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Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 3:47 PM UTC
Chainsmoking menthols,
creating clouds on parade.
Living in the dark;
frenching hurt that I've made.
There's a sadness in my comfort
and a comfort in my sadness.
*** fame, ******* down
commercialized madness.
I don't dream of pornstars
as much as I dream of clothes.
Videogames to escape it all,
carbon monoxide through my nose.
Too good for this and that;
entitlement at an all-time high.
Doing television to help me live,
or maybe to help me die.
Spotify for the masses
beating in my brain.
Youtube and pornhub
to make me feel the same
as the lost I compare to myself
and the celebs I want to be.
I want to be on edge, rich, validated;
I want to live in a fractured harmony.
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 1:51 AM UTC
i guess **** isn't art
because it doesn't really
make much of an effort to
go beyond showing men and women
being men and women.
i remember when i was a kid in sunday school
i got a ***** when we learned that
adam and eve lived naked
in the garden of eden.
when i do **** i like to take off all of my clothes.
when i do **** i want to visit a beach
where a lot of people are naked.
I don’t mind if they’re men.
it's always eyes on the guy when you do ****
im not like other straight guys
in the sense that i have a
few male pornstars i really like.
work it, homie.
is **** more like watching a movie
or is it more like having ***
the other day my friends from twitter
were laughing at a guy
who called himself an 'adult toys enthusiast.'
i made more friends on twitter than i did in college.
i look at people having *** on the computer
and that is not cinema.
is sexuality a hobby?
*** is called sleeping with someone
is napping a hobby?
is watching **** like taking a ****
is watching **** like breathing?
i guess if **** isn't art
then it isn't a poem either.
May 18, 2021
May 18, 2021 at 8:19 PM UTC
**Hometown
Heartbreak**
You wonder how much you can take
Couldn't fathom what you do
He left you to start anew
The dishes pile up
Even though you haven't been hungry
You wait for the call
To fly out and make money
LA for a week
You live day to day like the rest of us
I see past your concealer
You go back and its mixed love
*There's a tenderness you've known
You know it best when its fading
You just wanna feel at home
But there's no escaping*
You've gotten used to the names and how mean they can be
They take who you are in scenes too seriously
But there's some things you can't help
You've loved and you've lost and protected yourself
And through it all you've stayed who you began as
And you still will if it doesn't pan out
Looking for that one unbreakable connection
You just want to feel true love
You still believe with every wrong step and misdirection
Even pornstars fall in love
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 6:14 PM UTC
As my lungs crinkle and deflate into themselves,
I'm reminded that breathing is easy
I just **** at it.
I hear Lou Dog bark- good dog- and hope he's still out there, biting pornstars because for sure, not all Rastafarian dogs go to heaven. The music's down here.
But you're just the most boring cliche with a pretty face.
And I'm still surprised you're on this side of the dirt.
What a conscience you have.
(Huh?)
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 2:18 AM UTC
My bed is empty. I count the seconds down until you appear: 1...2...3 times you've asked me to leave you alone. Leave you alone? How can I let you be so cruel, so uncaring, and so completely and totally near to my voice. I can't. It's not who you are in this world-we call reality sets in and I grab my **** as the black of guilt sets in.
Black. Gray. White. What room am I in? There's ten feet of tile by ten feet heaven bound. The claw foot tub grips at the **** stained floor, fighting gravity's nagging whine. It's all too real. All too fictitiously crisp. All too false.
The ivory room slips into the field as the brown drains from the vomitorium. Bathhouses, **** me. Lesioned tricks, **** me. Loneliness, **** off-off to Cair Paravel.
I'm an ice cube in an ocean. Don’t drown, don't go, just come.
Rhythm stops and I study the damage. Laying alone on my bed, skin burning with the genocide of my seed spilt for you, I realize you are gone. With the revival of my senses I realize: You are a dream. A fabrication of lust and desire. But this moment, these feelings are ever changing. This moment is real. This time it's you. Tomorrow night: Tommy Anders, Brent Everett, Mr. Corrigan! Pornstars extraordinaire.
That's all I get nowadays.
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 3:02 AM UTC
Inside, Your cancer's beating heart
My ******* shakes, dirt dust gone
I swipe the sand away. For every ounce of ****
Laughing out meaty red raw steaks and size zero thighs.
- For everythingsobad. You rattle my dream box with your sweet blue face and your gauges for neither being an idiot or being human. Too cute of you booboo. Captivity claws at you, you big bafoon, intolerant, shuffling your predicates back and forth during your 12am nonsensical ******** So long as it doesn't interfere with your curfew.
Like soggy altered-state popcorn. Your butter catches more flies than knives, the inauthentic gestures spattering over the rhythms and rolls of your fingertips is torture to watch. Kitchen countertop influenza. A tired dictionary of sad words, poor misfortunes, tired eyelids, silty and sandy crusty inside corners of the eyes
.rearing privilege
countertop crawlers. inaudible coos used by muses who can't keep their musings from tangling the long distance dial tone soaring through the ears like an Italian operatic melodrama. A horse, three brides, and a funeral. One woman, a sick child, blindness, blinding caused by toxins of the body stuck inside your gelatinous fishlike eyelids. Where's there an eye bib and a lance when you need one? A nifty electric toothbrush shank with extra reach and plaque protection. You're the kitchen sink they threw in, a budget meeting with a data analysis staph infection. A government where nobody wins. All the kids grow up with thin skin and an aorta with no ventricles in it. It's like the cynical prison system that we had to survive in our 8th grade basement dungeon. Thundering, curmudgeons drugging sluggishly, **** teen thugs. Preteen pornstars sluicing cash through their meaty canals, ******* the ******** and ******* the back bare in a messy afternoon of **** ******* Crusty infectious rumors made worse by brothers and moms, eating handfuls of Norco just to keep the family strong.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 7:16 PM UTC
*"Yeah, why don't I tell him that I ****** you too?"*
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 5:51 AM UTC
Ain’t seen you in ages
Let’s get married in vegas
Lunar phases, lunar ******
Space **** with a built in dongle
Stars at night super fast internet
Watch your favourite movie
Fastened onto a turbojet
Pornstars in your eyes
Scarlett Skies
Supermassive slack hole explicit
I’m just giving you sound bites, apéritif
Cosmic ****** if you must
Hot to the touch I’m growing up
While you’re looking down gasping
Hands clasping, rocket launch
Houston this missile is staunch
Better turn the lights off
Things are about to get ******
So is it written in the stars?
Or do I need to text an explanation?
Your eyes are reflecting the light
Stars twinkling so bright
So now you’re full of rocket fuel
Engines ready isn’t ******** cool?
Deep space walking, space dazzle
Starship cougar from Newcastle
Tell me all your secrets
The ones that cause you hassle
Those stockings look nice
Northern tights
Blasting them off into unknown heights
Outside the atmosphere air is light
Unidentified arousal phenomena
Explore her Andromeda
The Milky Way sprayed on her front
I must be blunt, space passport scan
Tells star bureau I’m an OG spaceman
Space duty frees large Toblerone
Radiation sickness and no suntan
Cosmic ****** if you must
Light speed chat up lines
In stardust I’m gonna draw you signs
Baby can’t get enough of my ***
So I showed her in IMAX
Double ***** cokes with treble ******
Jelly legs.
So is it written in the stars?
Or do I need to text an explanation?
Your eyes are reflecting the light
Stars twinkling so bright
Can we just take a moment
To admire the cosmos
With a cosmo
Can we just take a moment
To admire the cosmos
With a cosmo.
Apr 22, 2025
Apr 22, 2025 at 4:27 AM UTC
I bet you're #$@&%*! other girls
who don't brush ***** out their curls
the type that rides santander bikes and
can't fall for people their mate likes, who
play piano when they say they will,
and write about romantic things, like walking tightropes
blowing glass or #$@&%*! in your room in spring
I bet you read to them in Latin, bet
they think you're chatting... utter #$@!
and that there's fairy lights above their beds
where you've cuddled all their friends,
it's almost poly, am i wrong? platonic head, you all get on
yes, and they sing
and look like disney when they're close
they're milkmaids, pornstars, near divine
no plasters needed, they shave fine
;
anyway,
I bet he'd love to #$@& them too,
because they're handy with their hands,
they have craft tables or play the bass in some punk band
and when they go to galleries they understand
why some artists are grouped with others when
to me it's all whatever, i'll see them all whatever
oh and bless! their kisses mean things
and mine are ill-thought-out and grime
they remind you of the time, with me it's always getting late...
i'm an r/truecrime date-
i think that dahmer's in my teeth
not great for someone scared of meat...
and when you, when you, when when, when, um, i
i bet you're #$@&%*! them and more,
i bet he'd love to do it too,
his ice clear veins like Finnish waters
your endless thirst for Athens' daughters
but i don't really want to know,
don't need you randomers to call;
no cigar shops, sketchpad summer,
not the clash or prop-up vogues
what i really need is sunlight
and myself
i miss her most
Jun 15, 2021
Jun 15, 2021 at 7:02 PM UTC
Don't name the baby Arya.
It's such a lie to do that now.
Name her after pornstars.
Name your daughter Stoya.
That's named after a real influencer
Named after a somebody
Glittered name of shiny bodies
Named after the highest view count online and off.
A muse name, someone everybody wants.
Let us not let **** names die.
It's ok to breed a Rocco
A name that wears a jive
Keeps art of namegiving alive
Just dont name them after politicians
Prostitutes and Liars
Dont name your kid after journalists
Drug dealers or musicians.
Let's stop those names popping up
George, Michael, Paul.
Quit the whole Beatles charade
Never were someone to look up to afterall.
Stop this rain of assh**e names
Like Boris, Donald, David, Ian.
Give the kids a wider range.
Jun 16, 2019
Jun 16, 2019 at 12:27 PM UTC
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
Mar 24, 2021
Mar 24, 2021 at 2:22 PM UTC
*Nothing says I love you like swollen lips and saliva dripping down my chin. Do you like me when I'm messy and wild with my hair remembering your fingers? Pornstars smile when they **** but I beg instead. I arch for you so beautifully. When my cheek is pressed to the sheets and you take a handful of my hair and force me to curve - that's dedication. I entertain for you. Wear pretty lace for you. I get on top on bottom on my side on my knees for you. I want abuse from you. Leave rope burns on my wrist. Leave welts on my *** I want you to rip my hair from my head. Why don't you spread me out for you? Why don't you push my boundaries? I'm tied up but you don't mean it. I don't want comfort. I want aching shoulders and rope tracks. I want handprints on the inside of my thighs. I want to* hurt. Last night I was begging you to break me. I wanted to feel you today. I wanted there to be holes in the walls and blood in my mouth. I wanted all the hate I've been carrying to come out of my mouth while I screamed your name. But you don't hate me. And I don't "make love." Because Lord knows I can't love you without my clothes on.
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 2:39 PM UTC