. he was going to give it to jean, the girl of his dreams as he liked to call her (sam just knew how much of a cliche he was underneath; they barely had a conversation in which he didn't insert her-sam stuck up with it and listened to him, always assuring him that he's going to get her who wouldnt)

"sorry im late" he says, panting as he arrives, varsity jacket slung in his arms

"you owe me" sam says cooly, ignoring the drum pounding in her chest. he looked like he always did; and gave off the same effect to all the girls in town (he had quite a following though he didn't mind)

playfully he rolls his eyes at sam and the two walk their way into his beat up camaro (which was very good at overheating and taking too long to start)

"bet this thing would come up with its tricks again" sam started with their usual banter

"oh hell no it's got my back"

"your flat back"

"my bootiful ***"

sam scoffed "wanna bet?"

"game on" noah smugly retorts with the smug smirk on his face that showed off his angelic structures

"on three two....." sam had her fingers crossed please don't work please don't

noah tried gunning the engine a few more times, turning the key into the hole over and over again but the engine kept dying. he tried for one more time;it was a miracle that it did. he faced sam who's face turned down into a frown. "ha you owe me now"

"i owe you none" she says slumped in her seat though deep inside she was enjoying this. their friendship had alot of these immature playfulness which she usually started.

"just buy me an extra waffle cone and we're even"

"*******"

noah laughed and sam heard the lilt in his laugh that she grew fondly of. they drove off the road with only the radio to filter the silence for a while. sam started tracing patterns on the car window.

she felt something for noah and it wasn't something she expected, neither was it something she was looking for. the first time they ever interacted was in a class they both had. his eyes had that mischievous spark that day and  he wore a devilish grin-sam thought he was the perfect guy to turn into one of her casualties or better yet get his heart broken. but all they did after class that day was hangout and drive around town. sam was quite shocked with the numerous things they have in common. since then, they've meant alot to each other. although it was different for sam. sometime in their friendship she started feeling something for him, someting more than friends do .she hated it; the thought of it made her want to rev her guts out;

she was never the type to like guys or girls and fantasize about them being together or even feeling the same way. she was the type of girl who played with guys for a night (a week was her longest) whenever she felt like it. she toyed with their hearts and felt satisfied when she saw them with tears in their eyes. she felt no remorse for leaving them in the gutter. she was never vulnerable  she was a heartbreaker. she was that type of girl. but with noah it was all different, it was all new. it was like being on the other side of the spectrum

it frustrated her, all of it. most of all the fact that she couldn't do anything about it. she couldn't just steal him away from jean especially now that he stood a chance. plus, he was serious about her, sam could tell-even if she tried making moves on him, he'd leave because that wasn't how he knew her-they went so well together: her being on the cheerleading squad with her perfect friends and her perfect grades, perfect life ahead and him being the quarterback of the football team and the perfect college waiting for him, heir to his father's company someday-they were the power couple. they deserve each other sam thought bitterly. she could be one of the "perfect" girls in her school if she tried. but she didn't, didn't find the need to because why bother? she'd rather be on the outside and deal with her own company and just resurface whenever she felt like it. he had dreams;she didn't. she was just a heartbreaker, a mess.

yet she didn't want to lose noah; couldn't lose noah-it wasn't a risk she was willing to take. around him she let down the high walls she usually was encaged in and instead had vine trellises wrapping around her almost as if caressing her. it wasn't like in the movies but it was a **** cliche which she felt in gradual waves.she could hear wind chimes in the edges of her nicotine corrupted lungs whenever she was with him and none of the nails splintering against board in the emptiness of her house she felt in the dark while her sister slept soundly in the next room, none of the stale unfamiliarity of her mother working herself thin in her round the clock shifts, staggering home the next morning smelling like alcohol. she felt something other than the hollow in her stomach when she's out partying with strangers, the bass sounding too much like her heart breaking and her existence decomposing. she felt none of the filth she did when she slept with guys and let them make love with their exes through her body. she felt none of all the ugliness, heard none of the monsters' calls. noah made her feel pure. made her feel bliss. there was no irony, no catches, no waiting for the other shoe to drop in what they shared.

some days she's accepted that they'd always remain platonic, that it was better for them to stay this way. but today wasn't one of those days, for it was one where she wanted nothing but to plant her lips against his and make him tell her that he feels the same, for him to wrap her arms around her and bury her face in the crook of his neck, drown in all their memories, become the memories become an us. it wasn't love but he made her feel loved.

her daydreams were cut short when noah parked the car infront of the flower shop near the outskirts of town. she smoothed her hair as noah opened the car door for her. she felt her palms sweat, immediately telling her brain that he was really just sweet and it's jean that he likes stop spewing up hurricanes and thunders for every sweet thing he does.

"so first stop"

"i still don't get why you can't just buy her a bouquet of plain roses and spray paint it black. i'll help out yknow" she replies in her usual mocking way as they enter the shop, the floral fragrance enveloping them.

"because you gotta put all your effort and your heart to get her"

"yeah right, hey you gotta put effort in spray painting too yknow like shaking the can and making sure the roses are all covered. we can cover your heart in black paint as well if we still got any left" she replies sarcastically as they start perusing for black roses.

he rolls his eyes at his best friend, throwing one of the discarded dandelions at her direction. she picks one up and throws it at him quickly. it was only a matter of minutes til they were both on the floor laughing, sneezing in intervals, dandelions scattered around them. the florist scolded them when he saw the mess they caused and made them pay for a daisy and a petunia boquet that was haphazardly upturned in their rowdiness-no black rose in sight.

sam laughed as noah took out his wallet and paid the florist who's face was now red. she heard him mutter a sheepish apology and for a moment, she allowed or tried to let herself get lost in the fact that she and her bestfriend were spending the day together she tried to forget that she was spending the day with him to help him be with the girl that he likes.
hi this is my first time here
and this is a new writing style of mine
let me know what you think about it
x
jeffrey robin Jul 2015
.                                                        .



                         )  

(                




^~^~^~^

YE read a love poem here and YE think

This poem could not possibly

Have been written by a woman !

( though thus it is made to seem )



The IMAGE produced is usually one

Of a SATANIC RITUAL

Like in the movies

EYES WIDE SHUT

or

THE STORY OF O

Of a debased and humiliated woman

( though she is made to seem PROUD of the role ---

--- as in our love poems )

In some MALE DOMINATED SATANIC

State of helplessness

Naked

Chains attached to her completely exposed

Shaved and man handled ******

Being dragged around as a *** slave

Thru the flames of hell

With everyone gazing on

( as we readers do ! )

In solemn and religious poses

of profound respect

For the proceedings ! )

///

WHY DO THE POEMS PRODUCE THESE IMAGES ?

//

Well

They almost always depict a " naked " exposure

Of a woman's sexuality

( as if that picture is all a woman is ! )

Crying out in some way

To a nameless  and undescribed

MALE DOMINANT FORCE

( SATAN )

or /// as desguised in the poem , an almighty

( YOU ! )

To whom the woman is seen to be

TOTALLY DEPENDANT on !

::

Crying out so pathetically

For

A text !

A visit !

A touch !

To produce for her

SAFETY !

OBSCURITY !

( it's just US and no one else ! )

A MEANING  !

( as if she can't create one  herself ! -- poor baby ! !

BUT (?)
MAYBE (?)

OH (!)

HE ...  !

IS HERE  !

( thank god for him
Thank him for god !  )

//

/:/

What you see in your mind

Is the emergence of a picture

Of a

Pathetic loathsome wretch

( coming closer and closer !!

Clearer and clearer !! )

Surrounded by flames

::

Screaming

I LOVE .... YOU !  --- nameless Satanic Power )

BELIEVE ME !

( religious words ! )

HELPLESS !

DRUGGED !

CRYING !!

***** !

( thinking

Only the next **** will ease the pain of this one ! )

""

The image approaches

Explodes into BLOOD

And ends in SUICIDAL DEATH !

..

Such a picture !

Such a Vision !

over and over and over again !

/..:

And on   // HOT ONES

you might read

10 or 15 of them in a row !!

100's and 1000 's of likes

....

THIS IS HOW WE LIKE TO SEE WOMEN !!!!

( and no woman complains !!! )

..

So who is writing these poems

( WE KNOW ONLY PERVS LIKE READING THEM )

//

The only possible answer is

SATAN HIMSELF

come to debase and humiliate the SANCTITY

OF WOMAN

and hence

THE SANCTITY OF CHILDBIRTH

and hence

THE SANCTITY OF HUMANITY

and ultimately

THE SANCTITY OF GOD

;;

and we

The BROTHERHOOD AND SISTERHOOD

OF POETS .......... (?)

...

We  LOVE it !!
Thomas Jun 2016
If you think that your passwords are   Un-hackable, change them anyway...

In a recent study it is shown that women are 80% more likely than men to use the word "password" as their password. This gives hackers a #1 target. Along with "password" other easy combinations follow "1234" "4321" "123456" etc...

So what do we do to prevent pervs from getting our credit card password and buying all the stuff off of any perverted website...
Think about your password really hard, write down what it is on a private file "in/out of the computer", never ever have the same password for anything.

What is our government doing to make sure that they don't get hacked?
The governments preventative measures to insure that there is no "cyber terrorism" they have hackers hired to literally hack the U.S. Government. Then if they get through (which happens a lot) the government then immediately fixes it.

The way the government is insuring and enforcing security in the country is failing, due to the amount of "supposed" and "legally" obtained land around the world, the more they collect the less smaller the number of people you have to protect the area. The amount of money going into the country itself is much less than what is invested into international military involvement. Why spend so much?
Because Americans have a lot of pride, they think that the world owes it to them because their so rich. Yet the U.S. Has a debt of $19.3 trillion dollars.

Every year the US government spends $598.49 billion dollars, why? Since the US loves to put its big shiny boot into everyone's *****, a lot of people start disliking them, so the US ready to **** it's pants builds up a military that makes them look tougher.
A rant that may not make any sense.
NicoleRuth Feb 2015
I miss all those days we spent together
i miss the way we spent all night watching old movies i never heard of
i miss the next mornings when i had to poke you awake
i miss the way you snored completely ignoring me
i miss the days we spent drinking beers at our new york
i miss ignoring your incessant ramblings about everything
i miss the way you always annoyed me till i blew up
i miss the way i childishly cussed at you while you laughed on
i miss the way you gently wiped my tears and listen to my problems
i miss our plans for surviving possible zombie apocalypses
i miss your chivalrous gentleman self glaring at pervs on the street
i miss the terribly offensive jokes you cracked that never were that funny
i miss the way those same jokes somehow crept in and made me smile
i miss the way you turned me from an old monk to a beer lover
i miss the plots we created to destroy our tormentors
i miss how you always knew more than i did but never considered me stupid
i miss how you always try to take in my criticism but refused to accept it
i miss how you believed in my artwork and never let me forget it
i miss how you talked like an absolute child about your latest femme escapades
i miss how you always pretended that you don't care but remembered every small detail i mentioned
i miss the way you accepted all of me without a spot of hesitation
i miss looking into those intense eyes of yours in wonder at the boy you were
i miss creeping you out by getting extremely close and laughing at your expressions
i miss sleeping uncomfortably beside you as you roll around in rem sleep
i miss you tucking me in when the pressures of the world were too much for me to dream
i miss dreaming about our futures making wild plans about brands we wish to own
i miss getting completely hammered with you and being so publicly weird
i miss your complete honesty no matter how much it hurt
i miss softly kissing your forehead as i put you to bed after our drunken adventure
i miss everything you used to be
but most of all
i miss the way you hugged me
holding on tighter when i tried to pull back
subtly sealing your promise to always be around
i miss you boy
more than you can ever know.
these memories forever shall live on..making me smile in the darkest of times...for you boy, are my ray of sunshine.
blake Mar 2021
today i felt like laying down
and sleeping soundly in the ground

i'd decompose with all the bugs
that died from overdose on drugs

my hips would grind against boney narcs
like pornstars and pervs in a public park

yes, i'd like to be six feet under
singing with drug-induced wonder
man i rlly just want to be a worm
also i'm sober???? and i write this ****?????
jeffrey robin Feb 2015
About what      ?

//

( ha ha )                  LOVE                 (ha ha )

//

••                   ••

He said he loved her but he didn't

But he said it to get laid



She knew it but pretended to believe him

Because she too wanted to get laid

Without seeming to be  a slutty babe

••

After a while he simply wanted to try

Someone else

She didn't care

She wanted to try someone else too

But she started to cry about being

" broken "

And all that crap

Cause she loved the attention !

•••

It took me awhile to figure this out

And now I too have learned not to give a **** about

Any of the ******* slopped around

Since you all are just  a bunch of *** addicts

Trading partners and making up fantasies

Or maybe just a bunch of pervs just *******

And talking to your fingers !



Who cares ?

//

How can one care since

Nobody is really out there
John Bartholomew Mar 2021
Half a million hits
Whilst the pervs progressively click
Lacy knickers on as there she solely sits
Bra on the floor just flashing her...oh my!
I'll let you fill in the rest of the bits.

JJB
Sam Hammond Sep 2018
I’ve constructed my own heaven,
One that I deserve.
Where the glitter’s broken glass
And all the angels; pervs.
Where euphoria is sold
For money by the gram.
Find me no more there on Earth
For this is where I am.

I’ve constructed my own heaven,
Wish that you could see
How much better this is than
The hell they made for me.
Where the demons hang by neckties
Grimacing in mirth.
Where the price of happiness
Is more than what it’s worth.

I’ve constructed my own heaven
With its golden gates,
Where a hedonistic ****
Of the senses waits.
Where the smokey clouds are dense
With fumes that stick to clothes.
I’ve constructed my own heaven
Of sorts, I suppose.
A poem on addiction.
Jeffrey Robin Jun 2016
.




( come on out


-- don't be afraid -- )


""


all the girls were bleeding

Moaning on the floor

The janitor came in screaming

GET THE **** OUTA HETE YA PERVS

BEFORE I CALL THE COPS !

)(


)(


Oh for the days when self pride might have kicked in !

Or even civic duty !

)(

She loved tomorrow but it died

And no college kid can find a real job

So she thinks of something else to do

Amid the cops and drone airplanes

And the silly children that we are


""""


It is good

I know

It's hard to believe

But it is

Really

It is always good


.
jeffrey robin Jul 2015
::::

the gods are gone

~ ~

0

~ ~

only we poets remain

& we're just ******* around

Trying to talk others

Into hurting themselves

••

Weird pervs

spreading the pain

::

As little kids follow us to hell
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
yep, yep, girls buy books,
while boys lay bricks...
nothing but a ****** huh(?)
either way... what do you
call a construction
site filled with
english builders?
it was once called ireland,
now it's called eastern europe...
******* only know
how to make content,
they never master the context...
twitchy-***
          mother-*******,
they know as much
about construction sites
as a butcher knows
about baking a loaf of
bread...
what a bunch of pathetic
losers!
        they travel to london
from gloucestershire
to manage a construction site...
and what do these
peasants do?
   they do the tourists...
   **** the english
trying to manage a constuction
site... the wanks and the yanks
and the spandex totting
  pervs do the least...
   **** em... infest them
with islam, they deserve it...
   wankers...
             yanky doodle d'oh d'ee
mc'           oh-kneel...
   fucky-d'ooh d'ah 'ad aye faum...
******* paddy,
                    mc'pancake;
the english know nothing
about building,
let's begin with nations, e.g. iraq...
the **** did they build there?
the **** they built in eire-land?
the potato turn into a rice patch
of edible bog?!
              now you're incubating
me in an irritant powder...
   once i scratch to my own bone,
i'll scratch into your bones,
until i start ******* at the marrow
imitating playing an ivory flute!
          it's a bit too late for
an oops or a sorry
                 honey p'ooh bear
                              dearest daisy...
bloom! tickled gummy...
             laugh my dearest
             rosy petal!        blush!
        that doesn't mean you will
see the construction industry
revised...
    any time soon...
    yo' bo'yah iz lay-zee!
                      how many operas do we
need?
                how many rejected
hungarian doctors will we see?
   for some reason,
the supposed "industrial" revolution
never took place in england,
given that england has turned
into the laze of jamaica...
  given that its hypo-critical in
having to import labour from
a dedicated ethnic group...
these days,
     england wishes it was jamaica...
what, with its pebbled beaches?
       am i supposed to treat
my hemorrhoids sitting down,
or am i supposed to get a sun-tan
lying down?
               next time you mention
english cuisine,
   i'll be ingesting pebbles,
        and ******* out sand,
  for lack of a better concern for
fibre...
    who, the ****, packs, crisps,
            into a bun, and calls it lunch?!
you wanna see my face?
                  ******* degenerates;
you had your turn,
now it's my turn...
   now **** the american ******...
tell me if you don't come back
with the templar's idol of baphomet
to curse the cancer patients
   with a fetish for the nag hammadi
*** change credo.
Stepping to the beat, without my feet, so sweet, but deadly unique,
Freak a chick, who dont speak, english dutch to spanish,
See my third leg vanish, outlandish, skillz I didnt plant it,
But I'm a captain, watch me land it, no airplane, puff jane,
It's insane, off the grain, season yokes, for the snowy cane,
Picked the range, over the lexus, haters, welcome to texas,
Plex against us, watch the heat bust, over 300 Celsius, trust,
The feelings I push, watch ambush, chaos, in the land of Kush,
Crush dramas, meaner than a, aggravated llama, calm ya,
Every ya verbs, meditate the herbs, knocking out all pervs,
Suckas get served, cant shake the bell curves, see the nerves,
Of steel grow, from those standing, as a distance so, the more,
The pain, the looser the gain, struggling for domains,
It's a like a police refrain, looking for soaked, up drug drains,


Rhyme stitches increases, this for my nephews and nieces,
Check the thesis, top rap digging in ya, telekenisis, pieces,
Of my poetry, left ya in feces, cant stop the rap carniches,
Glitches, pitched nothing but riches, flawless no shining this,
Ludacris, number spot got ya spot blotched, who could knock,
Take my top spot, we got it locked, like the Lox, hold glocks,
With more heat, to beats, then streets, than flings of rock,
Cant block, the hustle out muscle, any thin vessel, measure,
My treasure, against the flawless, nights of pleasures,
Loose ends, make for loose skins, check my rims spin,
At least 600 classes in, session, mic killer, with no aggression,
Mics I dig, contagious as Mr Biggs, split, ya dot now ya got red wigs,
ambedo Sep 2022
You stole from me
Something I can never get back
Something that I thought of all people who would take it
It would be a man
Another disgusting old man who pervs on young women
Or a young boy who doesn't know how to treat a woman
And still lets his hands roams with the immaturity of a child
But no
It was you
A woman
A “friend”
I hate that every time I
Hear your name
See your face
Or anything that reminds me of you
Makes my stomach churn
My skin crawls and chills thinking about the way you touched me
The way I touched you
If only I could stretch my fingers through my temples and rip away the thought of you
To tear out my tongue and bite off every finger
Would be the only true way to rid you from my flesh
To dismantle myself
Melt off every piece of meat you look at with hunger
Every drop of my being you thirst for
Rip off every pleasing aspect of myself
The ******* you feel the right touch
The *** you feel entitled to grab
The mouth that you shoved your filthy fingers into
So that nothing can remind me of you
But to do that would be to
Destroy myself
And I have too full a fire to let you win
To allow you to win over me in such a way wouldn't put an end to what you did
To what you've done
To what you will do
The way you've hurt me is something you will refuse to believe
Because you
Of all people
After everything you say you fight for
After everything you say your against
You became the very things you loathe
Look in the mirror
Look in the ******* mirror
Shatter the ******* mirror with your grisly being
But knowing you
You would take the glass to open up another woman
Or to cut another with your vengeful spirit
Seeing how you act as if nothing happened makes my skull crack and explode
Makes me want to tear my vocal chords
To unhinge my jaw apart from my skull
And pry my mouth open
Would be the only true way for you understand my volume
To force my mouth open
The way you forcefully opened mine
If only I could tell you how i feel
Everything you've done to shatter my being
The way you act as if nothing is happening
“I still care about Sophie”
If you did
You wouldn’t have done the things you did
But after everything
You're not worth the wasted breath it would take to tell you

- You disgust me
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
/                                             between  
  boris johnson
&
jacob rees-mogg;

i'd choose the former,
at least he can fake it
and looking plain-dumb
stupid - just ready
to 'ed off to the turkish
barbers...

the latter?
  
   the **** acknowledged that
he can't boil, a ******* egg!

    cymdeithas
               yr iaith gymraeg -

watch me reshape that:

      çýmdéithās

           ýr           íāíθ

                     gým' ra' 'eg.

i've heard him talk this
crap!
  
             this half-shelved precious
of a quasi-****
at the barbers with
his hairline: fold...

   no!
                     he bakes
me a ******* cup-cake, i'll ellect him:
if not?
   back to the back-benching imitating
atlas poses of:
  oh, i suppose i'm supposed
to do something, or be of some use...

get, the, ****, out, before,
the mob starts playing hyenas!
   leave it to the buffon quasi-imitation
of the blonde quiff!
    
the empire is over, jackie, or jack,
or whatever you transgender
pervs like to call themselves...

             **** it...
           dox me... do what you can...
i know that there are two crucial
points on my body,
the arteries...
       one under my right armpit,
the over near my collar bones...

   i stap both these points...
i'll bleed out
   the other: most perfect, answer.
                      
charles the third isn't going to
be about "tea" minus wit:
zee keeng...

        half wits of the house of commons!

neither is his son!

      ugh!
                ****-wits!

can i just **** you off
while you die off ******* off your
pretentious accents on a, ******* guillotine?!
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
so that's what it feels like?
huh... who would have thought...
remaining sower of proverbs
sober for the entirety of the day...
feeling either
(a) am i going to survive this,
i feel like a flat
   souffle, or sour milk,
quizzical,
  disorientated,
      not much of a headache...
just this brimful dosage
of nausea... dizzy but not dizzy
with an encouragement of
a falling sensation akin to
that analogue dream recount...
or...
(b) did i really **** out
what i was supposed to **** out?
hell... i felt better
on worse days...
once i ****** into
a glass of red wine
and called out the blood of
Christ:
   saying silently:
what are you selling me?!
what? bear grylls
can squeeze a yak **** in
the middle of nowhere
   to get the water...
and i can't make a profanity
****-show by *******
into a glass of wine and mixing
it with the metaphor?
sure sure...
washed my death and ate
some raw garlic later...
which doesn't exclude me from
performing oral ***...
   you know that,
exclusive merger of licking
out a ****...
where you face looks so shiny
as if you've been smearing
melted butter all over your face?
let me tell you...
that's 10 quid extra with
the Bulgarian prostitutes...
the paradoxes of this world...
no kissing...
which i transgressed -
kissed one for an hour,
1950s cinema style...
   just because i, "forgot" to
come equipped with cis-
(whatever the hell that means)
genitals...
     i just forgot to trim
my ***** for the occasion...
so we kissed for an hour....
   god... when a woman wraps her
leg and gobbles down
the sight of your torso...
and the lights are dim,
and her Bulgar skin comes off
auburn,
    molten copper...
         but, yes, yes i am,
dysfunctional drunk,
excessive drinker...
      weighing in at over 100kg,
and over 6ft...
  a liter of whiskey is like:
raining lemonade...
but i do my drinking when everyone
in the household is asleep...
i like my privacy...
plus, talking to me while drinking...
you'd be better off...
playing squash...
   god i miss playing squash
up in Edinburgh...
  technical question...
  is it illegal to smack the squash ball
off the side walls after the serve?
and that variety of rubber
on the *****...
  how you'd have to warm
the ball up by doing a few
precursor smacks against the wall...
what a beauty of a game..
certainly beats tennis...
i never knew why tennis was
so much more popular,
the pace in a game of squash...
plus the concept of a cubic game...
and then the drinking begins...
only after a sudoku has been solved...
still...
   that eerie feeling of
a near-death experience...
hanging over you throughout
the day...
mind you...
great news out of Brighton university...
apparently the university
is taking precautions in...
  providing a course for women
considering making extra
dough... by considering a part time
career in ***-work...
         so i'm guessing more
sugar daddies and old pervs...
unlike us men...
   we get the cheaper garden variety
of women, and most are much
older than us...
         plump...
but boy... mandible in beauty as
durable in their appeal...
and, thank god no extra income
from making videos...
             STDs covered...
  they even tell you that they go
for periodical check-ups...
i'm actually more likely to incur an
STD outside of a brothel,
in the dating scene...
            hand on my heart,
scout's honor: ATTENTION, HUT!
and last time i checked?
it's not illegal...
  although...
   yeah... it's illegal to own
a brothel...
you can be self-employed and look...
no taxes...
          the girls are milking it...
and i can relax,
perhaps not even having *******
once a year...
            this definitely has
to be my favorite topic to write
about... because i don't require
an imagination, or graphic,
mundane and oddly enough crass
description interludes of
coupling up with Happy Dicky Goes Big...
or turns big...
whichever...
                *** is only *** on
paper, credible and all...
    but it's a shame that you
can only get an ******* while reading
with such books that...
let's just say a Marquis de Sade book
is beyond what
  a Marquis de Sade book cover
might make a schoolgirl giggle
on the tube with her friends...
      let's not get into how,
or why...
    my favorite citation from de Sade's
biography...
he had a perverted uncle,
a bishop, no less...
  who owned a library of books:
that made you inclined...
    to read...
           with only one hand.
funny, eh?
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
i don't know, somehow i always end up writing
from a lazied, brazen perspective,
almost nonchalantly, nonetheless: with ease,
and most of the genesis prompts begin after reading
a book review and, being disposed with
a reflexive automation mode of expression,
something always trickles down onto
a blank eye of beelzebub (to see);
this time round? a book about princess margaret.*

and what prompted me? a tale of a british
conductor, summoned to kensington palace,
because poor margaret had trouble
falling to sleep (must have been
that infamous pea under a dozen of mattresses
and twice the dozen amount of
duck feather pillow, poor thing) -
here's to admiring a serial killer's *******
sack... yes, i think there's the horror,
yes i think it's despicable,
   but compared to royalty -
     almost all of them seem like: pretty decent
people;
which brings me to the 3 Ps...
          psychiatrists, priests & prostitutes;
how do i put it?
  no, i'm not into the glorification of women
in the profession, then again,
a bit of english has rubbed off on me -
which, miraculously disappears once in
amsterdam; the cliche being:
you head to amsterdam to smoke week
uninhibited and paranoia-free...
  flip a coin though and you'll find
some men head to amsterdam as the age-old
weary sailor -
   got bored of ****, took to the mush pillow
oyster of a **** instead...
       and you go there and visit these women:
because back in england they're still
double-face lying ******* worth of quakers,
or some other puritanical labyrinth
of what is, and what isn't proper,
as in it's proper that i get all the **** and you
get a handshake with the grim reaper
of ****** affairs;
besides the point... if you had to choose
one of the three stated Ps for a counsellor,
a "therapist", which one would you choose?
a psychiatrist. e-onk! wrong answer.
a priest. e-onk! wrong answer.
    you always head to the *******...
why? you use your entire body,
   you're not strapped into a straight-jacket
of formality and that dreaded distance -
a bit like that rené magritte: who always
painted wearing a suit, with a ***** shoved
up his ***: i think he called it magritte manoeuvre
to ease his spinal rheumatism.
       why would you ever discredit
prostitution as simply *** slavery?
you ever considered the idea that prostitutes
give much more in terms of "therapy" /
"guidance" than a bunch of psychiatrists
& priest put together?
   point being, just like today, me's walking
for a whiskey to the supermarket,
three girls just ahead of me,
    two twins (judging by height,
the ***-pear couplet and hair) -
  and they start to speed up their walk...
they even become self-conscious about it
exclaiming: why are we speeding up,
why are we walking so fast!
darlings, it's not yet 9 p.m.,
   all the freaks and pervs come out after
the watershed hour of 10 p.m.,
   but it dawned on me: 6ft, over 100kg,
bearded,
   lazily strolling along with one hand in
his pocket...
  what's that cliche? oh: men like to chase.
honestly to god, once you've been to a
*******, you see women more and more
two-dimensionally...
          so these three does, these three
bambis are racing along, at times hopping,
at times bewildered, and they enter
a side street to clear my path,
   in a split second i'm thinking:
       one of them if going to turn around and
have a last look...
                                  BINGO!
They seek me, they hungry for change
Bloodsucking pervs
In love with my veins
Destroying my life
They come with lies
And they will always want a yes
They wanna win or they rather die
They think I will not cry but If I do they don't mind
I don't know what it is about me
They hunt me until they succeed.

— The End —