"sadomasochism" poems
Another definition of sadomasochism is golf.
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 12:41 AM UTC
When Van Gogh cut off his ear
It was for reassurance that the rest of him could disappear
That illusion of ownership that nerves create
Should have faded with each baby tooth I lost
It didn't though, contrariwise I worried I would extend
Into roads or trees and then feel the tire's friction or the elm's blight
Empathy is a ***** of its own
I pray I never wake up with a Siamese twin
I'd have to care, lest we lapse into mutual sadomasochism
That hilarious territory of bored lovers
The Thalidomide kids might get a kick
out of feeling new arms attached to other people
but that's the exception that proves the rule
After the Vietnam war, some men believed Agent Orange
Had followed them home, alive in newly discovered nerves
Now what odd god must be behind that ****
Mengele often awoke from dreams sweating and sure
That his patients would learn a trick to generate biological anesthetics
He needed the feedback of sound to really understand the human body
“Prayer or pleading” he used to say with a wink to his bartender after work
Sometimes I worry that my nervous system
Might have a Mengelian agenda of its own
That I am woven into a potential torture chamber seems clear
but then I remember that I can always pull the tooth or cut off the ear
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 3:48 AM UTC
As I plunge the blade towards her heart
She wraps her arms around me
I wrestle her off to plunge again
she clings on tight, fights on in vain
We feint and parry though she stands in one spot
For she is a rose rambler and pruning my lot
Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 10:38 PM UTC
It feels so strange being sad.
There's no way I'll miss that.
Now the pain is my pleasure
and your love will not measure
how free
how clear
how happy
I feel now.
Love is great, love is fine.
Now that you're
out of heart,
out of mind.
The cold burn of your feelings,
the "I love you" lies that you brought me,
leaves me screaming
"no more".
Cuz I might be sad but I'm perfectly good at it
I'm done with you now
and hey, I love the sound of it.
Sticks and stones may break my bones
but you won't do that to me
any more.
Na na na na na
I'm gone
I'm gone
I'm gone
and I love it.
Na na na na na
We're done
We're done
We're done
and I love it, love it.
Na na na na na
You're alone
You're alone
You're alone
don't you love it, love it?
You hurt me bad, messed me up
I tagged along, I was just a pup
but joke's on you cuz now I'm a *****
so kneel down, boy, cuz I'm done playing your fetch.
Cuz I might be down but I'm perfectly good at it
You're on your own
and hey, I love the sound of it.
Words and wrongs may break my bones
but you won't do that to me
any more.
The pain I took drove me mad
but now I won't give you that.
Now the pain is my pleasure
my heart is my treasure
cuz that I've stolen it back from you.
You doled out the hurt,
I groveled at your feet.
You pushed me too hard,
I wept and plead defeat.
You threw me away,
I came crawling back for your sweet.
But now
I'm finished with *** and sadomasochism
I'm finished with you, your lies, your macho-ism.
I'm taking my heart
and I'm taking my stuff
and I'm laughing as I leave.
Apr 28, 2011
Apr 28, 2011 at 7:39 AM UTC
Summer is alive, the barbeque's on fire
But I aspire,
to be far away
There are children screaming all hours
along the sweltered streets
and cars breeze by, families get high
Lawn mower doldrum paradise paradoxes
I look at flight information on a melting monitor
Enter bank details
and the system crashes
I'll never escape
Three generations pass the window,
chuff away on branded cigarettes
These are truly the end of times
The claustrophobic city closes in
and I'm gasping for breath
through the intermittent smoke rings
That I am exhaling into the sky
The societal construct of monetary systems
keeps me imprisoned not only in the town of my birth
but in the mind of myself, a jail of superficial self-annihilation
I am consumed by I
Ego choke-hold, harder to breathe in the heat
Harder to pound these city streets
We need that cash, we need that (government) cheese
We need freedom of wealth to breathe with ease
I feel like Hannah, turning towards prostitution
or Malcolm in subversive ****** and sadomasochism
I feel like dying
I feel like the drifting away
I feel something
I feel it, I swear
Today I am here
But I feel like I should be elsewhere
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
for some
their sexuality
is intimately tied
to curves and licks of pain
and their own
abject destruction
trussed, ornate
for a brutality
that accentuates
****** lucidity
in the dark caverns
of a perforceive mind
and o so willing body
which
like bruised piano keys
in a triumphant concerto
of ecstasy
aspires
to be played hard
like Rachmaninoff's
beaten ivories
finding immense pleasure
in constant crises
stretched
between the entwined
demand of desire
and the need
for a
a depraved ritual
of exquisite subservience
imposed
by an idyllic master
sweeten the world
my darling
honey machine
industrious slave
bend my beloved
like the weighted ridge pole
are you ready to break
oh princess
of cruel inflictions
that intoxicate
with onerous dark thrills
the sway of your writhe
where pleasure is piqued
by perfect suffering
blood glitter paradise
she beckons
from hells shadowed doorway
enter my love
enter
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 2:25 PM UTC
I threw the backpack down
shattering the 13$ jug of wine
I lifted it and saw all my precious lifeblood
oozing out the bottom.
pouting down
two blocks like a child before
pouring the clot of broken
glass is the street.
bad relationship.
put my fist into a metal
sign, ripping up my arm
dropped my wallet losing
100$ to the gods of failure,
dropped a bag of beer causing
one to rupture and spray all over the apartment.
when I find a piano I clang
on the keys til everybody has
a migraine, myself included.
it's a light form of
sadomasochism.
I do the same thing with
women,
and they prove to be better
players.
slipping around in sheets
with somebody else
a sultry look on your
face like a saxophone solo.
light a cigarette and immediately
break it
drop my new phone in a cup
of wine
rip somebody's door of its
hinges.
meditation is foreplay of life
you gotta lick the ****
be the last one with
your shirt off
last one to the finish line
the last to fall asleep
the first to wake on
the 76th hangover this year
so far
so long
too bad
who cares
eat my ***** while I
shove a ******** in my ***
like the queen of France on
a ******
you can lead a camel to
water but the **** thing
still can't play an
oboe for ****
satan sold me a *** music
box
so if you see him tell
him I got pictures his wife
******* my **** in tumblr
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 6:26 PM UTC
There is a part of us
that isn't quite alive
until hollow-starved lunacy is sated
while showing the bright side
her hidden darkness emerged
when i tricked her into hurting herself
she would say come on trick me, trick me, trick me
and i would tell her
Count Dragool with ****** tube fingers
would take her slow
if she hit her self hard across the mouth
and she would scream to Eden
bash mashley thrash me
i want the men with red tridents
and ding **** tails too
while she watched my eyes
like surveillance drones
as if a great confederation of *****
marched towards her
certainly not painless
but the pain of an addict
who knows all to well the pleasure of the needle
first the little sting and then the great oooow
she is butter on the stove
im the rare drug
a Do Do bird beaking flesh
a cold hard ***********
she a yielding intricacy of complications
a bald Rapunzel
feeling under abused till now
with black crow lips and bangled earings
like a long jangling math problem that ends
with a big O
O popping blood berries
like pink flower hysterical *******
shooting bullets from tattooed
hip belted pistols
on a singing red bed
her limbs a yawing stretch
a torn zipper
being yanked up and down
a frenzy of crying blasphemies and raw kisses
dancing the bend over
on knotted knees
incised a writhing dance cha cha
creel of blood
cha cha cha
May 20, 2019
May 20, 2019 at 2:57 PM UTC
If neoliberalism has taught me anything
It’s that Love is a close, slow, and cold war
Of poisoned wells, proxy wars, and intel—
Know thy enemy, keep them closer than allies.
So close this necessary rivalry
That no olive branch can pass between
That, even in times of peace,
The light-bearing serpents
Post guard near the vaults of one’s purity
Unsure whether grain or gold
Actually lines the walls of ones coffers,
And the thousand envious myrmidons
Kept along the edges of their body’s territory
And skirt the embassy within.
Is there room in the hearth
For pacifists like me?
Or are all the rooms quartered by troops?
It’s sad to say, only the words of the cynic
Could truck and barter
Their way through the bronze gates,
What small inlets there may be,
As master seeking the slave
And slave, the master’s whips
Is a true sign of loyalty to Monogamy’s crown.
What Love couldn’t be said to be
The sadomasochism of
The corporate merger,
Or annexation
Or competitive market of ideas?
*** in the time of Smith or Hobbes,
Is exactly what we need—
Egoism allwheres,
Like so much embroidery
The love of ones life
Veils ********** a swallowing, a utility
And undoes the altruism,
Anything but all-true-ism,
In favor of the fetishism of control,
Flashed like semaphores in storm-beaten nights
To any ship passing
Seeking port and safe passage,
Exchange fire, those shapes and pleas,
Turned warnings to threats,
Sinking, sinking deeper
Into each other’s arms.
In all their plotting, do they hear
Andres-Salome, Ree, and Nietzsche
Laughing about in unburdened skin
Laughing to let the summer in,
On cart-drawn pleasures
And rustic, old-world habits
That rub dirt in the wound
Of the flesh’s censures
By the cruel absence of the lash
And the ostracon.
Sep 29, 2019
Sep 29, 2019 at 12:23 PM UTC
There is no doubt that kinks exist
from the vanilla to the extreme
sadomasochism asks for pain
while the fetish defines bliss
outside these avenues attraction lays
in the realm of pure appeal
not confused with the sport
playfulness between adults
oddities more than strange
no related to loving souls
relationships stand beyond
these attempts to spice it up
be they hetro or something more
pairings are based on romance
one to the other becomes their norm
declaring more than kink explores
put aside the prejudice
disregard when hate equates
depravities of the mind’s eye
with amour when spirits court
no matter how the bits may fit
acknowledgment may extend
to hearts entwined as one
asking all to honor love.
© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181216.
Dec 16, 2018
Dec 16, 2018 at 3:07 PM UTC
*wisdom states: it's not a question of belief, or unbelief, and this is where islam is: simply wrong; islam does not accommodate a fear... there is no arabian nightmare in store... there's too much audacity at play... theism or atheism pays no due to what is actually at store: a fear of god implies that it is rational, since a belief or an unbelief in god is a feeding ground for phobias, irrational fears... there is but one rational fear: that of god, manically because phobias are intermingled with a belief in a "irrational" being; what is truer though, is to have but one rational fear, and a set of irrational beliefs that can be rationalised and overcome... this is how wisdom is stated: the audacity to slander god is no proof of authentic disbelief, for it is no proof of authentic loss of fear, in a scenario of being tortured, murdered and the whole rainbow of sadomasochism; is it?!*
prior to my fear of god,
i came across the fear that:
psychopaths have no
remorse... as the populists
claim, or how
neuroscience reinforces
as true...
but then i mind the essential
universal law of
unit formation...
and i lessen the fear of
psychopaths acquiring no
sensation of remorse,
under the thespian mask
of the crux: the pathology of
lies -
to be double exact:
rather than the pathological
liar...
the psychephobia -
the phobia of possessing a soul.
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 8:47 PM UTC
If I was to be honest about the person I am
I'd walk around with a neon sign,
"I'll love you because I can't love myself. I'll love you until I find better reasons to suffer."
It's a sadomasochism complex.
It's a toxicity I've grown acquired to.
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 9:28 PM UTC