"teasingly" poems
His bicycle let out a little yelp as he slowed to a stop,
The lady was dressed the same as the night before.
He could have cycled on but he had intentions he would not drop,
For he had heard stories of such beings from old wives' lore.
It was important for him to address this spectre.
Motivated by the advice he had received from his dad.
To never succumb to fear if a spirit he should ever encounter,
For the fear would consume and eventually drive him mad.
He was brimming with confidence as he spoke,
"Hello there again, I see that you are still in a fix".
He was determined not to be made again the joke
He had sworn to not be taken in by the imp's mischief and tricks.
A sweet fragrance lingered in the air,
Teasingly inviting him to greedily inhale it all in.
A gentle gust blew, caught and played with the strands of her hair...
Enamoured by her visage, he secretly gasped as if the air grew thin.
Her face was still partially obscured by her black flowing hair.
She turned to him before she gave her reply,
*"Would you please give me a lift, dear sir...kind and rare...
I do not wish to be stranded alone, unsheltered under the moonlit sky"*.
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 7:25 AM UTC
Prosecco cocktails, être pour la danse,
cassis pour moi avec limoncello,
madame, passion fruit, and blood oranges
très grownup, breakfast at Tiffany's,
she is all sunglasses and Audreyfied,
me and George P., struggling writers,
checking if i got enough cash
or have to exit smooth, just in case,
maybe we leave our
coats behind, as ransom?
lincoln center plaza cross-dressers,
past the opera,
the sun, a balmy thirty five degrees,
laughing at us teasingly,
cause tonight and tomorrow,
*********** all the day,
winter kisses
in case we forgot,
early March
first belongs to the Ides of Winter
Afternoon of a Faun,
another ballet, origin,
a Mallarmé poem.
(you begin to comprehend)
yes quite so,
a perfect synopsis of the day,
Acheron imported from Scarlett Liam
who lives in the U.K.,
but comes to choreograph here,
for gloria Americana
sundown, soul cold back,
"lest we forget,"
but the dancers bid us adieu
with a rousing waltz, frenchified,
La Valse, une poème chorégraphique,
by Ravel, bien sûr!
aroused and heart gladdened,
return home for
for veal chop love
two hours of *** banging,
kitchen banishment, (Yay!)
chanterelles steeped in red wine,
coverlet for a non-vegan tasting,
English peas, red and purple potatoes,
and for desert,
a diet dream of verbal exchanged of detailed
I love you's
He: I love you,
She (happy), replies: I love you more.
(this repartee ballet, has been rehearsal danced before)
He: Why?
She: Because you are kind and generous, to street beggars, my single friends, good and smart, love art,
and never let me down, and love my cooking, leave space for others when you park, go thru life making waiters and ticket takers smile and laugh, sleep for hours your head on my hip, write me crazy love poems about veal chops
He: What's for desert tonight?
She: A ****
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 8:41 PM UTC
I envy the stylish model
her styrofoam perfect *******
those legs that never need shaving
the sweet smile that needs no rest
the hair that’s always behaving
the pose that teasingly arrests
she’s a icon of current fashion
a flower neatly pressed
but no love will ever find her
no one cares if she’s undressed
she’ll never accomplish anything
never mind - I’m not impressed
Dec 3, 2021
Dec 3, 2021 at 6:17 AM UTC
Would you
Allow me
To sip
From your succulent lips
As night
Seductively slides
Against a crimson stained sky?
Would you
Allow me
To trace
The contours of your aching body
As moonlight
Tempting highlights
Your passion filled form?
Would you
Allow me
To teasingly
******
You
Until...
We're both exhausted?
© 2013-2014 Peach
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 9:51 AM UTC
Your glances in my direction
are ants under my shell-
they tingle and make me more aware
of every inch of my skin
and just when I think they are teasingly flirty
they bite.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 4:55 AM UTC
comely, maybe
but not beautiful
my features are as round as vowels
and I carry the moon in my hips
I am an unpolished beauty
smooth pebbles resting at the bottom
of a cold clear stream
with an empty purse
imagination
my only currency
in this world
I am a shrinking violet
occasionally a rose
february-white
caught in your button-loop
long-stemmed red roses
stalk runways
hollywood bombshells
are bubbly as champagne
and full of flesh and light
but *** sans love
is still an empty bathtub
whatever happened to pin-up girls
long cigarette holders
and muted photographs?
I am distorted
in the fish-eye view
of the modern lens
in my fantasies
I am no longer sand and loam
I glow like a tall slim candle
though I am often numb and dumb
and my girls are as absent
as long lost unicorns
I am the bohemian princess
I travel through foreign lands
clothed in exotic costume
a jewelled headdress, and
indian pyjamas coloured sapphire,
turquoise and cayenne-red
my feet are near bare
and my hippie hair
is a mass of blonde curls
I take a sojourn in
southern california
warm desert air
soft against my skin
I surf in the salty sea
held buoyant by the waves
a sunset stains the sky tangerine
the palm trees
black against the orange light
click teasingly in the breeze
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 9:27 AM UTC
Tomorrow I shall see the birth of the awaited dawn
Today it seems I am locked in a midnight zone
Tomorrow I will not walk into the dread of the night
But shall be led by the blazing light
Tomorrow I will carry my yoke manfully
And never recite the litany of my woes mournfully
Tomorrow I shall slow down and stop by the mountain side
And watch the silvery stream joyfully down way glide
Tomorrow I shall seize every chance that comes my way
And never wait for them to fall on another day
Tomorrow I shall be out of my prison cell with discord round
And shall enter a palace with joys abound
Tomorrow I shall willingly partake of another’s grief
And never seek solely my own relief
Tomorrow I shall wait for the calm that follows the storm
And not grumble in haste that life is a withering dream
Tomorrow I shall look beyond the clouds of gathered gloom
And see for myself the beauty of stars that in hundreds bloom
Tomorrow amid hostilities I shall keep alive the sparks of friendship
And never mourn the absence of anyone for companionship
Did I hear someone teasingly say to my utter surprise
“Your resolutions sound so good! But what if tomorrow doesn’t arise?”
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 10:43 AM UTC
**A walk through thirsty land
Breathe... step... breathe... step
Dunes of towerring, rusty sand
With each step, breathe... step
No rules, no lanes... no need to 'keep left'
Or walk in any particular direction... but that which you choose
Too hot by day to play, by night... too cold to snooze
It is beautiful, in an evil way
Impressive, but can ****
It giveth less than it taketh away
That bone piercing, nightly chill
It's getting closer, time grinds teasingly on
The dunes seem to get taller, teasing the sun
Whose heat, direct from sky to forehead
Squeezes my pores...
Breathe... step... breathe... breathe... step
And robs my body of its last bead of sweat
Breathe... breathe... breathe... step
Attempt to swallow saliva... feel like I'm gurgling on glass
Breathe... stop
No tree... open land... sea of sand... parched
Breathe
Try to reassure myself, in a raspy monotone
Wish for one thing right now, not water... chlorofoam
So I can pass on, and not feel it
The desert's friends are up and about in the dark, cheering **** it! **** it!"
I try to ill will it... try to hold on
But this warrior of nature's choke hold, grip... proves too strong
To fight
So... tonight
I decide "It's over, I'm gone"
I can hear the afterlife call
Out to me
Pick myself up... Breathe... step... stumble... fall.**
Jun 30, 2010
Jun 30, 2010 at 11:33 PM UTC
"Hey Arya, want to go see that new movie that JUST came out? Ya know the one about the *******
"Maybe tomorrow Melodric. I'm kinda tired right now, kay?", Arya replies
"oh...okay, Tomorrow then, i'll hold you to that you know!", Melodric replies teasingly
Arya laughs, "Yeah, Yeah, anyway, I'm headed home, night Mel"
"Night Arya, uh, hey, want me to walk you home? i heard that the crime rate has gone up in town recently, Ya never know their next target."
"I'll be fine Mel, go home dufus!"
"ok,ok...See ya Tomorrow"
"yeah, tomorrow"
****
"That the girl we after?"
"Sure is"
"like the rest?"
"yup."
"hehehehe...Lets get'r"
****
"Rain, Rain, go away, plaese don't come back another day!", Arya giggles then freezes as a black van suddnely pulls up beside her and she watches two men quickly hop out and start towards her.
Arya ran
She didn't get far...
The two men grab her as she tries to scream, but one places their hand over her mouth.
She feels the ***** of a needle in her neck.
Her last thought was, 'Mel..Help...Me.'
****
Melodric checked his watch, "it's 7:00, where is she?"
He had been waiting at the school courtyard for half an hour now for her.
"It's not like her to be late...maybe her alarm never went off?"
A fellow student noticed him sitting on the school steps and says, "Hey Melodric, class is about to start, why aren't you heading in?"
Melodric replies, " I'm waiting for Arya, she hasn't showed up yet...though that's the odd thing, she's never late, ya know anything about that?"
"you mean no one has told you yet?"
"told me what?"
"Arya was found dead laying in a pool of her own blood at 1:00 this morning."
"A...Arya's dead?"
"yeah...you never knew?"
"n-no...i...we where supposed to watch a movie today. The Newest release. he told me yesterday that Tomorrow was when she'd go with me...and i said...i said that i'd hold her to that."
"Melodric-"
"She always used to say, 'There's always Tomorrow'...but now...there wont BE a tomorrow..not for her...not anymore..."
"Melodric, hey...i'm...I'm sorry man. Sorry you found out like this, and about Arya, i knew you where close with her."
" 'There's always Tomorrow' I can go mourn tomorrow..right?"
"yeah, tomorrow."
***
"There's always Tomorrow Melodric!", Arya laughingly said in Melodrics mind
'But sometimes...There's not always a Tomorrow', Melodric replied, 'There'll never be a Tomorrow...Not anymore'
***
"Dude did you hear the news last night? that kid, uh, melo...dic? no Melodric! He apparently shot himself after leaving a note saying, 'I don't want to spend another Tomorrow without Arya.' how Pathetic is that?"
"C'mon man, chill out. Those two where always hanging around one another, doesn't surprise me he wanted ta be with her. who wouldn't?"
"ya, you're right, hey wanna go see that new movie that came out?"
"Maybe Tomorrow. I'm kinda tired."
"Ok, Tomorrow then. Don't forget!"
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 11:54 PM UTC
Introduction
_____________
some words
chase you around
infiltrating and winking,
in emails and poems to
your attention dispatched
undeniably messaging
a wanting to be
realized, completed,
teasingly speaking
you know
a poem newly birthing
in your left brain,
tender pleading,
love me already,
just write me
like you would
make love to a woman!"
messages from others employ
the self-same word r e p e a t e d l y,
you start to get the hint
very very v i g o r o u s l y
the rumbling,
the back-seat tumbling,
you're driving
bipedal composing,
guitar and piano
gas and brake
pedals to the mettle,
and the speed limit
was 15 mph under
where your brain is fermenting
all tuning you up to
meet the guild's
product quality standards,
yet unlike an automobile,
a poem, like a life,
has a unique DNA,
cannot just be
recalled,
for repair
and additional tinkering,
jes' because
once it is out there,
it has been outed
sure enough in my
my "started but *** file,
a lazy layabout,
overlooked and undercooked,
the poem below,
a dabble and a muddle,
so ignored, so berefted
for so long
it got this
special introduction
by way of an apology....
Incarnate
She is my poem incarnate
She is the carne of my body
She is the innate of my soul
She is my woman incarnate
she is all I need
in form realized and invisible imagined,
angel and thank god,
devil as well...
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 11:06 AM UTC
She looks at you,
feathers still protruding from her mouth.
She's handing you a ticket to her way of thinking.
If you take it, you're in.
You have access to her mind;
unadulterated access.
Just renounce your humanity.
She's looking for a partner,
another wolf to connect with.
Be it for her.
She looks at you teasingly.
Take it.
Be one of her,
and she will give you everything.
She wants to dine with you on the flesh of the living.
She wants you to play with her.
Take it.
She looks at you,
feathers still protruding from her mouth.
Dec 9, 2010
Dec 9, 2010 at 7:28 PM UTC
En route from Dharmapuri
To Krishnagiri
Amid the tamarind trees
There goes a flock of sheep
Shaking heads
Jumping merrily
Hither and thither
Behold! there, one man becomes
A flock of sheep
Evolving in to
A black little lamb,
A mother sheep munching on paper
And a goat kicking another one
Among the group
There! a flock of sheep
That has turned in to a man!
Where on earth
Are you?
Wails the flock of sheep
Bleating be..........be......teasingly
Tongue brushing ear lobes
with ruminating saliva
Beside that flock of sheep,
Dragging along a wounded right leg,
Staring at the sky
Standing transfixed,
The shepherd was the other person
He was a memory
Of having been a flock of sheep once...
On each path he treads
A thousand flocks of sheep passes
In joy and mirth
Despite being poor at herding
The one who happened to stop by
Bumping on a lamb that fell down
The photostat of a goat
With burned legs
Lying in the womb of a pregnant sheep
He is sleeping...
Looking at each bird
That flew across the sky
He laments
That they are his lost sheep
Beckoning the crows, sparrows and parrots
The birds in turn fly away
Frightened
As though seeing a hunter
The stick he held
Was mistaken for an arrow
Piercing the ground
His prayers,
Not to let them fall
In to the lakes of the sky
Was blocked by the clouds...
En route from Dharmapuri
To Krishnagiri
Amid the tamarind trees
There, goes a flock of sheep
There, a shepherd !
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 6:35 PM UTC
*Seven New Poems For Seven Days # 5: Summer Girls In Their Summer Clothes
Oh yes!
The streets of Manhattan, jewel dusted,
Summer girls in their summer clothes,
Bedeck the streets and make men say, Thank You!
To their creator.
Little black dresses, previously immortalized^,
Seasoning and sauces, halter tops and jeans cutoff,
Give thanks for the tanks, revel in the revelations,
For God created man and women in his/her teasingly bare image.
*Yo! Dude! This is number 5 in the series,
Of sad and somber, re dad and mother, ***
Have you lost perspective, not read the directive,
You're in mourning, time to be introspective,
Not dis-respective!
My mother was a beautiful women.
Till the day she died.
Yes, physically beautiful at 98.
She, was a poem.
For her exterior was suffused, burnished,
By the spirit residing within her body
I ask myself, why not judge a book by its cover?
Her cover was exquisite, but what gave her a glow,
A radiance, was her modesty, her love of humanity.
What's under our cover?
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 1:11 AM UTC
Ditty This, Little Boy: Venerable Auntie
My Gf's nephew came for a visit,
Teased her that night,
Bowing ceremoniously,
In the Chinese manner,
Addressing her slyly, impishly,
Oh hell, teasingly, as,
Venerable Auntie
She smiled, but said little,
The next night,
When to Argentine Tango dance she must,
In the Chinese manner,
Wore a dress tight fitting,
Her poem, she called it,
With slits up the sides,
To facilitate her swoons and slides,
Leaving the imagination to take care of the rest
As she left, o'er shoulder she called out,
(To me)
Good night little boy,
Don't wait up for my return,
Auntie has gone to play
she won't be back till
Her bad boys have venerated her,
Sufficiently...
6:10 AM
June 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
Light me up, baby.
Spread your sunshine over my dark sky.
Ward these sinister clouds away, please!
I need you, my rainbow, glimmering before my eyes.
It’s a white, plain piece of paper,
This dull life of mine,
It needs the ink of your passion to write over it,
The colorful story of our union, sublime.
So mix into my insipid existence,
Some of your sugar; it needs your flavor.
Sweeten it with a smile, and the twinkle of your eyes,
Wouldn’t you do me this little favor?
I wander, like the solitary stream of water
In the mountains, searching frantically for the river.
Like the tide trying each night, to reach for the moon,
My soul too restlessly thrashes hither and thither.
Like the still boat floating in the silent, dark waters,
In solitude and quiet, I want to lie with you.
Like the green grasses awaken, glittering in the morning,
I want to wake up with the glow of being enamored by you.
Embrace me, like the orange-hued sky
Caresses, at the horizon, the lonely sea.
Like the rustling leaves that whisper to each other in the breeze,
Lean in and speak softly, sweet-nothings to me.
Come to me now, let all of time converge into that one moment,
When your lips will, for a second or two, over mine, teasingly hover,
Then kiss me for an infinity, and let me melt into the arms,
Of you- my hero, my paramour, my eternal lover.
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 4:17 PM UTC
i remember the first time bryn brought a boy for christmas
his name was chris
and we had to distinguish between him and my cousin chris
so we called him gay chris
because he had lots of pockets
and he always looked better than my cousins
who hardly ever tried to look presentable.
i remember last christmas
how damon gave elise
sweaters from a thrift shop and fleetwood mac records
and how happy she was.
i never wanted to be allie from the notebook,
and i never wanted you to be noah.
in the 8th grade,
hidden between shelves of a torn-down library where i'd sit for hours,
was a short, thick book with pages of romanticized post-it notes
and the smell of sawdust.
dash and lily's book of dares
was all the things i'd been dreaming about.
the first-glance feelings in the middle of new york,
the warm feeling melting through your bones with an even warmer drink.
i've always wanted a chris
or a shaina
or a natasha.
i've always imagined thanksgiving day going differently for once in my life.
when my uncle asks me if i'm texting my boyfriend,
i want to say "yes, actually" and i wanted to find a boy
to take to my grandmother's house.
i wanted to show him
how tristan would pay me to go sneak him cookies,
and the way we fought over couches.
but now we took all the couches out of the basement,
and i think someone else is living in that house.
but there's still thanksgiving,
there's still an extra seat at the table,
and i'm not sure but i think justin is bringing maya this year.
so when it is my turn to go around the house and say hello to everyone,
and my uncle asks, "how many boyfriends do you have?" teasingly,
i can smile and say "just one"
and it can be you.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 8:37 PM UTC
nightsong/fallsong
nippy nightfog, dark drive (solo)
breathy windshield, elmvale driveway defog,
a naked girl/thru the house panes
whose bareness
is shown teasingly. (full aware)
homestead.
lamplight, "goodnight!", golden readlight.
bowl of noodles -- broccoli,
darkly pacing silent upstairs/eight-track recorder loudsound (genesis/trick of the tail)
weedpipe outside cold fresh nighttime.
outdoor pissing/rockwall/hosetap,
posters/scotchtape/pins
(troilus & cressida pages taped to th'wall)
alone with thinkcap, lady dreamin'
(that ass!---ahh!) (sighs)
ragged joint thru windowscreen . . . baked-up mouth pasted---ice tea sippin' (glorious)
warm blankets & an empty bed;
need to get out of this ****** old town
empty; lonesome songs.
---but, think better . . .
this pre-spain hometown transatlantic waitin' sadness won't last
forever.
& tripping gets you nowhere. (snoop dogg)
smoke again and maybe put on
more genesis.
. . .
*(tho it is fleetwood mac instead
that i slap on/toss myself into bed.)*
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 4:06 PM UTC
In the end
we ended up in the pub -
now there’s a surprise.
Fifteen nights out of thirty,
at least. Cheap grub
and we knew the owners,
mates of my folks.
‘All right pal?’, he said.
‘Not bad’, I said back.
Our feet ached,
my arms cracking like conkers
as I stretched,
got comfortable.
And then you mentioned
the C-word again.
‘But in a few years.’
A nod. A sip. The cool slither
of lager down my throat.
We’d talked, of course,
about it before. People
expected, assumed
a kid was the next step.
You didn’t like
my quietness on the matter -
you’d kick my leg, teasingly,
as if kicking the answer
into my body, my mouth.
Honestly? I hadn’t given it
much thought. A sure thing
was my regular line of choice.
*'You know, I fancy you
so much right now.'*
OK, so I don’t know
what made me say that,
but it had already zipped
across the table,
buried in her ears
before I clocked on.
I really meant it though.
I think your cheeks
went cherry red -
there was a kiss, I remember.
I’d answer properly
later on, the pub
a foggy memory
and that night, I slept
knowing I’d fancied you
from the first second we met,
and that the C-word
wasn’t as horrid
as I always used to believe.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 2:54 PM UTC
the woven intercept
*the crescendo soft ascending,
commandeers our riveting,
we do not surrender, taken, nonetheless,
our deference to an elegant wand wave,
combo hopeful and all encompassing, the helplessness
both well understood
the progression higher, steady on,
a rapture going to a defined ending,
concluding voyage occluded, for now,
but the setting sun rays us a plan, a path,
teasingly, soto voce lips moving, “this way”
follow on the unsteady water
restraining resistance failing, flailing weakly,
it is both early morning and late afternoon,
the light warms, but each, a timbre different,
the pitch and intensity tho one and the same,
yet, order confused, still, we are given-in
giving in unwillingly
absolution unrequested, but awarded anyway,
shelter from the storm of safe and warm,
children begin first school day, but adults
know better, beginnings full of risks unforeseen,
the season changes, normalized, but would be refused
if we could
the waiver offered, the woven intercept read,
emotional intelligence so fragile, on and on,
sidekicks, lovers, connected by a dotted line highway,
the space between permitting anything we want,
but contradictories say, wanting everything, impossible
but the viable solution singular
how do we leave it then? we leave it thus, clarified,
separation is a kind of attachment, voidable, when,
kissing comes calling, from all around the world,
the crescendo ends, we each have read the intercept,
it concusses, interpretations differing, yet we don’t care
lying through embracing lips*
our tune is a mismatched matching,
a vision ending and yet anew hatching,
this is love, understanding, undefinable, undefeated,
a changeling definition, paths possessing multi-endings,
loving is the unceasingly, desirable imperfect struggling
unique, singular just like everyone else’s
9/4/19 9:07am
nml
(she'll know)
Sep 7, 2019
Sep 7, 2019 at 2:14 PM UTC
Your sweet-smelling hair
Satin-smooth and rain-damp
It's the tall, cold, moist wine glass
Cradling the repressed cocktail made up of
Hush-soft lips that melt in my mouth
The fluid tenderness of your tongue
Pillow-cheeks, gentle to clash against
When I'm teasingly nibbling on the cherry garnish
That is your ear, every curve, every dimple
Finished off with a neck
Like a tall tower of Irish cream
Buttery, rich, velvety and extremely intoxicating
Firewater, with a striking & a bitter kind of hangover:
A knowing smile for a secret shared,
And the throbbing pain of reality
When the fantasy finally fades away
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
Realizing a fresh life growing inside,
What thoughts coursed through my mother’s mind?
Did she gleefully welcome the news?
Or respond to it with a violent shock?
So sure, right away after her fourth baby
With four little kids still needing care
Like chicks in a coop, carrying once again
Might not have been in her scheme of things
Thus at a time when she expected it the least,
Could she beckon the new life growing inside,
With a pleasant nod of head in assent
Or with a suppressed moan of fright, I wonder!
When from nausea she started to suffer
And threw up each time when she ate
Did she curse her man in silence?
Or grow mad with her children and her fate?
Slogging through those weary days
With no respite from her routine chores
Did she get enough rest or care?
Or did she languish without a hand to assist?
Seeing her with an extended waist line
Did some nosy neighbors behind her back
Teasingly utter in hushed whispers
‘Oh, she has done it again!’
Once when I started kicking inside
Was she tickled or greatly annoyed?
When she heard the first ‘lub- dub’ of my heart
Did she feel as two hearts singing in harmony?
As her tummy grew bigger everyday
And sleepless in bed as she tossed
Was she haunted by nightmares bleak?
Or was she visited by dreams of delight?
Travelling closer and closer to those final days
Did she curse herself seeing her in the mirror
Woefully bloated and ripened into a bulge
Or did she wait my arrival in blissful expectation?
Then suddenly one day when the earthquake began
In mild tremors first, then gaining in force
Did she scream mad or cry aloud?
Or did she endure the pain in austere silence?
Then abruptly when I showed myself up
Did she feel any remorse over my ***
And see me as another liability
Added up to the girls already in line
No, I am sure she must have cuddled me close
And locked me in the warmth of her *****
For she was such a rare gift sent from heaven
A mother nonpareil in self effacing love
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 5:08 AM UTC
i stole a cigarette.
no, this isn't a metaphor.
there's just times where I feel
like I deserve to be what falls in the ash tray.
I don't know why I keep trying to harm myself,
If things are going okay...
It's like, I'm so used to the torture and pain,
I don't ever want it to go away.
No wonder I had clung to my razor blades
No wonder I had clung to the trauma
No wonder I developed depression
and look at me now, stealing cigarettes.
Desperately trying to find a way to destroy myself
Fill my lungs with smoke
A stench that is more than just stuck on clothes.
It's the past, coming back to life
inhale
inhale
inhale more
cough
You want to smother these thoughts
Lose them in this smoke and fog
But no, there's no escape
Not even when the cigarette is done
The scars still string your skin
The pain woven deep into your veins
The ****** scabs you keep picking at
It's a coping mechanism
Or a way to slowly die
Is it that... I need to feel something, always?
Is it that... I have fallen in love with Death?
The couple of times, where he teasingly came
close to...
give me a fatal kiss.
Is this what I lust over?
Is this... what I want to feel?
...
In any case... this cigarette is still lit up.
Drifting me more out of myself.
And I disappear like the smoke in the wind.
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 12:51 AM UTC
the fat boy with the ruddy red cheeks
waddled to the front of the counter
eyes shining with the reflection of the
brightly lit menu board above him,
he handed the cashier his crumpled dollar bills
and ***** pennies and eagerly awaited
the arrival of his beloved
it came on a tray, wrapped in thin yellow paper
breathing in the saucy aroma
he felt the corners of his mouth
begin to water with lust
seating himself at a hard plastic booth
he began delicately ********** his greasy lover
slight wisps of steam danced before him
as he surveyed the beauty that lay
seductively on the tray
in between those light tan buns
was charbroiled meaty delight
blanketed by melted yellow cheese
with ketchup and mayo dribbling down the sides
tangy onions and pickles shyly hid themselves
teasingly peaking out here and there
his thick fingers wrapped themselves
around the warm soft buns
bringing that juicy creation to
his wide open mouth
with a grunt and two large bites it was gone
his square teeth tore it apart
the chomping and chewing an opera
he breathed loudly
his eyes were slits of pleasure
as juices escaped and stained his pants
licking his fingers and sighing with satisfaction
the fat boy crumpled up the yellow wrapper
and tossed it in the trash
exiting the scene of his fast love.
Jul 19, 2012
Jul 19, 2012 at 7:51 AM UTC