"spiked" poems
a curved pastry
like a prune danish
in a sway
a weaving kiss
anointed by a melting stick of butter,
pushed and puddled
deep and slow
the shape of a heart
with a hole in the middle
ooow dark fig
stinking rose
a comfort that sweetens with the grace of form
and pops like a trigger releasing a bullet
i covet
with eyes like erections
pants sticky wet
hot glue factory
for you love, my *** angel
red skin girl gaping
with circular yearning set in motion
tarnished petal mix meister
sinful hot house
for quaking tongue and lips,
a wild cherry *** kisser
spiked ***** blushing
lord of ****
solar ******* hero
flexed and oiled
to the rescue
a god send
triumphant and blessed
looks like a fast cigarette boat
hitting the speed bumps hard
she said yes please
dip like
nautilus of the black sea
What?
no loitering
no parking
not a through street
haahaahaa
****
that
****
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 1:11 PM UTC
First comes the flush
Then the rush of horniness
loneliness
A splash of pain
Droplets of scarlet rain
and the ****** of lingerie
Sobbing at roses
Yelling at trays
You're spotty
and bloated
and splayed on the bed like Cleopatra
drugged up on
painkillers
And the cocktail that humanity spiked with hormones
Fun.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 4:32 PM UTC
Once again I wore my spiked choker and wristband today
I haven't worn them in a while
Because everyone thinks I'm depressed when I wear them
But I realized I don't care what people think of me
I'm not hollow like I was the last time I wore this
So that is all that really matters
This is my little symbol of rebellion
Against hatred
To say to those who prejudge me and hate me:
F!ck you
I'll do whatever the hell I feel like
Your approval is not needed
I'm happy dressed this way
That's all that matters
I encourage everyone to have a little bit
Of that "F!ck You Attitude" today
Just little symbols of rebellion
Draw a black X on your wrist today
In black ink
If you support
Being yourself regardless what people think
And through this little ink symbol
Though apart in miles
We will be united in spirit
Be YOU :)
X
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 12:33 PM UTC
Superhuman in this skin
Red-lipped smile sweetly
(but beware teeth beneath)
I'm Sweet Siren Song
And I won't be long left
within this mediocre maniverse
Pretty porn-portrait perfect
(But there's no staples lacerating this muffin top)
Withstand this cosmetic culture curse
Bedspread silky sodden sheets
Writhing within nightmare glare
silicon butterfly spiked beauty ages anyway
Go away,
I'm finished.
I MEAN IT!
Fucknuts
(I guess Fucknuts isn't an advertiseable commodity. What's with the cheap advertising links in my poetry!)
bedspread.
****
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
I could have gone to the cemetery,
or back to my high school lab,
find him lecturing from a podium,
bony finger raised,
demagogue of the dead.
I could break him down piece by piece,
cram him in a duffle,
a femur jutting the zipper.
Ignore the groan-
Skeletons are
by nature
never satisfied.
Instead I found myself
in the carnival lot,
The dog was long dead,
the sign kept guard.
Rusty rides slouched like tumbleweeds.
Cotton candy in memory-
blue tack crunching my teeth.
Lewd.
Skeletons fixed on poles,
spiked up through pelvis and spine.
Use ****
Grip shoulders. twist. lift.
When one slid free,
he collapsed into my arms
all bone-light, lovely,
mine at last.
I just brought him home.
Sat at the kitchen table.
Named him Curly.
Zoom howled: WAG’s gone weird!
What’s his name? What’s his name?
His name is Curly,
I said, but I knew
his name was You.
We drink wine by the pool.
He never sips.
Sometimes I pour a second glass for the glint.
Sometimes he tells me Danny Elfman
wants to play his ribs like a xylophone.
Sometimes he sighs,
he hates Oingo Boingo.
I laugh. Obliging.
So do I.
When the wind kicks up
he smells of sugar and rust.
Sometimes he rattles the glassware.
Sometimes he won’t sit still.
Skeletons are
by nature
never satisfied.
Sep 25, 2025
Sep 25, 2025 at 12:11 PM UTC
Malice ripples
lying low, under
penetrating nightlife strobe.
Repercussions?
None to show.
Limp bodies
'getting loose'
In truth,
injected with poison;
a slow-acting noose.
Repulsive actions of the
vile & depraved
****
endorsed at raves.
Oct 25, 2021
Oct 25, 2021 at 4:56 AM UTC
The race isn't for the fastest,
But for those who can endure it until the end.
Boy like a cheater and a world record beater,
On the running track with his sponsored spiked sneakers.
Ready for the race and the crowd's screaming BOLT!!
An athlete's little secret later on was unfold.
Deceiver in the eyes and loyal in disguise.
A proper pro player, with heavy bonds and ties.
Not in it for it but in it for the fame,
Forgetting about the hard-work, sweat, loss and pain.
An athlete's little secret, later on explained.
People, can you trust in the one you trusted before?
Or even the one who stand among you today?
Their lies and deceits are like roaring storms,
And they are like animals that are very hard to tame.
But they took it upon themselves playing a dangerous game.
An athlete's little secret, later on in shame.
They took drugs like all around the clock.
The more drugs they took, the more enhanced they got.
But then they got exposed and hid in shame.
I guess that drugs didn't help their strive to fame.
Left in the dark and loss all but everything,
Can people still trust? Can a second chance be given?
An athlete's little secret, later on forgotten.
An athlete's little secret, later all on the news,
An athlete's little secret, so much they had to loose.
A athlete's little secret, once a try and a glance,
An athlete's little secret, there is no second chance.
An athlete's little secret, there's no more to say,
An athlete's little secret, the bed you made to lay.
The world once had great and untouchable athletes.
Who had admiring levels of personas.
Who truly understood what hard-work brings,
And who went through pain and unbearable things.
But there are some who stoop really low,
Just so they can bring a medal home.
Bronze or silver, none or gold,
An athlete's little secret later on was told.
Based on this topic and what I have learnt.
The lost of young athletes made me felt hurt.
But it's not fake it's all reality.
This fight isn't against powers nor principalities.
But a fight to teach honesty and give all of your heart.
An athlete's little secret, a fight to make it last.
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 4:00 PM UTC
Remember, that chaos first was a primordial deity,
Chaos; the nothingness from which all else sprang
headfirst and heartfelt,
half-naked and handsome,
hook, line and... halibut.
All of this,
every measurable moment,
every particle,
every object set forth in motion
sprang from a void so harmoniously
as if the absence of everything was kissed
sudden
by the presence of something.
Often depicted with wings, a bow, and a quiver of arrows,
Cupid, son of Venus - goddess of love,
son of Mercury - god of trade,
his story,
almost identical in Greek and in Roman
mythology,
his story, about a couple of gods
who seem so inherently human by nature,
jolted by jealousy,
dumbstruck by beauty,
hellbent on immortality,
his story has been hallmarked
as red hot velvet rose petal fine wine
and symmetrical hearts.
Wrapped in tin foil red ribbons
bitter-sweetly sugarcoated
dipped in thin layer of chocolate
taste-tested and lover approved.
Remember that scene in Hook
where Tinkerbell leaves her footprints on Peter's chest,
well that's you and that's me--
touch me where my heart beats
because I don't ever wanna be a lost boy.
I wanna grow up like a good bedtime story
with morals
and purpose,
I wanna have meaning.
You might say that Cupid found himself.
You might say that Psyche found her soul.
You might say that Tinkerbell was just faking it--
with the clapping.
Truth is, we can never know the whole story--
the complete truth.
Problem is, we think we can
and act like we do.
So the only time we mean what we say
is the first time we say it,
every utterance thereafter is just an attempt
at recreating a moment.
I love you
is a paraphrase
that deserves three separate ellipses
because there's a lot left unsaid.
I (distinctively remember shadow-boxing with)
love (against a star-dotted sky anchored to a
moonlight so vibrant it can only be compared to)
you (and your tidal waves).
And that's where I fell
headfirst and handsome.
I (was punched-drunk by a kiss so breathless
that it spiked my dopamine to a volume
that can only be described as) love
(in that every time my neurotransmitters feel) you
(they spin themselves dizzy and dance to your science).
There was a moment in the absence of everything
when I was kissed silent by the presence of something.
Hold me to your breastplate.
I don't ever wanna go back to the void.
02/09/2010
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 2:03 PM UTC
To all the ************* who don't
Know what is and isn't important
For their own **** good.
A ***** rigid, spiked, smelly
One finger salute for each
And every one of you.
This ************ throws his kids
Out into the streets in November.
Big man of the house who trys so
Desperately to be intimidating,
With a ****** back and a
Horrible stench of alcohol on his breath.
This ************ who thinks she's special.
The stuck up ***** that too closely
Resembles a plump ****** carrot.
Who thinks the perfect guy is a hairless
Fruity smelling mommy's boy *****
With perfect flippy hair and a big ****
This ************ the few, the proud,
The fruity smelling mommy's boy *****
Who wouldn't know a pair of pliers
If they were ripping off his sparkly earrings.
Never having an ounce of dirt on his hands,
But at least she... I mean he has nice teeth.
This ************ that can't tell one honest
Fact about his "hard and lonely" home life.
The one who nods and laughs but just wants to ****
Who beats off to his computer after taking a hit
That he bummed off his rich friends.
Who is confused as to why some people (me) hate him.
This ************ who screws with the emotions
Of one of the best guys ever to glide through her life.
Who throws him on a roller coaster with smiles
And flirtatious giggling while she lets him kiss her.
Then throws him to the side and takes the next in line.
I wish only the very best for you, you ****** *****
Those ************* who abuse, torment
Or play with someone who just wishes the best.
The ones who hurt the vulnerable
To feel better for themselves.
No one deserves the **** you give,
Except each and every one of you.
Honorable mention to those *******
That complain about all men being the same
When in reality they're just searching for
The same type of meat headed ******
Every time they have such a painful terrible
Breakup. Just shut the **** up. For real.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 4:04 PM UTC
Spiked ball, eyes lit up
Keen Quills tremble with courage
Sharp frame makes sharp mind
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 7:02 AM UTC
*chaste pecks from the super-sonic youth
numb lips flutter to the hollowed cheeks of normality
no longer the hand-prints on the guide book to hostility
a pamphlet of rudimentary teachings;
the principles of tolerance and rebellion and acceptance of human beings
a concoction of suppressed psychotic behavior, quick wit, and center of satirical tease
constantly moving with heavy footsteps and heavier hearts
their minds and bodies plagued with actions from a deserted youth
soul lusting over the naivety of people before self-actualization; how crude
do they call it an existential crisis or the daily life of a agoraphobic nobody
shouts from the depths of caged fears that scrape the oblivious flesh in their brain; a bit gaudy
mother, sister, brother, father how your words crush the knots of comfort that line my internal organs
bleeding from the pores of my screams; streams of moon-beams shooting out my eyes; oh, not again!
stomping our metaphorically spiked toenails against the idealism of pop culture
oh, my, how adolescence is the worst kind of torture
cherry slushies lined with cigarettes to create a whirl-pool of nostalgia
recreational drugs and ironic situations to ease our instinctual sense of proverbial nausea
loud-mouthed demons spawned out of clothes-hangers and emotional turmoil
show up in our nightmares that we nick-name ‘a good place to contemplate suicide’
repeated imagery stacked like flap-jacks in the mouths of blissed-out sociopaths
too self-indulgent to include us in to their personal stories so we can observe, record, and assess
i don’t perceive doctors to be particularly and predominantly just and true
but i one time met a doctor who told me ‘being a teenager is perhaps the hardest thing you could ever do’*
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 10:20 PM UTC
Dinner is done
everyone's settled
the evening.....like the moon.....is full...
the weight of the night has itself eased into mine,
my expected moment of slumber...now distraught...
the Heavens are purpled
twilight drapes have fallen,
winds of March...bellow
.........my pillows
..............are hollowed
.......................by my elbows
......as a distant rooster crows........
i lie on my abdomen...legs swing back and forth,
catching inspiration, a word, a daydream...a thought,
i grab a pen falling, i grasp a journal, a book,
...............everything is within reach
but, not...the....long..................stretch
of hours....of a sleepless night...whence
....spiced...spiked...and sugared memories...
..........accompany me...and sail with me
.......as i cruise along this lethargic sea
'neath a silent dark, where aches are loudest
.........domed, by an unworded loneliness,
i am wearied by a flow, that is endless,
.....this minute...imagination is ceaseless
........i reach for my mug....but, it's empty
.........................i hear no liquid seething
this moment, a dark sea, should be brewing....
this hour, verses must be a river, overflowing,
...enfolding, this cool and starry, starry evening...
.......i am caffeinated....even without coffee....
Sally
Copyright March 23, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 1:49 AM UTC
The sprouting buttercup
dangles into the purpled,
doting sky. It's waxy spangles
nuzzle the moist,
crisply dewed, fluff
whilst billowing across merry air.
The yellow buttercup
dozes in spiced, lean dapples,
setting its soul ablaze in sumptuous echoes at the sheer
drape of dawn.
The teacup buttercup
outspreads it's wings
amongst tall spiked grasses
and wild flowers.
Shifting shafts and shards
of grass and glass
and forever awaiting the larks cry
which means its time to die.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 7:24 AM UTC
Something inspires the only cow of late
To make no more of a wall than an open gate,
And think no more of wall-builders than fools.
Her face is flecked with pomace and she drools
A cider syrup. Having tasted fruit,
She scorns a pasture withering to the root.
She runs from tree to tree where lie and sweeten.
The windfalls spiked with stubble and worm-eaten.
She leaves them bitten when she has to fly.
She bellows on a knoll against the sky.
Her udder shrivels and the milk goes dry.
4.6k
They walk by brisk
Covered in umbrellas
On high heels with ankles
Of no appeal
They grab the shaft
With both hands
As the wind tries to steal
Their umbrage
With agility
They skip over puddles
As I marvel
At the procession
With destined determination
They ****** on
As spiked high heels
Grapple on cobblestone
Rainy day women
In gray coats and wet umbrellas
Under overcast skies
With no hellos or goodbyes
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 1:28 AM UTC
The mirror looking back at her
screams compliments over the loud music
coming from the stereo behind.
With artfully smudged eyeliner,
she slips into the little black dress
purchased from the cheap lingerie shop
down the street from her apartment complex.
Six inches above the concrete sidewalk
clicking with every step,
a lit cigarette dangling at her teeth,
she walks proudly to the ball
twenty minutes past midnight.
The morning after;
spiked hot coffee in hand
to cure mistakes of the previous night
and a knock on the door
greets a worsening headache.
The door opens to a well dressed man
and a tiny glass slipper
atop a diamond-studded throne.
He holds the delicate shoe to her foot,
toe nails painted black,
and patiently waits for a response.
“Those aren’t my red stilettos.”
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 1:27 PM UTC
warthogs for men singing amen
i ink my scars with a ball point pen
buffalo grass and ******
they want *** but won't die
i want *** but it's not me
they tell me that I'm pretty
i smoke **** in a blazing forest
i feel as rubbery as a curious tourist
and plenty of coke goes in my nose
i bleed headaches, when it rains it snows
i'm dreaming of a white christmas, i suppose
with my squad when i don't want to feel alone
i make lies but can't hide like room raiders
i cut up coke for all my haters
with a side of oxy
tells me that I'm foxy
right before he knocks me
my brain goes on high alert
i can taste my stomach
because cake was yesterday's desert
i say that we're proxies
i take the red pill
some like oxys
some like bikini ****
some nights aren't so chill
some brains are mentally ill
but he doesn't like to feel, y'feel
tell me if you want a
*** flavored banana
a broken heart from havana
or to drink my coke flavored blood
dragging me through the mud
whoops
son of sam
touch my **** like we're not fam
drug me if you want to slam
my head off the coffee table
i'll choke on fear until i'm not stable
i pretend i'm in a fable
this can't be real
does he not feel
break it off and shove it down my throat
cut me into pieces
make a blood moat
oak splinters suffered through winters in my spine
find you in jail and you ask if i'm fine
i break off rhymes like i break out grams
shaking because of a spiked promise
i wish i wasn't here
i wish i wasn't here
sham in the garden of clouds. when you 'fuck' you want people around
when i cry, you hear no sound
buffalo grass and ******
they **** off but ask why
my box in their face
i don't want to be in this place
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 6:32 PM UTC
You are caught in this jail of which
I have built for one such as you;
spiked handcuffs made of solid lines,
iron bars wrought with poetry.
You shall never elude me as
you are caught in this jail of which
that binds you to a sheet of white
with only barbwire, words, and prose.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 3:06 AM UTC
my arms remember razor blades and spiked needles
and my veins ache to feel the warmth of her
swimming perfectly through my bloodstream
and engulfing my every fear, my every desire
until i am nothing but a pool of sticky tar
my nostrils burn without the powder
flying into my brain, and dripping down my throat
keeping me awake for days on end
and opening up my mind for my pen
shaking as i hold it to the paper; scribble
my tongue dwells on the bitter taste of hallucinogens
that made me dance in the coldest rain
and swim in the smallest pools of warm blood
that erupted from the belly of an orange tiger
who held my hand, and danced to the beats
my stomach remembers the feeling of pill bottles
emptied out; the tablets dissolved
coaxing me into warm slumbers, and forgetfulness
i miss the feeling of letting go
of love, of pain, of regret
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 8:04 PM UTC
the seduction of eternity
ice house Shekinah
sad hag with a revolver
a carnival of skinned rats and bullets
during the blood soil days
pets left on the dark side of the moon
a deluge of morality in a palace of tears
structures of consciousness under compression
the tongue of eternity
a veiled Eros licking
blood shot distant moons
flickers a selfish dream serenade
pollen of discontent
like a pregnant superhero
dressed in a candy wrapper
treading a visionless ezoic brain
bugs; war zones of memes and genes
all matter is metaphor
near death objects
meteors of grinning spiked crowns
we are memetic plucked limbs, clawed minds
sulfurous dust
short lived bloated yolks
mice in a supermarket with tape worms
and a trade mark
we are something boiling
we are memetic plucked limbs, clawed minds
sulfurous dust
short lived bloated yolks
a holocaust in a supermarket
with tapeworms
and a trademark
we are something boiling
In the bowels of eternity
graves of meat and mud
crucifixes in a screaming
abyss
creations
rabid belly of shadows
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 2:35 PM UTC
a zit—(white iceberg tip
infection-floating)
a heart (yours was always lipid-
slippery)
an ember (firefly abdomen
exhaling in black velvet)
a full bladder—(toilet-bowl relief:
a temporary prescription)
a bag of hot chips (extra habanero
for a spicy explosion)
a sink pipe (domestic artery rupture
of your sledgehammer swing)
a water balloon, (concrete-spiked,
insoluble rubber jigsaw)
spaghetti in the microwave: (blood
stain pattern analysis of metal walls)
a seam. (sewn ending
frays: leave the stitch, re-exposed.)
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 9:18 PM UTC
Heartless *****
Got no soul to love
Heartless *****
Parasite feeding in our skin
Heartless *****
Don’t worry they do love something
That something is themselves
Heartless *****
spiked their life bringer into a flaming can
Heartless *****
watching the world from a cave.
Heartless *****
sleeping with friends.
No benefits attached.
Heartless *****
doesn’t care if you like them
Heartless *****
actually delighted they’re messed up
How about you keep you’re mouth sewed shut
and tear out your larynx.
Words from that useless hole are hollow.
Manipulation your mistress
Depression your *****
You take
and abuse
and lie.
Just chose one or the other you-
Heartless *****
Stay quiet, behave.
Heartless *****
do they even have a name?
Heartless *****
It’s still beating in the trashcan, cold.
I am that Heartless *****
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 5:51 PM UTC
They warned us not to worry,
Just do our best in school;
Those worldly professionals,
Taught us work-to-rule.
They did a few case studies
On twins from day of birth;
There's a fifty-fifty chance,
A will be born first
They are urban fighters,
Of fire, crime and blame;
They live in high rise condos,
They return from foreign lands.
They wait over subway vents,
Their hearts and heads are bent;
They show-up in walk-ons,
They go without for Lent.
They fly in and out of space,
They don't identify with race;
They're picked up for vagrancy,
They dance cautiously in the street.
They volley warning shots
Across our private dreams;
They sign and seal a peace accord
They're sincere to a degree.
They contribute to the run-off,
And spiked our holy water;
They enlisted Moms and Dads,
Then slaughtered sons and daughters.
They made rings from ivory,
And pale lamp shades from skin;
They list dissipation
As a personal sin.
Then they did unholy things
With wood and nails, then atoms;
They tore at our goodly earth,
Wreaked havoc with their mapping.
They distilled our alcohol,
Made smoking so appealing;
Then they rang the tower bells,
And preached we had no feelings.
They dug deep for wishing wells,
Grew stuff to **** our germs;
They bestowed us rods and reels,
And spades to dig our worms.
They connected us
Through wireless touch;
They counseled us on loneliness,
And the traps of busyness.
They pronounce death is art
When they hang it on a wall;
Then blame it on our women,
In a scene based on our fall.
They're newsy opaque,
In love or hate;
They are the ambiguous,
The they, them and all of us.
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 10:31 AM UTC
Pretty soon the conkers would be falling, she could already see their
plump, cherubim bodies
spiked and dangling
like baubles,
or those underwater bombs,
from the oak leaves,
hanging limp.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC