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"smother" poems
First he demanded I force him on the bed. He said don’t dare relent till he’s fully spent. So I start by removing all of his clothes, kiss and bite him all over, so very slow. Then he makes me bind both his hands tight, orders a satin scarf to blind his eyes. Next I gently bite his neck on both sides, stirred on even more by his ****** cries. My tongue wants to lick him just where he likes, he trembles and shakes as I lick him up right. He’s hard and tasty, I tease him till I’m sore; **** and stop, he can’t take it, and begs for more. My mouth is so warm, he’s slippery wet. I take it, and smother my throat in the mess; and after he’s been pushed so close to the edge, he rapidly pounds my mouth till the end.
0
Sep 21, 2017
Sep 21, 2017 at 10:19 PM UTC
Mess
Falling in love with someone who is bipolar will never be easy. There will be minutes, hours, days, weeks, or even months where I'm unexplainably mean, or recklessly happy.   For a period of time, I may be all over you and want to smother you in my aforementioned reckless happiness, that I will forget to ask how you're doing and if you ate anything today. I will forget that unlike me, you need to sleep for 9 hours a day and that you're not fully ready to take on the world. At some point, I will take a turn for the worst and will mope in unbelievable sorrow due to the death of my false happiness. I will cry about everything and will stop calling, and forget to remind you that I love you so much and just need some time away. My deep sadness will soon turn into unrelenting anger and I will tell you abusive things that I don't really mean. I will be confused as to why I say them, and apologize a million times and try to explain that I can't control my anger, and that I need to leave and be away from people for a while, although I know nothing will really help. You will insist that it's okay and tell me you love me. For days, weeks, or months, I will do this, and you will soon think I am lying and think that I am just genuinely terrible. My constant apologies will become nothing and you will soon distance yourself and start falling out of love, but still have a glimmer of hope. After this episode, I will have a period where I feel nothing and am almost robot-like. You will feel unwanted and unloved and look at me with such sad eyes and get nothing but a shrug and a half-assed "sorry." When you finally walk away,  I will have more bad days than good days because I will regret not saying I love you more. I will hate myself for being bipolar. I will fall back into my bad habits and soon you will be a distant memory.
0
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 10:50 AM UTC
Loving Someone Who is Bipolar
Falling in love with someone who is bipolar will never be easy. There will be minutes, hours, days, weeks, or even months where I'm unexplainably mean, or recklessly happy.   For a period of time, I may be all over you and want to smother you in my aforementioned reckless happiness, that I will forget to ask how you're doing and if you ate anything today. I will forget that unlike me, you need to sleep for 9 hours a day and that you're not fully ready to take on the world. At some point, I will take a turn for the worst and will mope in unbelievable sorrow due to the death of my false happiness. I will cry about everything and will stop calling, and forget to remind you that I love you so much and just need some time away. My deep sadness will soon turn into unrelenting anger and I will tell you abusive things that I don't really mean. I will be confused as to why I say them, and apologize a million times and try to explain that I can't control my anger, and that I need to leave and be away from people for a while, although I know nothing will really help. You will insist that it's okay and tell me you love me. For days, weeks, or months, I will do this, and you will soon think I am lying and think that I am just genuinely terrible. My constant apologies will become nothing and you will soon distance yourself and start falling out of love, but still have a glimmer of hope. After this episode, I will have a period where I feel nothing and am almost robot-like. You will feel unwanted and unloved and look at me with such sad eyes and get nothing but a shrug and a half-assed "sorry." When you finally walk away,  I will have more bad days than good days because I will regret not saying I love you more. I will hate myself for being bipolar. I will fall back into my bad habits and soon you will be a distant memory.
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13
Slap me daddy, abuse me. Bite my neck, spank me hard. Pull my hair, make me scream, show me who’s in charge. Tie me up, pound me deep, again and again; violate me, you own me. Smother me in sin. Choke me, defile me. Turn me over, take me how you like. If it’s wrong, I don’t want to be right.   Now finish me, I’ll have no escape. Baby take what you crave, I’m all yours to break.
0
Sep 27, 2017
Sep 27, 2017 at 4:42 AM UTC
Wrong
"*The smell of earth The feeling of sand The gentle touch of the sun I long for the hum of your warmth Weep for the thought of our lust For whom does this world belong We abuse of it Smother it Concealed by its every morning As dense as the cloud, as weak as your spirit The mountains still crave your sound The sky still crave your look*" by 9898xx
0
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 5:05 PM UTC
The Smell of Earth...
I want to feed on your blood I’m so blood thirsty So gut angry You stood me up and it was wrong You broke my heart so you will pay I’ll get my revenge on you, so pretty I’m dead angry, full gone crazy You stood me up and it was wrong She’s so happy, she’s getting flirty She makes me ******* sick I’ll tear up you’re ugly face Rip your throat, drain your blood Satisfy my revengeful thirst There’s blood on my once clean hands I love the taste, the coppery sweetness The taste of my revenge I’m so blood thirsty, so gut angry You stood me up and it was wrong She’s so pretty, getting flirty She makes me ******* sick I’ll smother your new ***** Choke her with my love, my hate All my ******* anger My thoughts of you when you hit me Are my reminders, they feed my anger I feel sorry for your new girl I’m dead angry, full gone crazy You stood me up and it was wrong She’s so pretty, getting flirty She makes me ******* sick You’re so sick, the way you touch her Don’t look for me any where I’m all alone, cause you hurt me I’m dead angry, you fed my crazy You think you’re strong But I was stronger She was pretty, so, so flirty And her blood tastes good in my palms You caused her death So you’ve read my diary? Full of sick confessions Now turn around, baby I’m in your room, you’re not alone You *****
0
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 8:53 PM UTC
****** ****** (song by Krystyn and Steff)
First came the false presumptions of luxury The gaudy glamour Bright dresses and dark suits Awkward glances and ****** food Eventually though The evening settled down And then, after the smoking and drinking Came 1 o'clock, the worn-out end of a hazy day Suddenly, It was a smother of time, a stifling landscape of clocks a decaying of darkness The night gave way to trembling cold delirium And slow and slow down A slide from reality Everything fell I remember barely a glimmer- a hand, an arm, red sheets somewhere Eyes that whispered "what's wrong with her? what's her deal?" Or worse yet, faces that didn't care To see me, my wrists Appalling in all their shivering shaken chill dust In moments like this, I am nothing but a fearful machine Broken in its deepest workings, All function altered. Clamors and tremors of panic Withered illusions gathered at my feet like kittens I tossed the blanket from the makeshift bed Lay upon my back and waited Watched, frightened, the night revealing The hundred ignoble, vile images Of which my thoughts seems consisted of They flickered at bit- against the burgundy hammock And empty Baccardi bottles 2 o'clock shook the memory A crowd of twisted things, Torn and stained and coiling about my wrists I move by the sway of these thoughts that are curled around me -The notion of some infinitely suffering thing Oh I only need a lighthouse To guide my soon-to-be shipwreck home I only need a compass, a crucifix, a presence But never never to be found the way
0
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 1:13 AM UTC
Prom
First came the false presumptions of luxury The gaudy glamour Bright dresses and dark suits Awkward glances and ****** food Eventually though The evening settled down And then, after the smoking and drinking Came 1 o'clock, the worn-out end of a hazy day Suddenly, It was a smother of time, a stifling landscape of clocks a decaying of darkness The night gave way to trembling cold delirium And slow and slow down A slide from reality Everything fell I remember barely a glimmer- a hand, an arm, red sheets somewhere Eyes that whispered "what's wrong with her? what's her deal?" Or worse yet, faces that didn't care To see me, my wrists Appalling in all their shivering shaken chill dust In moments like this, I am nothing but a fearful machine Broken in its deepest workings, All function altered. Clamors and tremors of panic Withered illusions gathered at my feet like kittens I tossed the blanket from the makeshift bed Lay upon my back and waited Watched, frightened, the night revealing The hundred ignoble, vile images Of which my thoughts seems consisted of They flickered at bit- against the burgundy hammock And empty Baccardi bottles 2 o'clock shook the memory A crowd of twisted things, Torn and stained and coiling about my wrists I move by the sway of these thoughts that are curled around me -The notion of some infinitely suffering thing Oh I only need a lighthouse To guide my soon-to-be shipwreck home I only need a compass, a crucifix, a presence But never never to be found the way
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45
Cake, the meat of culinary delights; Icing, the sauce. Cake, the main entree, the special of the night; Icing, the decorative garnish. Without Cake, Icing has no purpose A clump, a blob, of meaningless goop. 1 spoonful of Icing alone and you're done. Spread out amongst the firm surface of Cake though, Icing becomes much more interesting, and much more fun. I am the Cake. You are the Icing. Without me, the base, the entree, the meat You, the sauce, the garnish and blob, don't matter You can be the Icing to your own Cake or to another But without me, you'll do nothing but rot teeth and smother So, to enjoy you, Icing, to the absolute fullest I must, first, combine the ingredients, stir and bake Because it is vital, if one is to appreciate your sweet taste, To properly prepare my foundation, the meat, your Cake. - BPW
0
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 4:22 PM UTC
The Importance of Being Cake (a.k.a. frivolous icing)
Love, why do you make my heart bleed? It leaks thick red plasma that stains on my fingers As I try to conceal the pain and hide it deep within My own two hands reach up and take my breath away The lies you speak catching in my lungs Forget keeping appearances, I'm suffocating The answers seem so clear As I gasp for air In shock I stare down at my hands in horror As I find they are replaced with your own This sudden display leaves me in disbelief I don't want to see all the truth coming up to smother me I wasn't smart enough to stay away From those treacherous arms that promised safety As they had planned from the beginning To clench around my throat and liquidate all my strength and glory Before we even said our first hello's You planned the end before we began Love, I will make your heart weep What you give out comes back to you I will get you on your knees Begging for forgiveness Till they become bruised and give out I will break you down before you dare to believe you've won If you are iniquity think of me as your karma, You will never win
0
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 1:47 AM UTC
Iniquity
#An Exegesis on the Humiliation of the Word The world is ruled by darkness. What appears as harmless is theater, what pretends neutral is already bent. The macrocosm corrodes; and in the microcosm, its reflection gleams.. even in places meant to be sanctuaries of truth. A poetry site, born as refuge for broken voices, becomes another stage of control. Here too the phrase resounds:   neutralize the threat. But neutralization is not annihilation. It is paralysis. It is psy-ops. It is the removal of anxiety.. not a side-effect, but the aim itself. Darkness builds its stage for this alone: that the  "angel of light" may drown his own reckoning beneath a world of deception-built self comfort, so he need never feel the truth he already knows. Comfort is his curtain, numbness his crown..   *the removal of his own anxiety;       his game.* This is why the world is his theater-- *Darkness does not destroy at first.. it sedates, comforts, smothers.* Hence.. The whole world is his fully gaslit stronghold,     ..for now. Fade back into the moment-- The young poet arrives, bringing her unspoken pain, her hope for words to heal. Instead, her very wounds are seized as footholds. Hearts. Reposts. Endless affirmation. Not to strengthen her voice, but to redirect it. She is seduced into  belonging, and her trauma becomes currency. Unresolved, her ache entwined with lust-- a sacrifice prepared  for false altars. The angel of light  has done his work: offering inclusion without transformation, belonging without responsibility, “light” without source. The poet is neutralized. Her searching silenced, her voice absorbed into fog. Those who carry this fog cling to cowardice. Unable to face the judgment within, they align themselves to the herd; envy-filled, they only know to mock. Yet they replicate themselves, so their refusal of Light is never revealed-- *Perfectly exemplifying their "Great Example" the most envy-based mocker  of all.* The microcosm mirrors the macrocosm. What nations suffer, individuals now endure--    Comfort without clarity.    Belonging without truth.    Safety without healing. Yet the living Word endures. Every attempt to humiliate it only makes its fire burn clearer. Carriers of darkness can swarm, ****** and smother.. but they cannot create. The true word cannot be erased. Unfiltered, unedited, spoken from a reconciled temple, it pierces fog. It reveals. It heals. And so we speak.. not for ourselves alone, but for those who come searching, hoping that poetry might still be a place where pain can meet truth, where silence breaks, where Light is not withheld   but revealed. #
0
Oct 3, 2025
Oct 3, 2025 at 10:59 PM UTC
On the Macrocosm of Microcosm
#An Exegesis on the Humiliation of the Word The world is ruled by darkness. What appears as harmless is theater, what pretends neutral is already bent. The macrocosm corrodes; and in the microcosm, its reflection gleams.. even in places meant to be sanctuaries of truth. A poetry site, born as refuge for broken voices, becomes another stage of control. Here too the phrase resounds:   neutralize the threat. But neutralization is not annihilation. It is paralysis. It is psy-ops. It is the removal of anxiety.. not a side-effect, but the aim itself. Darkness builds its stage for this alone: that the  "angel of light" may drown his own reckoning beneath a world of deception-built self comfort, so he need never feel the truth he already knows. Comfort is his curtain, numbness his crown..   *the removal of his own anxiety;       his game.* This is why the world is his theater-- *Darkness does not destroy at first.. it sedates, comforts, smothers.* Hence.. The whole world is his fully gaslit stronghold,     ..for now. Fade back into the moment-- The young poet arrives, bringing her unspoken pain, her hope for words to heal. Instead, her very wounds are seized as footholds. Hearts. Reposts. Endless affirmation. Not to strengthen her voice, but to redirect it. She is seduced into  belonging, and her trauma becomes currency. Unresolved, her ache entwined with lust-- a sacrifice prepared  for false altars. The angel of light  has done his work: offering inclusion without transformation, belonging without responsibility, “light” without source. The poet is neutralized. Her searching silenced, her voice absorbed into fog. Those who carry this fog cling to cowardice. Unable to face the judgment within, they align themselves to the herd; envy-filled, they only know to mock. Yet they replicate themselves, so their refusal of Light is never revealed-- *Perfectly exemplifying their "Great Example" the most envy-based mocker  of all.* The microcosm mirrors the macrocosm. What nations suffer, individuals now endure--    Comfort without clarity.    Belonging without truth.    Safety without healing. Yet the living Word endures. Every attempt to humiliate it only makes its fire burn clearer. Carriers of darkness can swarm, ****** and smother.. but they cannot create. The true word cannot be erased. Unfiltered, unedited, spoken from a reconciled temple, it pierces fog. It reveals. It heals. And so we speak.. not for ourselves alone, but for those who come searching, hoping that poetry might still be a place where pain can meet truth, where silence breaks, where Light is not withheld   but revealed. #
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90
Frost creeping along the window pane that trails along with spidery crystal hands and blooms on the glass the same way she captured my fascination until I realized that I was the glass and she aimed to smother, to obscure, all other views.
0
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 4:02 PM UTC
crystal ****
There is a blood clot in the center of Imagination Street, I can feel it. It blocks the path that follows through Creative Avenue where cars horn, roar and protest, curse and smother with a simple look of “Move the **** on!” And yet no paramedic can remove the jumper that lays from austere insipid life. It's a victim of routine they say, jumped from the nearest skyscraper hoping to touch the sky but fell miserably on to the streets. There is an aberration stretched over the streets, I can feel it because it's me.
0
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
A jumper causing a traffic jam
Combining each thought and sharing a single mind, while all living things rot, there's a darkness that can blind. We believe ourselves are invisible, never worthy of a second glance, and even when miserable, we all can receive a second chance. Darling have you heard the story of the sun and the moon, a love that was eternal, yet ended far too soon. And even though opposite, they made the other complete, as at night the Earth was moonlit and in day the sun brought heat. And they were outlined by the stars, forever lighting up their connection, and in between came Mercury and Mars, barely sliding by detection. Yes it's truly a sorry and sad tune, that old love story of the sun and the moon. Shining for eachother and lighting up the world, with a love that could smother and emotional tides always swirled. Passing by and on the go, barely glimpsing a sight, but the moon will always glow and the sun will always shine bright. Darling have you heard the story of the sun and the moon, with disaster so contagious, they were always truly immune, and even though apart, they shared a soul together, and they shared a heart, and they shared the skies forever. And they were outlined by the stars, forever lighting up their connection. In the history books and memoirs, there's some things they fail to mention: they were both adoring and made the other swoon, that old love story of the sun and the moon. It wasn't well hidden; they danced a dance of pure seduction, and they felt it was forbidden, as it would lead to their destruction. So they kept their space, to give us both the dark and the light, and now they rise and set as a race, it's competition and a fight. And they were outlined by the stars, forever lighting up their connection. The constellations near and far, tell the tale of their affection. It may not be of glory, and it may just tell of ruin, but we all should remember the love story of the sun and the moon.
0
Sep 22, 2017
Sep 22, 2017 at 10:28 PM UTC
The Story of The Sun & The Moon
Combining each thought and sharing a single mind, while all living things rot, there's a darkness that can blind. We believe ourselves are invisible, never worthy of a second glance, and even when miserable, we all can receive a second chance. Darling have you heard the story of the sun and the moon, a love that was eternal, yet ended far too soon. And even though opposite, they made the other complete, as at night the Earth was moonlit and in day the sun brought heat. And they were outlined by the stars, forever lighting up their connection, and in between came Mercury and Mars, barely sliding by detection. Yes it's truly a sorry and sad tune, that old love story of the sun and the moon. Shining for eachother and lighting up the world, with a love that could smother and emotional tides always swirled. Passing by and on the go, barely glimpsing a sight, but the moon will always glow and the sun will always shine bright. Darling have you heard the story of the sun and the moon, with disaster so contagious, they were always truly immune, and even though apart, they shared a soul together, and they shared a heart, and they shared the skies forever. And they were outlined by the stars, forever lighting up their connection. In the history books and memoirs, there's some things they fail to mention: they were both adoring and made the other swoon, that old love story of the sun and the moon. It wasn't well hidden; they danced a dance of pure seduction, and they felt it was forbidden, as it would lead to their destruction. So they kept their space, to give us both the dark and the light, and now they rise and set as a race, it's competition and a fight. And they were outlined by the stars, forever lighting up their connection. The constellations near and far, tell the tale of their affection. It may not be of glory, and it may just tell of ruin, but we all should remember the love story of the sun and the moon.
Continue reading...
38
the bends and curves were my favorite you let me cover you smother you my favorite form this expression passion black bleeding over you on top of you into you kiss me one more time with the petals on your tattoo
0
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 7:47 PM UTC
My snake had thorns for teeth.
Absent father, suffer mother missing hand that held the other breath of life, given to smother the future of sister and brother
0
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 4:32 PM UTC
deadbeat dad
*pain knocks on weathered doors fastened ever tightly cryptic access is denied it camouflages in the shadows stealthily it watches hypervigilance enhancing catastrophe awaiting it strikes in latent graveyards the gale begins to form and unleashes its fierce torrent the latch shattered and torn there’s now an open entrance creeping in it slithers engulfing to encompass digging up emotions buried underground there hovering and foggy tho’ murky does not smother but fleshes out the psyche entombed and cobweb covered it crawls along the edges and peers in secret ledges seeps into sequesters like dust settled in feathers it slides through every feeling and when it’s at its blackest it carves the darkness out and let’s in sunlight’s presence © 2016janetaylor
0
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 12:42 PM UTC
hidden places
Spasming in life’s web, Clustering under eight legged dreads, Watching some rise from its smother, But only for short pathetic seconds. I watch many downfalls, Idle in wait for my own, Seizuring with a horrible burden, Fortune telling with no end fortune. All mere blinded mirrors laying in wait, Distorting the spidery figure differently, Mine reflects its harsh fangs and nature, Others reflects admiration towards the creator. The web a complex beauty, But I can’t claim cruelty home, The ripples of intertwined death, Some by father...foe...or friend. The inhumane humanity, Puppets and the almighty player, Cloud me from things called prayer, For that hope must be alive and well. I’m just waiting for my bones to decay, Peace in nothingness or so you claim flames, Free from the ******* And all that it stands for. I’m an unholy ghost.
0
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 6:36 PM UTC
Holy ghost
If I could, I would. I'd demolish you with the things I can do. You remake me, I'll remake you. If I could, I would. I'd obliterate all that came before; Your past, your pain, they'd be no more. Every brick, every beam, every shard of broken glass.... I'd renovate your body, if you would only ask... If I could, I would. I'd enjoy the destruction of all that came before; Every molecule of pain would be no more. I'd break down your walls, assault your salty skin, make you feel whole, make you fragile again. I want to smother your psyche, make you beg for mercy. Nothing would be same, nothing would remain. Beneath our heat, all that was solid melts into thick air. My mouth swallows your pain, consumes your frame. And there we are: destroyed. Neither who we were, nor who we're yet becoming. Through our destruction,   we're remade anew. You remake me, I'll remake you.
0
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 5:58 PM UTC
The Dialectics of ****** Destruction
us humans haven't quite cleaned up everyday we send nasty chemicals spiraling up which invariably stuffs the ozone layer up our polluting of this rim of protection continually goes on we're not holding the pollutants in retention which shows we're damaging its convention there needs to be more innovative ideas developed to subdue the ***** air which we humans keep overly producing here and everywhere so as the ultra violet streams don't not become too extreme they do irreparable harm and give cause for alarm   we humans have an obligation to our planet's ozone cover by not sullying its protective sheath   with tons of polluting smother
0
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 8:48 PM UTC
Ozone Layer
I would bathe myself in strangeness: These comforts heaped upon me, smother me! I burn, I scald so for the new, New friends, new faces, Places! Oh to be out of this, This that is all I wanted —save the new. And you, Love, you the much, the more desired! Do I not loathe all walls, streets, stones, All mire, mist, all fog, All ways of traffic? You, I wold have flow over me like water, Oh, but far out of this! Grass, and low fields, and hills, And sun, Oh, sun enough! Out, and alone, among some Alien people!
0
5.8k
The Plunge
We can't seem to communicate like a normal pair Arguing, yelling, ignoring each other How am I supposed to believe you even care While our once innocent love slowly threatens to smother Blaming others for your own cruel deeds Forgetting the rainbows we have been through Neglecting your wife and children's needs It's all black and white now, no color seems true Daddy's yelling, mommy cries Something about money and lies Tomorrow is their 20th aniversary What magic could she buy to make her parents happy? To see their smiles again at dinner time To hear them ask if she's doing fine She grabs a sheet of snow white paper Her pencils and some glitters Draws a  rainbow and a light pink lily All they need is some color in this family Y.
0
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 1:00 PM UTC
A rainbow and a lily
Drunk ***** mother Screws another another Hard working father Taxes alimony smother Kids home alone Raised by the brother Trading her food stamps For ***** like other drunk tramps In another car wreck Drunk ***** fine Hurt the kids neck Cops and judge say What the heck Just keep sending her That fat check
0
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 7:22 PM UTC
deadbeat mother. ( inspired by deadbeat dad)
smother her sweet flesh with warm kisses we both savor our pleasures taking deep breathes with deep strokes from lower regions hairy chest bare breast thick thighs hands caress hot skin amazing ***
0
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 1:15 AM UTC
Torch