"sadism" poems
Buried alive, beneath the rhetorical lies.
Of a thousand broken-prayer beads.
Surrounded by all of my....
False hopes.
Fake friends.
&
Some, hornet priests
who are exorcising their own demons.
On a ******* fueled ****** of sadism in it's own right.
On the dark side of the confession booth. This is nothing.
But a divine
waste of my time.
I'll see you all, in Hell.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 1:19 PM UTC
flex and perspire my darling
would you mind a small suffering for craven kisses
to have your dark fig **** and drenching *****
stroked with a tickling finger lingering
and strong hands around your sweetly curved throat
that shunt the breath
to yield willingly for sharp-toothed nibbles with surprise tongue whipping?
will you present your soft belly and cupping *******
for dark cruelties that excite beyond tabulation
will you present yourself with smiles
and goddess leg show
sobbing for feral pink spires gleaming
while quivering thighs
turn hot red from the slap of the leather strap splitting stings?
will tears of love
mix in wild berry utterance
and flashing spitfire’s tongue?
are you made for this?
your every whimper an invitation
like an open pink gate
do you need the saint of dark desires to rescue you
from banal dim-witted all american in and out?
do you need to drown in oceanic wave tsunamis
of hot butter **** glitter, blood flooding gasms
and tender aftercare?
my wish
that you shimmer like silver
possessed
by the saint of sadism
popes of eros
who fill you with the milk of the moon
all stars that melt you into the depths of paradise
and that this dark ecstasy
is the only suffering you will ever know.
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 6:27 AM UTC
In the smoke and haze
I could lie for days
Bound by dreams
Of vivacious scenes
A matriarchal mistress
From Sacher-Madoche novella
Gleaming eyes; a cruel smile
Courtesy could not last for a mile
Spank and strike,
Dearest love and goddess
Do not shirk from such duty
****** and tantalising
Bask in decadent moonlight
By the wisp of cold wind
Cure your sadism
And sate your masochism
Within piquant smell of leather
Find your balance
Between lust and love
Dealt with swift blows so keen and easy
All whilst recounting your ****** burden
Unto lovely Aphrodite
She is taken with vile passion
And laden with fur and velvet
Dec 18, 2018
Dec 18, 2018 at 3:51 AM UTC
I'm on the run
And not for fun
The police are chasing
My heart is racing
When my life is at stake
My morality I'll break
The police release the hounds
I can hear their deadly sounds
They want to maim me
I want to stay me
I decide to fight the charging canines
Because I just snorted a ******* line
My judgement loses length
To my influx of strength
I break the dogs' legs
Until they beg
That's not enough
Sorry Scruff
The steel gun I fire
A furry cop retired
The police attack me
For defending myself
They refuse to see
The danger to my health
They chose to use crazy canines
So I feel the fault isn't mine
That doesn't change their decision
For me to die slowly in prison
I am in the teeth of the government
Much to my human wonderment
This is the way I'll spend the rest of my life
For the decisions I made at the end of a knife
The irony is cops **** dogs all the time
Yet they obstruct their vision of the line
Where it ceases to be man versus society
And becomes man versus nature
When a man is in peril
He must turn feral
But in a country that blindly idolizes aggression
The police don't acknowledge this discretion
They dig their teeth into our skin
While draining us financially
The only way we'll ever win
Is if things change substantially
Sadism fervently fuels the flames of conflict
With an exasperated public sick of being kicked
Cruelty is what they witness
To lose their mental fitness
How can they protect their babies
When the police have rabies?
The police relationship with the effected public will never shift
When there's a Cereberus between them maintaining the rift
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 5:35 AM UTC
there's ethical idealism:
where ethics is discussed...
there's ethical relativism:
where ethics is practised...
there's ethical realism...
where ethics is quantified
as an improbability;
and then there's ethical
absolutism,
where we supposedly
"progress" -
in this scenario are
the laws of physics actually
suspended:
whereby oculus qua oculus
is replaced -
a loss of an eye is "relative"
to 10 years in a cage...
really?!
ethics is
ideal, realistic, absolute or relative...
we're encouraged to live
in "realistic relativism"...
never in an absolute realism,
since realistic relativism
only compares itself
to ideal absolutism...
and nothing more...
ever watched that film
secrets in their eyes?
you ever wonder what
ethical idealism is to the ethnical
consequence that can absorb
a realistic libra?
i can only believe in
ethical absolutism,
ethical relativism is horrid to me...
relativism adorns idealism,
absolutism adorns realism...
a life sentence is worse than
a death sentence,
whether justified or not,
prison is sadism,
but at least ****** is simply ******
a space-time intact,
a ****** penalty is not
inhumane, nor a ouija board...
it's time for time,
space for space,
the actual punishment comes
with the missing adrenaline rush
of the unexpected reception of the wielded
weapon...
either send these jealous plonkers to
siberia, or sentence them to death,
for you are no more than they are,
nay, you are more...
you're akin to cats toying,
playing a sadistic games with half-mutilated
mice...
this is why i abhor
ethical relativism of the crucifix...
hence my belief in ethical
absolutism in the paragraph of realism,
which is perfected, by
being exacted, and never, ever,
being leisurely discussed,
on a farcical palette with a grimace
to boot: ******* a lemon;
compensating the horrors within
minutes, is never compensated
with ordeals that last years...
which is why i find the death penalty
an act of authentic humanity,
and not this quasi-humanitarian
act of pardon, ******* hypocrites -
i abhor the caged rat
more than the rat gladly nibbling
on a dead corpse...
at least there was passion
in the ******
waiting for death penalty is like killing
a vermin with poison,
disposing them with nonchalantly...
the wise maxim states:
ledo ferrum sicut id est calidi -
strike the iron while it's hot...
death is the dawn-broker -
a new tomorrow promise -
left intact, the fermenting process
of ethical dynamism takes over...
then again,
the supposedly "evolved"
preferred moral relativism to moral
absolutism,
because there was no
moral realism to speak of,
since morality could only
be talked about in ideal terms of
the supposedly so, supposedly
fashioned via: it ought to never happen to
me...
and then it might, and then:
oops... argument sinks like a wet fatty ****
into shambles of keeping up with
the presupposed pillar of argument
being "impenetrable";
hey, genius, back to the blackboard!
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 8:50 PM UTC
Sadism
Against your dogma
Felt like a solace
Being said that,
It's a constitution
Humans vail
Agreed to their stupid conception
Made by
Their greatest grandfather
Shriveled, i say
The gyves
Yet they still asking,
Where is my rights?
And you just sat there,
Befriends with silence
Behind the coffin
************
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 3:01 PM UTC
I fall to my knees,
Kneeling before you,
My Master,
Groveling at your glorious feet,
To reveal the chains of submission,
Weighing down my delicate form.
You gaze upon me,
Beholding soft skin shimmering,
As my body is folded over;
Viewing my tantalizing beauty,
As I bestow myself,
To fulfill your deepest desires,
Conjuring the darkest yearnings,
Manifesting within.
“Rise, Baby Girl’’,
Your deep voice commands,
Reverberating within this crimson colored chamber,
As your figure towers over me,
Beckoning my legs to stand,
Obliging to please you,
As my hazel eyes encounter,
The blazing intensity of your own,
Sending flames to burn,
Down to the small of my back.
Fear is the armor I allow to fall,
Tumbling to the ground,
Cloaking myself in trust,
As I allow my body to be,
Touched by dominant hands,
Trussed up by ropes and chains,
To restrain to me.
Willingly becoming prey,
To the sweet, antagonizing caress,
Before your hand aggressively strikes,
My behind,
Sending me into a realm,
Of pleasure and pain,
Morphing into one sensation.
Free is the response I experience,
As you bounds my wrists,
With your tie,
Pinning me down,
Straddling my body.
Placed between your thighs,
With your heated lips,
Conquering every inch of my body.
The Sting of the flogger,
Is a bite against the skin I crave,
As silence is the language,
I choose to speak,
Feeling your fingertips claim me,
As your territory to reign over,
As you please.
I yearn to satisfy the hunger,
Starving to be your nourishment;
For Sadism to feed,
Upon masochism,
As a balance of power is established,
As we lose ourselves in fiery passion.
Dominance and Submission,
Forces meant to bond to the other,
In a marriage of infliction and reception,
Of blissful agony,
Accepting the temptations you direct,
Towards me as guide,
To obtain our darkest of fantasies.
Submission speaks out within,
The silence as I give you,
A proffered hand,
Succumbing to the sensual dreams,
You promise to me,
Allowing you to possess me in any way,
You wish in accordance to our terms.
May you indulge upon my form,
Like decadent candy you crave,
To devour,
Savoring every taste,
Sound, smell, and touch,
In this licentious dance between you,
My Master,
And me, your fervent lady,
Of submission.
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 5:18 PM UTC
Engulfed by light /
eyes open wide/
my pupil turns white/
it’s nothing to stand in the impenetrable heat. /
The sun stands before you/
with all of your turmoils /
your mind is my glory hole !/
The powerful gust from a huge fan i trust/
was disguised as an infinite beam as it lifts me/
dematerialize the old grains of me/
The wind spreads her love unconditionally
/DESERT JASPER /
what morals are you after?
In the face of sadism
the expression of laughter.
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 1:51 PM UTC
the disease of despair
gambling
suicide
hate
sadism
symptoms, not causes
of the brown blood
drained from swines'
pockets
gather up your coat
and your hat
for the primetime
event
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 3:36 PM UTC
When I first see you, with eyes half-closed
imagining how your thin lips licked the edges of the sea,
remembering the primordial ooze, I think
I have come here to love you.
When you spread your flesh across the table
open your legs, pull at the lips and
make sounds that only I can hear, I whisper
I have come to love you
When you out move everyone I have ever loved,
bring your mouth to mine and in delirium
wash my face with the warm cloth, I realize
how love is tinted with empathic sadism.
When you finally utter my name in the same sentence as yours
as if your ***** hold all the stuff poets wish for
and my fingers find the seaweed surrounding your pink flesh
I know I love you.
Sustenance from the watery underworld
Food
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 1:31 AM UTC
Composed of the opposition,
I am too afraid of the meanings
within the reasoning and
extremities of polar ends.
Ex.
steadfast vs. capricious
sincere vs. contrived
sadism vs. masochism
expansive vs. nonexistent
(circle one)
Frankly, between my want to know every
cloud-breaking peak and sunless crevice of my animal, me,
on this circular search for a emotional enlightenment,
I am exhausted, from the in-between.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
His kalenjin tribesmen planned for tribal wars to cleanse kikuyus and luhyias
From the their lands, planned out of tribal sadism,
He was fully aware, as he understood the kalenjin coded language of war
And preparation for war, war of the years 2007 and 2008,
He did not give any holy bishopric **** to save his non indigenous folks
The people to be killed and tribally cleansed were the members
Of his catholic church in the dioceses of Eldoret,
The ones to **** were his kalenjin tribesmen,
But bishop korir could not counsel nor forewarn,
He did not give out any peace focused advice
That a catholic should not **** a catholic
Because of politics or worldliness,
Instead he gave respect to his tribal sentimentality
He behaved as a kalenjin first then a catholic later,
A spiritual paradox of the century,
Only equated in the Biafra tribal sentimentality between igbos and yorubas
Redolent of European ****** or the American ku Klux ****
But after all the non kalenjin Catholics from his dioceses
Had been killed, burned up in the church, ***** up
Homoerotically perhaps in the madness of tribal scorn,
That they now became refugees in their own country; Kenya
And then solemnly condemned to the refugee camps,
Is when Bishop korir Cornelius came out of his tribal kernel
With vices of a kipskiss sadist , holy rosary in his hand,
Singing an out dated poem of Hail Mary the ******
Mother of Jesus Christ to them, the IDPS,
He then promoted a priest from his tribe,
The one kimengich up the hegemonic altar to become
The bishop of Lodwar from where they loot
The illiterate turkana catholic peasants their relief foods,
And even jobs, and clothes, only to give to those who are not needy,
To the kalenjin who are not even catholic nor marginalized, some even Moslem,
All these happens in the sweetness of tribal syndrome,
A social disease which the holy sacrament of the catholic faith
Have not and never will heal Bishop Cornelius korir.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 9:28 AM UTC
My Lucifer, unwitting Muse, dog-eared Vonnegut,
afrobeatnik third eye, howls escaping
from your headphones, wailing about secrets, about infidelity,
about analyzing life until there ain’t nothin’
left. Then you shuffle by in your black and white Adidas,
hair in twists, wearing the striped sweater
of nihilistic intent, quoting the rants of Holden Caulfield
in your blog like you never didn’t know him.
I never asked to know you, to want who I can’t have
when I can’t even love myself. And every fiber
Of my being yearns for reciprocation. What is there
to return? What is there to feel, you meditate on truth,
fallen angel in the parlor of rebellion, blasphemous goodbye,
bright and morning star simpering like crickets in the palms
of daybreak. Your musicality radiates from subway chatter
and overheard profanity down El Camino Real.
I take in your ballad at my post office mailbox,
in the abandoned echoes of daydream monologues.
You’re a philosopher, exploring theory of mind, a cartographer,
mapping the labyrinth of your deepest desires.
Tell me again about desires, demonstrations of divine sadism. Tell me
about human empathy, the animated faces of wordless expression,
the metaphysics of free will, my beginning and my end,
alpha and omega, my fortress in the land of chic.
Blasphemous hustler, let your idealism simmer, your wit, your mojo,
I come to you an amateur, a neophyte, a lowly scab
in the strike against ignorance. Give me my melody, my song,
my one-hit-wonder of all that is cliché and unknown.
But I can’t be the other woman, your girlfriend, your aspiring
Playboy bunny only 10-bucks-a-throw. Your highness-who-yells-
his-ideas-into-the-ears-of-echoes, your every quirk spellbinds me.
Each day I wake to your entourage vibrato.
I am held captive by your brooding stare, empress of liberal
doves. You visit in my dreams when the sky is a force of darkness
viewing light through peepholes, your flaws an aphrodisiac, a love drug,
a fast hit in the basement from the ecstasy of words.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 5:37 AM UTC
There sits a man
With a wooden leg and a thousand wrinkles
Smoke around his blue sailors cap
Smoke shrouding all but his eyes in a mysterious sense of pain
The smoke fades from a gentle grey to a dark midnight black
Now there are only the eyes
The purple eyes sticking out of a shroud of black smoke as if they were the beacon to heaven
The eyes stare into the distance
Suddenly a part of the black smoke curls into itself and explodes in a rush of air and stale old smoke
Now there are two dots of lucios purple smoke
They float towards me and stay there
With a strange glint in them they look towards the black smoke
I say look for that is what they were doing
The blavk smoke starts moving inwards
As if there were a great source of power summoning theme
The speed increases and I feel extreme fear and power
I blink
And right there sits the man
With a wooden leg and a thousand wrinkles
With a blue sailors cap
But now his wrinkles are different
They are black
Like the smoke that moments ago was around him
That smoke was now in him
His skin was normal
Soft as a baby but his wrinkles were black
The two purples eyes that float before me seem to beckon towards the wrinkle in the mans brow
I walk forward and I look into the wrinkle
The eyes float behind my head now
Suddenly a force pushes me into the wrinkle
I fall in the vast abyss that is this wrinkle
And I feel it all
Pain
Fear
Love
Death
Hatred
Apprehension
Lust
Sadism
Masochism
But above all guilt
The horrible darkness pushes the guilt into my soul and crushes me
What did this man do that is hidden by his wrinkle did he....
There sits a man
With a wooden leg and a thousand wrinkles
And a blue sailors cap
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 3:45 PM UTC
Cold, still clouds of blood rain,
Thick drops of agony
Fell on your lips.
I have defied the Life
By controlling his destiny
Oh, my Holy Puppet,
Curiouser and curiouser I was to ask,
What were your thoughts?
Did you always know?
Were you thinking, why?
Captivated by darkness,
I lathered the lotion of fellowship on my skin
To hide my true intentions.
Sweats trickled from your brow
When I pressed my lips against your cheeks.
A rushing stream of adrenaline ran through my heart
Upon my poisonous kiss.
Pieces of silver told me of your Sadism,
Of how you took away the sweetness of the
Vanilla extracts of my life.
My desires you denied!
Now die in shock, and let your last breath
Be nothing but a seeping gasp of silence.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 9:10 AM UTC
Feel the burn of desire scorch your insides
Feel the warmth from the spilling of seed
My darkness is deep within you
Setting out on this campaign of lust,
Our bodies tangle, indulging in the pleasure of the flesh
Eat me up, swallow me whole,
As I fill myself with you
We are ouroboros
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 10:42 PM UTC
Blank page
soon to be filled
with
all heart
needles in each cell
burning in all
muscles
sleep in all eyes
testament to having
all given up already
cliché
action of morbid
sadism
this place, ********
that place, worse
“Nothing will change when you get there.”
People don't.
Places don't.
High buildings,
they are not sails.
To distant lands
where everyone is in love
and time is perfect.
Instead.
It's gutters, toxic.
It's sewers, pollution.
It's ****** it's *****
It's an emetic given ******
as one force fed ****
It's lonely.
It's alone.
It's time.
It's empty.
____________________________________________________
It's loveless, callous, wrong, degenerate.
Empty,
empty,
empty, again and again.
No these buildings only
house the soulless vessels
of dead.
They are death.
The lights.
They are the city dying.
The skyline.
A skeleton.
Bleeding out
the last
blood in
it's marrow.
The City is dead.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 11:22 PM UTC
freckles clung
like manic-pixie stardust,
spackled whispers
an unfolding fractal
of brimming dresser drawers
old pictures and mix cds,
we could only ever do
what teenagers were supposed to.
smushed crabapple handholds,
moxy and sadism hard-won,
no crash course in platonicness,
our stained glass eroded
into a beach
frozen in unsummer,
opiates dull senses,
a synesthetic void
exchanging echoes of echoes,
a cacophony of empty
distilling as it leaves
in whisks of 2 a.m.s,
honey-laced whiskey,
if the sky murmurs one
last love poem, it isn't
to us but our
moment of infinity,
of blind faith
irredeemably lost,
that forever of apex
where the line between
falling and flying
blurs.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 11:00 PM UTC
You are forbidden from returning to my dreams. Taunting me, provoking me, torturing my subconscious mind with your narcissistic sadism. I'm no longer your ********* I'm no longer your tattered rag doll with frays at the knees and threading that refuses to hold. No longer will you find a thrill in viewing the black and blue-toned soft spots about my body, find pleasure in the fact that you created them. No longer will your fist adorn my neck and the blood you drew decorate my limbs like threats scrawled in crimson ink. I no longer live in the cage you forged specially for me to occupy. I'll never again ***** lies that have been ever so carefully ingrained into the crevices of gray matter within my battered skull. No more contracts written in blood and marrow, surrendering the black pulp of a soul that may not even exist within me. I'm now my own. I no longer retreat from battle, I storm the walls that you constructed around my heart. I am truly loved and the scars that once reminded me of terror and cowering in corners are now covered up with the finger paint that is left behind every time her hands dance across my flesh. You never won. I have reigned victorious and you'll know it when you look inside your pillowcase for that last slice of my consciousness you refused let go of. You'll know it because it will no longer be there. It's back with me, where it always belonged.
Rebecca Madeira (C)
Sep 25, 2017
Sep 25, 2017 at 9:27 PM UTC
Thunder… then lightning,
feverish caress of musky notes,
****** scent of loving irony
to curiously tempt each edge
of such a fractionated cubism.
Tiny desert rose, ready
to dilate all its farthest dusty ravines
just to feel its lymph racing out of bounds.
Hot water runs down on me,
raw and bitter into my mouth,
a taunting sadism
for better wince, essentially
in a universe that is not there.
Painted glow of cynic nocturnes,
diluted to loss,
watered down to dawn.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 10:43 AM UTC
We've taken you from your home. Lush in line, your twins and elders, taken.
You lost connection to the Nexus, put on display with porous candied paper messengers and the consumers of blood, perched from the ceiling by invisible lineage.
We have taken you. We're sorry. We lament. We trade small goods to take you, but its easy.
We take the tools too. The serration, the sadism, newspaper mat lobotomy.
We lament. We are sorry.
We lament and cut sad faces. We cut the undead that spawn from the soil and ****** your innards into the hot room. We are sorry. We too spawn from soil. You feel you've lost connection to the Nexus- with the stringy appendages of chilled gore.
We've taken your insides and given you a new face.
We are sorry.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 2:25 PM UTC
Tribes matter more than research,
jobs dished on ethnic network,
as academics are left to die
at the thrones of sadism
and selfish megalomania,
proffessors more illiterate
as reading culture succumbed to death,
to pave way for money culture,
harvested from parallel programmes,
that takes the beautiful
and the academically incompetent,
to the university at mercy of their wallets,
where the proffessors renew their sinews,
on the french chicken by parralleley style
on the tops of the female parallel students,
as they inspire them with new culture,
of laziness,twiterature and cyborature,
face-booking for unique *** partners,
as books are left to be dust ridden
on the miserable shelves
of ramshackle libraries.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 5:01 AM UTC
SHAME!!! SHAME!!! SHAME!!!!
It’s a huge shame on the men who think its their place to strip women naked.
Shamelessly, they quote the bible, “it’s the temple so it should not be displayed”
If that is the case, why didn’t the “believers” who were present take a leso or kikoi to the lady to cover the temple? Instead you strip her???
You are the most sinful of them all and you deserve to have been thrown at the first stone.
SHAME SHAME SHAME!!!
Shame on the men who think that just because you show some skin, you need a touch.
Dressing is done for whatever reason that is personal to a soul.
No dressing is right or wrong.
It’s a shame how ignorance has raided our society and posed as norms and stupid absurd “morals”
How about we pull your trousers down when you sag them to the lowest place your belt can find?
Huh?
SHAME SHAME SHAME!!!
Shame on the men who live in the stone age era of blaming the appearance of women as a push for ***
Why not long for the ones you see on the soaps, or movies or all???
Why not dress your women in whatever you think looks appealing and only you, could strip them when you get home for your own pleasures?
SHAME SHAME SHAME!!!
Shame on the men who have brought women to the level of slavery!
Could this be insecurity making your head full??
Do women now do better than you? Yes!
Do they stand for themselves without you or even better than you? YES!
Do they have a voice? YES!!
So SHAME on you when you let your face be seen on the camera stripping a woman and shamelessly putting your fingers inside her privates.
SHAME on you for stripping a woman her integrity and dignity and letting the whole world know.
Your Education was a Fail!!!
I recommend you go back to school and learn some more.
This is a sign of IDLENESS, DEBAUTCHERY and POSSESED IDEOLOGY of SADISM!!!
Its is DEVILISH!
Who is our society raising?
Fathers or Defilers?
REMEMBER that this person, next time,
This, could be your sister,
Your mother
Or your wife!!
SHAME! SHAME!! SHAME!!!
©TheUnspoken
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 1:13 AM UTC
There are certain gradations of evil within our tragic yet beautiful cosmological vacancy.
As there are particular typologies, we must not allow ourselves to be infatuated with ex-partners nor allow ourselves to succumb to the temptations of delusional sadism.
Do you exhibit dangerous characteristics within this antisocial and eclectic blend of euphoric ambivalence?
Let us make arrangements for a special room in this forensic hotel of diversity where criminality can slice across the vistas of humanitarian presumption, like a psychological autopsy.
Everything is not as it may appear to be.
That, my friend, is the finesse of humanitarian deception.
Welcome to the brotherhood.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 11:05 PM UTC