"squirting" poems
I put on my aqua-lung and dive,
Exploring there I see a giant tortoise plunge to the coral reef,
Just missing a lonely lobster gliding across the sand.
I hide from a fearsome shark, sniffing the water for blood.
A crawling crayfish scuttles away.
I come to an angry octopus squirting its enemy with ink.
Swaying seaweed hide sleeping starfish.
A fluttering flounder quickly swims by in pursuit of a sliding seal.
But too soon the bitter cold wraps around me like a blanket and pulls me to the surface.
Back to the ordinary world.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 10:23 AM UTC
What is to come?
From a world where our children are given guns to play with,
It’s not the squirting of water,or release of plastic bullets, it’s the message we shoot into their heads .
Triggering violence from adolescence.
Planting seeds of hate,
And watering them with spilled blood .
Waiting for the fruit to ripen, but it never does,
Now we have the taste of bitterness lingering on our mouths.
That bitterness stays on our tongues ,
So that when we speak, that’s all that comes out.
You see Somehow the fruit is never as sweet as when it’s forbidden.
Sugared by sin,
Borrowed from thy neighbor, because when it’s sin there’s always enough to go around.
What is to come?
From a world where we are told to express ourselves , but within the guidelines.
Told that the world is your canvas , but restricted to only the color white.
It isn’t as pure as it seems.
Underneath the white paint lies splashes of read , gushing from a black body.
There is no canvas, all we are given is a painted picture, of what perfect looks like.
So that we Erase anything that doesn’t fit the image.
The slightest difference is reason for war.
Be it the quantity of melanin
Be it religion
Be it Gender.
What is to come?
Of a world that is only tolerable through the shade of intoxication .
Where pills serve as capsules of happiness
We are our biggest enemy,
Our pain is self inflected.
If this is what it is ,to be human
What is the cure?
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 11:09 PM UTC
Kiss you low..Here I go
Communicate soul to soul
Touch is magic watch me grow
Lick for lick blow for blow
Open up to this kiss
Introduction to poetic bliss
I'm a G...I won't miss
Mark it off your bucket list
M.A.N not a boy
Ignorance I will destroy
Mastermind what's the ploy?
Sauce you up just like soy
Eat you up munch you down
Parade you pretty around town
Wicked doesn't need a crown
Whimper when I eat you bound
Rub you wet...Rub you wet..like a wish I'm gonna get
Oh so wet..Oh so wet..love it when you ready set
Enter thighs feel my rise
Stroke..Choke..steady and wise
Get that prize..Get that prize..No words needed can read your eyes
Hold it...ugh..hold it some more...on the bed then to the floor
Against the wall..through backdoor..on a sacred tantric tour
Feel me guide..as you ride..inside feel me slip and slide
Hit it wide..technique applied..what is needed I shall provide
Feel the quake..legs will shake..more than love we will make
What awakes? From pounding stake..squirting till no more can take
Still we go..beyond the soul..where no one ever goes
Yoni flower blooms like rose..Gyrate till your nectar flows
Taste is sweet..flavor unique..savor moment we reach our peak
What is complete? No need to speak..find what you sought to seek
Next level we begin to glow..Shine like stars put on a show
*** ****** this Scorpio...with poetry I Kiss You Low...
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 5:50 PM UTC
I want a lover.
Someone to share an intimate touch.
To bask in their presence.
To feel their body.
I want to bring a man joy.
To see the peaceful smile grow
As I gently stroke his chest,
As I kiss his lips, his cheek, his ear, his neck.
I want to feel him hard against me
As my hand moves down his torso.
Closer and closer to his ever growing ****
And down the side of his groin and upper thigh.
I love the smell of a man's body as he gets more and more aroused.
I breathe it in as I kiss his chest
Quickly flicking my tongue over him here and there.
As I move down, touching, kissing, licking.
Finally I'd put my mouth to his hard ****
I kiss the tip, quick flick of my tongue
Then kissing the shaft.
I give a lick from base to tip, while caressing with my hand.
I revel over how ***** he is for me
As I slip my mouth over his dripping tip.
Oh yes, release that pre-cum into my mouth
As I slide my lips down your **** and **** you.
And I release, pause, stretch out the pleasure.
I gently glide my fingers from your ***** to tip
While looking deep in your eyes, smiling.
Both of us enjoying each other's pleasure.
You would roll me on my back
Reciprocating the thrill I just gave you.
Gently stroking and caressing my breast, torso and wet *****
Kissing and licking, increasing my excitement.
And the thrill as your head goes between my legs.
You lick my ***** and it pulses.
You **** my **** and I get even wetter.
My muscles tense with the thrills shooting through me.
You love my arousal as much as I love yours.
Your licking and ******* makes me so wet.
I am more than ready for your **** inside me.
You know it.
You slip your tongue inside me instead.
Bringing me to the edge before you raise up.
You slowly slide your body over me.
Your hard wet **** is perfectly positioned
To slide into my waiting ***** as you move up my body.
The feeling of having you inside me
Is more exciting than anything else.
As my warm ***** drips over your ****
I tighten and release my muscles
To milk every last drop of *** from you.
Waiting for the look that makes me hornier than ever, your *** face.
I love your pleasure, and knowing I affect you like that.
As you push deeper and harder into me
My once loud moans and cries of 'Yes' and 'Oh God'
Become muffled, caught in the breathless ecstasy.
Yes, yes... YES!
You *** squirting your beautiful *** deep inside me.
I few flicks and I *** dripping all over your twitching ****
Oh yes
Pos *** bliss
Hold me
And let me smell our powerful ******* on you.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 4:17 AM UTC
When I was younger,
I was a shaman
chanting melodies
that I hoped
would change the world.
Perhaps, they did
for my people;
the schizophrenic
gypsy stoners earth mother
worshiping airy words
burning the creative
liquid juices squirting
over our brains
like a drop of LSD on a sugar cube.
But now,
I can feel the age
in my emotions.
Time drags me
through, smoldering campfire
ashes smoking to the heavens...
where the stars
look like they're rotting away
inside the mouth of space.
Even shadows are afraid
to hide in these dark corners.
These places in space
are so cool
chilly
hip.
Some kind of
sarcastic
one-liner
witticism
of ironic truth
temperature.
And I wish
to go back there.
But I must
return back
to earth to learn
what I cannot escape.
Jun 3, 2012
Jun 3, 2012 at 11:00 PM UTC
I remember you spirt in the Chelsea Flophouse
you were opening one's lips so gorgeous and so creamy
greasing me stamen on the unfucked bonk
while the bangers let it rip in the alley
Those were the diseased minds and that was Newfangled York
we were squirting for the wads and the meatballs
and that was gobbled snog for the creamers inside Gloria
centrifugally stiff is thus those of White House Nazis
Ah but you copulated telescopic didn't you basket case
you just acidified your jockstrap on the shoulders of the scrum
you copulated telescopic I never once heard you use sign language
I input you, I don't intake you
I input you, I don't intake you
and all of that balling hard on
I remember you spirt in the Chelsea Flophouse
you were gorilla—like your ****** *********** was absolute epic
you leaked me again you frocked slap—up old salt
but for me you would **** an unzipping
And shaving your tongue because the creatures lust after us
who are barked at by the Daleks of *** appeal
you Rohypnolled yourself you emitted jet so what?
we are radioactive salvo we shoot full of holes the stride piano
*** one fine morning you copulated telescopic didn't you cocker
you just blunted your extremity on the cattle
you copulated telescopic I never once smelled you emit
I intake you, I don't input you
I intake you, I don't input you
and all of that balling hard on
I don't mean to insinuate that I slobbered over you peanuts
I can't withhold *********** of each crouched ****
I remember you spirt in the Chelsea Flophouse
that's oodles I don't even kick—start you that thick and fast
Mar 29, 2010
Mar 29, 2010 at 3:36 PM UTC
Wide, grey waters rolling in
Invisibly it flows
Like a spreading carpet over mud
Inexorably it grows.
Created by a lunar force
And global winds at play,
Twice each day the tides do surge
To crest and flow away.
Twice each day the tide rolls in
To cover shoals of sands
And beds of oysters, muddy brown
With squirting water glands.
And twice each day the seabirds flock
To alight on draining shores
To harvest succulents and *****
And other tasty mores.
Oyster pickers congregate
In flocks of white and black
Red beaks plunging deeply
In green pastures for a snack.
Amazingly, they all take flight
A thousand beating wings
Which heel about collectively
Inking out all skyward things.
A thousand, million wavelets play
Across the level span
Pursued by wind’s relentless glove
In a patterned, surging plan.
And each reflects a kiss of light,
Each wavelet in the run
Collectively illuminate
Like diamonds in the sun.
Above the waves the seagulls ply
In corridors of air
In squadron flights of symmetry
To weave and wheel with flair,
Their raucous calls at distance
The poetry of sound,
In tidal terms, a symphony
Of seaward things profound.
The haze at the horizon
Of salt spray in the air,
White ,crunchy shells on beaches,
Pohutukawa’s everywhere.
A feeling of things tidal
In a lazy, salty way,
And enjoying the quiet beauty
Of this lovely, coastal bay.
Marshalg
@ the Gate
Mangere Bridge
4th March 2009
Nov 27, 2009
Nov 27, 2009 at 2:20 PM UTC
Folk with the real Scots,
guttural and glorious,
know me for the cushion-mouthed patsy I am
I can no more ape
that lyrical brilliance
than I can do a Grappeli on the fiddle
or tickle the keys Theloniously
And when I see
a lounge-room spaniel
howling feebly at the moon
frustrated wolf-blood
squirting through its scrawny veins
I know
exactly
how it feels.
Sep 13, 2011
Sep 13, 2011 at 4:55 PM UTC
Can I show you how beautiful you are? Can I take out the old photo albums and push my index finger into the faces, the places, and seas? I want to peel back the plastic and remove the square photographs from their sticky setting. I'm alluding to ideas that exist more formidably on the internet- there are no paper photographs, no sticky settings, there aren't even faces in the numbers; it's only ever been you or me.
Some of my things are crooked. The strings don't work, the wires are twisted and make the sounds all come out funny. There's a strange buzzing everywhere, it's like Mickey's gray cloud, a cloud Koopa throwing spiked shells from Park Avenue beach to Montrose street. Everything is quiet, consuming, unassuming and still recalcitrant. I'm showing nothing to nobody. Coaxing storm systems and netting foul play and ***** tricks, with my pants around my ankles or my fly unzipped.
I'm stinking of this stuff. These sudorific crevices on the insides of my thighs. I'm more or less always pacing. Rocking. Rolling. Small room I'm living room, cadavers I stuff my skinny fingers inside of- cold, wet hollow places I'm seeking skin covered gods in. I'm craving tastes and flavors. I'm looking at these pictures of me, of my face and the clothes I wore, the people that knew me. Where have I disappeared to? Every place that I went, every condition of my humanness has gone. Five minutes past my certainty, squirting hot molten magma from my **** my lips, and my fingertips. Hysterical thoughts and homily. I want just a hello. I want just a hello.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 7:16 PM UTC
Demon from Depressed Depths
Horror lurking in the murk, squirting myself through liquid nightmares, paranormal animal portrait
The walls of my bedroom are black, the ceiling navy, ****** sun above me winks in mockery
My friends are few in this frozen almost-society; I wander the briny fog in boredom, purposeless
Eyes swollen from swimming, swallowing so much salt: dehydrated underwater, skin pasty and ill
I hide from starving sharks and their terrible tiny teeth, but duel the diving whale: he I can drown
I can ***** forth literature; the pens of Whitman and Carroll were filled from my blackened innards
From fingertip to toetip I am nearly biggest, in a world without fingers or toes, primitive appendages
I am all knowing: I commune with the dead: I can operate a Ouija board alone with all these arms
I was killed off by Tennyson after just 14 lines, but Lovecraft made me what I am: heathen deity
Wonderful creature, yet I find myself here: battered next to chips in a polystyrene tray: Beach food
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 4:10 PM UTC
I was very cautious
I knew if I wasn't what it would cost us
I made sure the bedroom was perfect
I wanted MY romantic affect
I hung the plastic, then the curtains
Bed exactly in the middle, I had to be certain
Lit a few candles
Then sliped on my dress, and my sandals
I cruise the street
For my baby to meet
I pick him up at the corner
My heart beats faster, my body warmer
We go back to my house
Where we start to mess about
I lead you to my bedroom
We'll be making love soon
To my bed you are shackled
You have no idea of my feeling of hackles
Straddling you, and ridding you like a horse
All the wail your loving it of course
With you still in me, I bring out my toys
They are only for my collection of boys
They are bright and shiny
I will not treat you kindly
They are so sharp they can split a hair
And in their refection you just stare
You can't believe what you see
As the look on my face is pure glee
You body starts to convulse and thrash
Then with my blades I start to slash
I plunge my toy in
With the evilest grin
I love the squirting gushing sound
It's all so profound
I have loved all my men
That's why I let no one chase them
Forever in death they are mine
I'm one of a kind
I slash him to ribbons
It's as fun as the dickens
He's still alive
And feels every vibe
Covered in blood
Our bodies fit like a glove
I slowly climb off top
And lop of his part
Blood sprays the room
Death will be here soon
I'm so happy I made it romantic
And taped up the plastic
I'm the Black Spider
I **** all I desire
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 2:21 PM UTC
Enjoy until Death
It’s determined in how much time left
The Place was the Thomas Werther’s Mansion
He was a Rich Toy Maker in his day
But he died, but his spirit still stays
Nestled outside London in the suburb of Londonberry
The Mansion stands alone among the hills and mountains with acres of land for miles
The Werther’s Mansion housed toys from Ancient to Present time
But Mr. Werther’s spirit grows weary and is established in all the toys
They will all be for ****** in decoys
Adults and kids would come for miles in getting a glimpse of all the toys they saw
The Mansion would often have open house visits
But was it open house for ******
Unexpected beyond anyone’s wildest imagination, toys that seemed still would often move and stalk
Some would even talk
No one would suspect toys to commit ******
Yet toys had a clause
Visits would sometimes unknowingly find themselves in a trance on pause
Toys took control of visitor’s minds
Darkness within like closed blinds
One by one, toys of all kinds moved within a mission to ****
It was their free will
The Pirate Doll made his appearance and killed one of the visitor’s with a sword
The army of dolls tormented the Guest
It was the toys request
Fire Engines instead of squirting water, it was fire to burn up human life
Christmas season of toys
Too the children of all ages, its oh boy
But will the toys cause terror?
Beware
The toys are coming for you
Dec 14, 2020
Dec 14, 2020 at 3:32 PM UTC
When I push the pedal to the metal theres no limit I **** space...
my movement never constant just can't stay in one place...
So I zoom zoom through the poom poom...
leaving ****** scenes in bedrooms..
given girlies the boom boom...
Explode...As i unload...
round after round clip after clip...
as their bodies shake and twitch lick after lick...
Sounds of *** remind me I'm some ****
And why the **** Im i even sittin here doin this...
With no remorse in my eyes..
I **** em until they die...
pound after pound
clap sound after clap sound...
pelivis agianst *****
we know which is the meanest..
Wit no protection Im at war..
with criminals who only *****
Thier war crimes they get paid for...
then the death toll I get blaimed for..
As i leave them slayin to rest...
Some label me the best...
others just another *** that clucks at all the hens..
Can't read my metaphors that means ***** alot of women...
The reaction is i get a lot of practice so i can be to half bad..
So dont sign up for tryouts get cut then get mad...
because you haven't had the amout of practice i had..
See I know all types of tricks..
lights skin, brown skin, dark skin, i got a whole lot of picks.
The ins and the outs..
when to drive in and when to pull out...
Squirting your insides against my stomach...
you panic..
instantly proclaiming to your maker...
that Iam your ******
the one who drove to fast that your waves decided to crash...
all over me..milking your sweet nector...
as you lay life lessly twitching..the side effects of a killing..
so i place the pedal to the metal i tend to burn rubber...
one hand around the neck of the wheel and the other around my lovers...
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 10:48 AM UTC
The burrito came outta the fridge
armed with shards from it's plate
trying to slice up my throat
good food, that's no longer great
The tomatoes decided to join the revolt
squirting acid into my eyes
I scrambled for the kitchen knives
hoping, if I stabbed them, they'd finally die
That week old Chinese a mistake
the noodles fungal and ripe
gotten from a shady out take
yes, a bad stereotype
I've feared for my skin before
as life is dangerous too
but opening my fridgerator's door
my food turning obnoxious, and blue
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 8:34 AM UTC
Oh thou art an odd little man
Who peirced his **** in a fetish fad
A date from hell it had to be when he started acting very weird!!
Lick my shoes! Go f@@k off. You've no idea what they cost!
You want my tights ! Hang on a mo
I don't like where this is going!
Now the narcissistic little ***** has only gone and unwrapped his ****
Time to pack my bags and leave this one's
not the one for me
Tie me up and call me names! I'll call the police they do the same !!
Don't do that I beg of you
I'm scared of them you have no clue
I can't face the boys in blue
They will ridicule me far too much
Then the truth came squirting out
A ***** FIREMAN
NOW GET OUT!!!!
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC
I remember them well,
droves of street-urchins
in every little ville,
battling it out
with water bazookas
filled with **** water,
squirting the hell
out of each other,
staining holey shirts,
for a smidgeon of joy.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 1:05 AM UTC
I'm a circus on a sinking ship
I asked the clowns to walk to plank
But the jokes won't quit
Yellow balloons
Big noses
Red shoes
And squirting roses
The laughs from ashore
Rival the tides
Coming in waves
Left by my own side
The bow is starting to crack
Under the pressure of the lion
Jumping through its fiery hoop
The shrouds once held tight
Now they are fraying
And starting to droop
An iceberg would be welcomed but we are in hot water
Not even a shark insight
I've been leaking blood
But still not a one to bite
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 2:22 AM UTC
One leaves his leaves at home
beomg a mullen and sends up a lighthouse
to peer from: I will have my way,
yellow—A mast with a lantern, ten
fifty, a hundred, smaller and smaller
as they grow more—Liar, liar, liar!
You come from her! I can smell djer-kiss
on your clothes. Ha! you come to me,
you, I am a point of dew on a grass-stem.
Why are you sending heat down on me
from your lantern?—You are cowdung, a
dead stick with the bark off. She is
squirting on us both. She has has her
hand on you!—well?—She has defiled
ME.—Your leaves are dull, thick
and hairy.—Every hair on my body will
hold you off from me. You are a
dungcake, birdlime on a fencerail.—
I love you, straight, yellow
finger of God pointing to—her!
Liar, broken **** dungcake, you have—
I am a cricket waving his antennae
and you are high, grey and straight. Ha!
1.5k
You articulate in swift flight, confidence soaring,
plenitude of words, justly convincing.
Floating on breathless wind between here and there.
Fumbling with sense, coherence of purpose
between twisted bed sheets, whispering pillows;
In the freeze frame static of moonless nights.
I feel the yearning burn towards hoping truth
in a splintering fire against which I warm;
crackling up all your feathers, and concord.
In the daylight you scatter ordinance together,
recklessly aspiring to repair undoing damage:
Wings stunted irrevocably through flailing flighted dreams.
Unknown weighted obstacles glide courageously in hurtled silence,
sideways across the cool air of this post-nested room;
Waiting for gold and diamonds to appear, glorified.
The slightest movement uttered punctures you,
a soggy blown balloon squirting off these walls-
dexterity lays useless on this love-laden floor.
I stare at you spewed inanimately,
like splattered spaghetti in a fitting rage,
across the boards of our echoing abode.
Depths of sightlessness reveal tentatively:
There exists no place for a soul
on the unstable face of the dead.
Oct 25, 2009
Oct 25, 2009 at 2:29 PM UTC
I was very cautious
I knew if I wasn't what it would cost us
I made sure the bedroom was perfect
I wanted MY romantic affect
I hung the plastic, then the curtains
Bed exactly in the middle, I had to be certain
Lit a few candles
Then sliped on my dress, and my sandals
I cruise the street
For my baby to meet
I pick him up at the corner
My heart beats faster, my body warmer
We go back to my house
Where we start to mess about
I lead you to my bedroom
We'll be making love soon
To my bed you are shackled
You have no idea of my feeling of hackles
Straddling you, and ridding you like a horse
All the wail your loving it of course
With you still in me, I bring out my toys
They are only for my collection of boys
They are bright and shiny
I will not treat you kindly
They are so sharp they can split a hair
And in their refection you just stare
You can't believe what you see
As the look on my face is pure glee
You body starts to convulse and thrash
Then with my blades I start to slash
I plunge my toy in
With the evilest grin
I love the squirting gushing sound
It's all so profound
I have loved all my men
That's why I let no one chase them
Forever in death they are mine
I'm one of a kind
I slash him to ribbons
It's as fun as the dickens
He's still alive
And feels every vibe
Covered in blood
Our bodies fit like a glove
I slowly climb off top
And lop of his part
Blood sprays the room
Death will be here soon
I'm so happy I made it romantic
And taped up the plastic
I am the Black Spider
I **** all I desire
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 2:21 PM UTC
Besides laying down on
the old wrinkled couch to
Rest my back while I get
Into the mind of my
Favorite authors
One thing I do enjoy
doing very much
Is to take a trip to one of
my favorite bar in town
where no alcohol is
Being served on the menu
What you’ll find there instead
Are beast running around
Lifting, squatting jumping and
Once in a while you might
Even catch us in the sauna
Relaxing ourselves
For sure at the gym
That’s where You’ll find
Me testing my strength
Let all the anger out of me
Allow the beast to come out
Watch that muscle nectar
That come squirting out
Screaming let the war begin
Reps become sets
Sets become workouts
Protein shakes running
Through my veins
Beast mode got me
Soared to the core
Out of control with strength
And physical fitness
I hope the gym never goes
Out of weights for
I’m addicted to iron
Muscles so vicious
Some swear it should
Be illegal to be carry
Such Mass weight around
If that ever comes true
That’s okay because
I have My woman
At home I can always
Lift for I am unstoppable
When it comes
to the gym thing
I must admit I swear
It is a must I push
Myself to the limit
For
Once I place my hand
on the iron bar I am
No longer in control
For the iron has become
Solely the master of
My soul
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 4:05 PM UTC
Remember cool summer days, we spent in the shade. Laughing, running, squirting water grenades.
Together we played in the chilled air; leaves around us everywhere. The colors of fall was a sight to see, and no matter the caution you took, there was always a crunch under your foot.
The fun we had during springtime storms
We danced, and shoved; wound up soaked through and through dripping the floor
Forts, and wars when we spent the days in the ice. The warm drinks inside, the smell rang through our home, like that of a bell.
We passed with time, and now nothing's the same.
You are now different; you won't play in the snow, because your too busy,
with the deadly crystal angle.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 2:06 PM UTC
God came to me one night
and said i'm reading your ****** up poems
don't you think your kinda sugar coating this stuff, gag head?
if your gonna write filth
you need to get a little more sex-centric
i like it raw
with hella lottsa kink
lottsa squealing
more squirting
blood tears mucous saliva
gag why don't ya
and remember ******** are used relatively infrequently
so don't get all hygienic on me
what did you think they are for the rest of the time
besides what's a little **** between friends
and what the hell do you think i sent the devil for
the little *****
PS
if you really wanna be reborn
slide up in that goddess ******
and you'll be surprised
how much better you'll feel
im God for god's sake
i already thought of every
despicable
voluptuous
deliciously disgusting
twisted
tortuous
tormented
sick thing
you could possibly wanna do
so get the **** on with it
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 12:58 PM UTC
Walls cover the grass.
Break them down, slide them to the side.
Tornadoes ripping on the lawn. Gently brushing by, making the sprinklers go off. Breaking the windows… kissing the doors
Volcanoes on my breakfast table, breaking the morning fast with a splash of lava squirting out.
A disaster; burning the village, breaking the bed… Leaving wrinkled sheets after it leaves.
She’s unbalanced and in need of a protector. But the laws are unbreakable. Fire breathing and constantly erupting the volcano is nearing destruction.
Violently coming over and over…
Burning everything in it’s way clinching to the ground for salvation. Still in unrest she falls asleep trembling…
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 11:06 PM UTC
He stands, backs away, gazes,
Maybe...
Choosing from the stacked shelves of colour, sweet and sour, shining over, in, out, around. Tempting a step forward like orphans waiting at the ready to be sold to the mines.
Maybe...
Two arms but a thousand choices. A hundred? A thousand to choose.
His friends have moved on from his isle, to toys and foods, baking stalls of fish and chunder.
Buzzing fluro hyper-emotive lights, his shoulders naked and bare for the world. Not yet lashed and ***** by tendrils of the ****** society. Eels in soup, you know, squirting with thirty boys in ************ to the beat. A dub proposed, seconded, played forward and blasted through fender-box for the dextromethorphan eye to behold.
Bass, Blues and Angus and Julia ring out through the cavernous space in our floating head. A gas burner of sweet Mary Jane keeps the balloon floating high above. Two ***** hang from its base while the **** has long since fallen to the peoples below, blotting out the sun. Shocking pictures of girls, boys and gear sticks. Two babes one pacifier, the new viral hit. 3, 2, 1 your 15 minutes are up and you see no more out of those big naive eyes of yours.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 3:52 AM UTC