"roulettes" poems
if we're all about
lazy, blanket-cuddles
mixed with Radiohead songs
and missing breakfast
in the morning,
if we're all about playing
Russian roulettes with
our anxiety triggers
and chasing them down
with *****
if we're all about
untouched calendars
and jokes that aren't funny
and telling them anyway
and not saying
i love you's,
then,
i love what we're all about.
i love not saying
i love you's
with you.
i love this
kind of us.
Jun 13, 2019
Jun 13, 2019 at 2:32 AM UTC
She ***** the sweetness of lust like taste of blood. Death hold grips can describes her hugs. They fall into a web, like the ones who finder. And now there all are hers, the Black Widow Spider. lured in the dark of her legs, sleek and black. Disregard the warning sign, Red hidden down the curve of her back. Fall into her into her mesmerize trap, Queen of seducers. lust at first sight waiting to turn hearts into stone like medusa. Dangerously 50 shades of black, which side of her they want? Games on your weakness, Russian Roulettes gun. Blindsided by her deceit, tangled in webs of her power. And now she feeds on their thoughts, like a brain ******* vampire. The beauty of her web, is persuasion of her femininity. Her birth is to gain your soul and her winning is her fertility. Because she will feed their starvation of love, and innocently build their esteem with everything she can think of. Create *** beyond their wildest fantasies. Drive them wild, begging for another hit down on their knees. Thriving off the lost of emotions, dominating feelings with full control. Then will leave them hanging when the festivities get all old. But the ones she scared will never understand. That the cuts from their abuser was caused by past life of a sexually abusive man. Is the price they pay worth their time?In the end to be hurt by a beautifully seductive mind. To be caught in the webs of a warm, wet place and lose a hold. Of Reality that this girl is pure selfish, untrustworthy and devilishly cold. foolishly loosing themselves in her body, While she’s alive for the fun but in reality is unattached with her body,a defense for untouchable, if they would only listen to whispers in the night, her body sings. To cope with her pain, A deaf man chooses not to hear this melody. The itsy bitsy spider, went up the waterspout, Down came her fangs and dried, his lonely heart out. Out comes the sun and hides her heart of pain, so the itsy bitsy spider waits to eats another one again. Black Widows Game
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 5:57 PM UTC
Grime from age, wiped over
Once.
Get off me, blood bones, open
hearts. Once prayers, came easily
but they don’t sleep with darkness, they have
deliverance,
caked over old wraths and daunted roulettes, I glitter
Shiver. Anxious as a teacup in an earthquake, asking God,
“Why do you make fresh kisses that do no good?”
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 8:55 PM UTC
Though
I sound poetically incorrect
I heart you
Hearter
Than any man
Can ever
I’m a realist
Not a stenciled prince
Are you unconvinced?
Conniving acts
Are for those
Who can’t match
We’re misplacements
Made purposely
To find
Each other
Well,
We’ve found!
Though,
You look excited
We should settle down
Before
Anyone notice’s
This happiness
And tries to end
Ride and Die
If we must
Go out
Like Bonnie & Clyde
In the dust…
Die in the ride
We rode to death
We won’t go
Like Romeo or Juliette
Russian roulettes’
For the odds
And we have demands
**** chancing
On standings
We already have
Forget about whatever
And focus on forever
We have too much left
After this life
To worry about now...
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 1:00 AM UTC
Solidarity won't risk us
Surfing the chalkline of an urban meniscus
Measure our thoughts in reluctance
The breeze at ease flows through the trees following sore knees.
We go on in awe of ever imposing trepidation. No regards to Earth's indulgent rotation.
In my best diction I could write you a hearty fiction full of contradictory facts. But honesty and falsities are beyond the sea, leaving sequential masks.
An opportunity to me to create these beings of fact, to ride and act the illusion of the glide is set in my mind and on the street. My best distortion of living rigor mortis is this wooden plank, set at my feet.
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 1:53 AM UTC
What gives ten
Ask for nothing then
A gentleman entering a gambling den
Orders for the best drinks
Lights his cigarettes with a matchstick
Part of his down-to-earth routine
Not a schtick
He may even come close
To being as slick
As the English ****
Sherlock Holmes and,
Dr. Watson and his stick
Two men
Down in
The roulettes of the den
Landed every time on the red one
And every time his luck had just begun
Look out you two
You’re gonna get hit
If this Henry Gondorff cheats
Then you’re dead beat
You won’t get to even feel a *****
You’ll feel you’ve been stung by the bee
After he gets back at all the mafia men
Trying to show off by showing a ridiculous ten
He writes down a cheque
To buy out the casino
With just a sign of a Mont Blanc fountain pen
After he’s done
He goes down to the **********
Leading a pack of ten
A boisterous pack of men
They’ll probably get laid by the number one
In the house by the name of Whetton by the second
After he’s done running after medicine
She’s already got his fix
She don’t need no kick
He’s given her a night of his sweet **********
Her heart isn’t aching
Ohh but **** it
Not again
She’s falling in love again
Being class number one chick
With a style of her own
She’s understanding a love she’s never known
You thought she was some dumb sex-addict
Now the guy knows that she’s smart
Being the upstart
He’s warm with affection again
With one night of love-makin’
With the maid of Whetton
Need no one beat her
Because he needs her
The two make love again
Forgetting the punishment
Of getting married to their sweetheart
Who is innocent
The man was after all depressed
He was sexually repressed
After the death of his marital success
She didn’t want him anywhere near his girlfriend
Of course she’d heard of him
They were close to each other then
Before he started thwarting his morals
As his life spirals
Downward
They know he’s up to no good
With the ***** in the neighbourbood
Sep 13, 2017
Sep 13, 2017 at 5:47 PM UTC