"slit" poems
Surrender your body to me.
Bare body pressed against the brick wall
Hands tied overhead
Hair pulled back
Your body so warm and hot
Feel my ice cold kisses on your shoulders
My wet tongue running up your neck
Feel the red imprints of my hands on your ***
Moan for me ever so slightly
Beg me for more
Beg for me to never stop
Shutter at the feeling of my hands on your ********
Bite those full lips at the pleasure of my teeth markings on your body
Surrender yourself to me
Let me toss you on fresh sheets
Spreading your legs apart
Gently placing my hands on your slit
Rubbing slowly against soaked laced *******
Tongue tied in your body
Feed me your taste
Fill me with the flavor of your *****
Grip my head with your legs
Watch me explore your insides
Stare at me with such intense eyes
Stare as I climb up tracing every curve with my velvet tongue
Wrap your glistening legs around my waist
Take me raw till you can no longer go
Grip the sheets, head tilted back
Claw at my body
I'll guide you along the line between pain and pleasure
Surrender yourself to me
Let's explore our pleasures together.
Sep 3, 2017
Sep 3, 2017 at 5:11 AM UTC
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
I wanted to say,
lock yourself in a room,
scream until you have
a poem and no voice.
Open your veins and bleed
until you know that your bones
are pure words and sorrow.
Act as if you slit your own throat
and all you can bleed
are your own regrets
and all of the darkness
you boxed up for inspiration.
Write your mom a letter,
tell her you're leaving
and you won't be back for awhile
Because being a writer is traveling
through all seven layers of Hell
and denying anything is wrong.
Forget loving yourself
when all you have is a pen and paper
fused to your wrist
and Jesus is tapping at your skull
saying turn back now.
Warn the neighbors that if they smell burning
It's just your soul
clawing at the front door trying to get in.
Learn how to be alone.
Learn how to lose everything you have
in order to feel release,
learn how to only feel deceased
from now on.
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
All I said was
don't
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 2:29 PM UTC
I want to sneak up behind you and grab you
I want to slowly unbutton you blouse as I kiss the back of your neck
I want to undo your bra, exposing your perfect *******
I want to kiss your neck and **** on your ear as I slide one finger up and down your ***** slit and oinch your rock hard *******
I want to rub your **** making your body vibrate
I want to **** tease your ****** with my tongue before ******* your amazing **** as I slide my finger slowly inside you
I want to lay you down and feed you my throbbing **** as i continue to slide my finger deeper and faster, rubbing your **** until you explode
I want to rub your juices all over your ******* and areola and ******* as I continue to slide my **** down your throat until I explode down your throat
I want to slide between your legs and seperate your ***** lips with my fingers before I slide my tongue slowly inside you
I want to continue to lick your sweet ***** making your body quiver and your back arch as I alternate between licking, lapping and *******
I want to slide one finger inside your tight ***** feeling your muscles tighten around my finger and one finger in your tight *** as I focus all my attention on your **** with my masterful tongue, lapping soft and slow, then hard and fast until I feel you ready to explode
I want to **** your **** just as you begin to ****** and your bury my head into your sweetness, nearly drowning me in your juices
I want to stand over you and slide my throbbing **** up and down your ***** slapping your **** with my swollen head
I want to look you deep in your eyes as I slowly enter you, becoming one with you, rubbing your **** as I continue to pump myself deep inside you, watching your amazing **** bounce with each ******
I want to kiss you passionately as **** you hard and slow until you *** all over my pulsating ****
I want to stand up, taking you by your hair and put you on your knees so you can taste your ***** juices off of me
I want to bend you over and slide my hard **** deep inside you from behind as I spread your *** cheeks and lightly spank your beautiful ***
I want to tease your *** with my thumb as I **** you slowly from behind
I want to work my thumb into your *** as I begin to **** you deeper and harder until I grab your hips and pound your doggie style until I feel you ready to *** again
I want to explode with you, filling your ***** with my load as you continue to cream all over my ****
I want to collapse onto the bed with you, wrapped in each others arm, completely naked and satisified, until.... 26
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 9:02 AM UTC
You think I'm crazy?
HA! That's real funny.
If I were crazy, would I have written a twelve-hundred-page novel without using a single vowel?
No. 'Cause I did. And I'm not crazy.
If I were crazy, would I be able to predict the future by dropping empty tuna cans into an open drain in my backyard?
No. 'Cause I can. And I'm not crazy.
If I were crazy, would I love to slit your ******* throat just to watch the color drain from from your face and onto that cleanly pressed collared shirt of yours?
Yes. I would love that if I were crazy.
But I'm not crazy.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 4:50 PM UTC
apricots and cigarette smoke:
your smile is infectious.
heat leaking through the little slit in the
window: melt like cool frosters on
a hot summer day - melt
into me
lets become solvent
in this little
car; (I wouldn't mind.)
combine together, like our parents
and parents before them. molecular;
everything, anything -
we are science.
I am not afraid, it is
you
who takes the air from
my gasping lungs; - look!
at his beauty; divine.
© A. Leigh
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 3:54 PM UTC
I kissed a girl with a broken smile;
nothing could come near.
She carved it with a pocket knife;
slit from ear to ear.
And she wears it like her favourite scarf;
it keeps her from the cold.
So I told her its only woven by
her enemies of old.
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 1:37 PM UTC
I am a little bit twisted
I am a little bit obscene
I want to feel you in tight places
And everywhere in between
I'd tie you up and leave you there
Until I can't hear you scream
Then slit your thighs and roll in your blood
And lick it up like cream.
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 3:41 AM UTC
It’s a coloured and shaded broad daylight.
Bring me my hourglass, my paintbrush.
Keeping a timepiece, how soon my brush
strokes become finer it is not the task.
Try once more, strike a fine chord in time,
ever ticking but doesn't make a sound!
Let’s read the small prints, the shadow lines
on the pitch of the slit sun shines!
A dark spot in the light, some dotted lines
on a blank paper, however witty you might
describe it, count on the tweeting birds
short and cute, singing in the open air.
Light and dark the two tallies, ins and outs.
The times come and go, flowing fine.
For now, let’s take a look inside.
Tint and shade nor tone them now.
Zoom in and out, just watch them as they are.
This cool sleek shade on the sunny slate
is it a shadow, or some quivering curly hairs
or are these reflections of flocking clouds,
diligent sea eyeing deep down on the ground?
Read the small prints, shadows in the daylight,
before the show is wrapped up.
And down the evening pool, the sun
parts away with the black swan.
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 9:11 AM UTC
That appalling desire,
makes your heart beat so fast.
It’s an unsettling ritual,
which refuses to pass.
The nagging need
to feel something,
and make yourself bleed.
You must act and do it now,
you wait for the great release.
One slice turns into more,
and you need it to hurt.
No one must notice,
hence the morbid allure.
You can’t stop the impulse,
once the fuse is lit.
You tremble with sickly delight,
after every slit.
For now you’re done,
carving your skin.
Since the need seems gone,
even though it doesn’t last long.
But at least in those moments,
you feel that sweet song.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 11:15 PM UTC
I remember the first time you told me that you stopped drinking.
My heart took flight and the idea of having a sober father became the root of my happiness.
You got drunk that night.
I remember the first time you let me down.
I stood alone among my peers because you had better things to do.
You got drunk that night.
I remember the first time I slit my porcelain skin open for you.
As blood trickled from my veins I begged you to come and rescue me from the demons in my mind.
You got drunk that night.
I remember the first time I tried to put an end to all the madness that engulfed my life.
I grabbed your gun from the safe and shot a bullet through my head.
I will never know if you got drunk that night.
You probably did.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 1:05 AM UTC
August burned quickly, incipient nostalgia
prematurely vanished, mellow and gentle
sea stone on the tiled table, cedar plank
with fish, sunset through the eye-slit window
thigh high in life and riding wherever life
takes me like a hopeless romantic
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 1:27 AM UTC
Rubbing her *****
Through her tight yoga pants
At first glance, the slit, split by the seam
My finger tips, slips, perfectly over her ****
She’s getting wetter with each stroke, it seems
Stroking her bump, as my finger humps,
Her warm, ***** ***** jumps.
Pulsating to my touch.
Feb 7, 2022
Feb 7, 2022 at 9:32 AM UTC
Rubbing her *****
through her tight yoga pants,
Her slit, split perfectly by the seam,
at first my glance.
Finger tips,
slips-n-slides,
methodically over her ****
I can feel the bump,
as my finger humps,
over the fabric,
her wetness,
is lavish.
Feb 7, 2022
Feb 7, 2022 at 7:06 PM UTC
next time you see me slit my throat
let my blood gush like it did on american streets
mute my screams like i did while the news got old
let your knife **** the silence and ignite the need for equality.
next time you see me pull the trigger on my foolish mouth
shut me up while i complain about my silver spoon
while children die of empty stomachs in the south
let the gun sound wake up people like me to reality.
next time you see me lynch my body
let it hang like decoration to show people that
the silent are like the violent
the mute are like police who shoot
the ones who are quiet while they feast on a meal
are like the crooked politicians who steal.
let my silence be the death of me
and my new found voice be the death of the thoughts of our enemy.
- t.m
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 1:29 PM UTC
How are you?
I'm alright I guess...
Where do we begin?
Maybe at the start of this mess.
Are you uncomfortable?
I can't say that I'm not.
Is it your past?
Well it's all I've got.
Do you still get nightmares?
Well I used to...
Will you let them show?
Depends on you...
What do you hope to accomplish?
I don't know... Peace of mind?
Would you have done things differently?
Everyone wants the chance to push "rewind".
Care to elaborate?
Let's just say I would've liked to be braver.
What do you mean?
I should've stood up to my father...
Did he abuse your trust?
He did more than just that...
Rob you of your freedom?
Let's see... His belt, cigarettes and also boiling water out of a vat.
Do you wish him ill?
I wished him dead.
"Wished"?
Yeah...in his bed.
Why "wished"?
Because I wanted that then...
For how long?
Since I was ten.
What about now?
(Maniacal smile) I am now... At peace.
"At peace"?
I have found release.
You have?
Yes... I couldn't resist the urge.
Urge to do what?
To comply with the voice... "Freedom...lies in the purge..."
You left your father?
Yes but not before...
Go on...
Not before I slit his throat with a smile on my face as I shut the door...
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 7:51 AM UTC
Why did you stay
I never asked you to stay
I wish you would leave
It would be easier
My mind distorts reality
Though I'll never tell how much
But when you're here I can't
Go and get the hell out
I can't do this with you here
Leave, leave, I'm begging dear
I need to get away, as do you
You just leave me
And I'll leave you
Walk down the stairs and
Don't come back
I'll just stay here with shards of glass
Then when I turn and see
You've gone down the street
I'll slit my throat
With no one left
to hold on to me
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 6:02 AM UTC
Vague is the feeling, dark is the delight, feared is the memory of your cold dead sight.
Your love was killed by the twisted moonlight.
I remember hazel brown eyes reversed into a song, a Melodie of skies.
I can see the colors now burst in the air and up above so tender was the forbidden love.
I now ponder in amazement towards the moonlight sky.
An embrious scatter of stars lay in the earths bound movement, slowly, cautiously I begin to wonder.
But only to the moonlight dancer.
I have heard your voice and I have seen your face, but only for it to bring back a tattered trace.
I remember when all was good.
I remember when you use to love me the way that you should.
I watched you walk away slowly with these words only a trickle on my tongue.
With a "good...bye" your voice had rung.
Those words lay pasted down to my heart and glued.
Moonlight dancer come back to my hand, moonlight dancer take me to your rythmatic land, moonlight dancer take my hand.
Her coldness piercing my heart, her absence tore me apart, and now her funeral to only end me.
Please come back and defend me.
Slowly the blade slit across my wrist in a song like structure.
I let the music flow down from the wound, and now my mind it will consume.
I'm lost and in love by moonlight dancers song.
Where else could I have gone wrong?
Moonlight dancer come back to my hand, moonlight dancer take me to your rythmatic land, moonlight dancer take my hand.
Moonlight dancer just please breath once again.
Moonlight dancer?
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 9:36 PM UTC
Slit my wrists,
I bleed red just like you
But you only see
My dark skin
My skin life,
these pores are my breath,
My skin comfort,
No one will hold me as tight as my skin,
My skin home,
I refuse to change it,
My skin me,
Let me love me
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 11:33 AM UTC
EᔕᔕᕼI
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
The kitchen's air is redolent with spices,
peppers and cinnamon, all-spice and star
anise, thyme and curry. The cooks are
shouting orders; taking rose-silver pots
and copper pans; each having the print
of the Lily of Aurelinaea; from the wooden
shelves, plates and bowls from the cup-
boards; some are stirring soups over
coal-fire stoves; others are dicing carrots,
potatoes, fresh poultry and more.
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
Esshi, in a light-green off-the-shoulder
dress of rose-silk with a triple ruffle trim,
lined with yellow ribbon, a thigh high slit and
white lilies beadery, is speaking to the head-chef
who nods. "Certainly, Lady Esshi." he says
and turns to his busy staff. "Bring out
the paella pans! We have orders for the
Queen Mother!"
"Yes, chef!" a woman says as she pulls
out a rose-silver paella pan and places
it on the stove. The head-chef turns to
Esshi. "You need not worry, Lady Esshi,"
he smiles. "I will make the dishes with
care."
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"You always do, Bael," Esshi chuckles as
he washes his hands and she walks to
the corner, sighing. 'My Lady...'
she thinks worried.
"Lady Esshi?" her thoughts are broken
by a woman's voice. She turns to see a
florist behind her. *'So lost in thought,
that I did not hear the door open.'*
She thinks as her eyes fall on the flower
vase.
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
The vase is art noveau style; a deep emerald
green with a maiden in flowing silks, her
hair bejewelled with lilies. Esshi's eyes then
rise to look at the flower arrangement - white
lilies with lilac kisses, purple roses and
several stems of lavender.
"Lady Ainhara said I should bring this to you."
"It's lovely," Esshi sniffs the fresh flowers.
"Very beautiful! You certainly outdid yourself.
It's for our young Queen, I take it?"
"Yes. And Lady Ainhara said I should bring
you this also."
She sees her place some paper, quill and ink down
and Esshi smiles.
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 3:41 PM UTC
I see my reflection
I hate what I see
I punch the glass
My knuckles bleed
I'm shattered
Pick up a piece
Slit my wrist
I bleed, I bleed, I bleed, I bleed, I bleed, I bleed, I blee........
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC
This is a tribute. A goodbye letter, whatever you wanna call it. A thank you, I guess. Thankyou for saving me. Thank you for keeping me. Thank you for watching over me and teaching me and preaching to me and thankyou, thankyou, thankyou for making me see that I was gifted with a life. This is for you. Everything I do, everything I write, everything I say, is for you.
One month ago tomorrow, you died.
One month ago tomorrow, I checked my email expecting to find some spam mail and a few notifications about something I didn't really care about, maybe even a reply from that person I emailed a while ago.
One month ago tomorrow, I checked my email and found an email from your mom saying that you were so sorry, so so sorry, but that you had passed.
One month ago tomorrow, I collapsed on the floor and mourned for the loss of my best friend, my soul mate.
One month ago the day after tomorrow, I walked into school and I kept my cool but I saw you there in front of me. I could put you there and I could see you and I could hear you and you haunted me and my friends all said "You're different."
That day, I had an anxiety attack and went home because I COULDN'T handle it.
Tomorrow, I will walk into school and I will keep my cool but inside I will be dying and sobbing and weeping and mourning for the loss of you.
Tomorrow, I will sit in the same place I did one month ago the day after tomorrow and stare into nothing and see you and hear you and smell you and my friends will say "you're different".
Tomorrow, I might have an anxiety attack. I might go home but I will try not to. I CAN handle it.
When we first met, you told me your worst fear was that you were afraid to die.
3 months ago, you slit your wrists and by the time you realised what you were doing and sane enough to stop you tried to save yourself.
You succeeded.
You got better.
1 month ago tomorrow, you died of natural causes.
We were supposed to become psychologists together and go to New York and study at the same university and open a private practice, where did that end up at?
Goodbye, and thank you, and I'm sorry I didn't say I love you enough, and I'm sorry I didn't take more pictures, and I'm sorry I didn't say what I wanted to say, and I'm sorry we fought, and I'm sorry we wasted so much time planning for a tomorrow we were never going to have.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 3:32 AM UTC
Hot pink between her hips,
She’s sinking all his ships.
Her finger slips
Into her slit-
Fun dip.
And raises moon phases to her lips.
Blows the atmosphere a kiss,
Drinks the ocean in little sips.
Gallons of salty tears at her fingertips.
Woman yearning for the rip,
Boy learning to make me drip.
I’m hit.
And I’m only begging for more.
I adore the way you think you’re
Using me.
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 1:09 AM UTC