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"tentacles" poems
i'm your o so wanna be lover I'm afraid not what you would expect though i admit to being a difficult pleasure perhaps a tad strange looking squishy with long tentacles half man half octopus with a winking cycloptic eye i entreat you looks can be deceiving how many pretty boys have you loved crawling worms for a soul that have left you a ruined creel a jagged cry chattering tears of desolation have you ever asked your self who adores you who would give all to protect love and cherish i'm waving my eight arms at you from the center of the universe i eat black holes to kiss your *** am i not a cosmic horror with my big Cthulhu smile quivering with tenderness do you hunger for butter **** lollypop i have two big **** heartbreakers with teardrop curves a feast for your ravenous holes of emptiness and many armed tentacles to hold you tight to slither all over your tender woven caves to pull you into me with suckers that thrill during swirling inky ***** i will unravel your mind your soul tilthed if you can get passed my gray rubbery boneless head i can push this shape-shifting balloon face through your annul tubular contours all the way up your beautiful *** licking salivating tickling into your tender bowel and throat like a great dancing tongue a stretched waving goodness entering your mouth from the back side can pretty pretty do that? come slowly unto me my beloved i am all chromatophores endless glittering nightlights incandescent so we may wander our way through long dim nights ****** in the deep deep dark with tentacle ***** galore an infinity of entertainment for every crevice and desire and one winking cycloptic eye that pierces your soul
0
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 3:31 PM UTC
zebrablack
From the Deep Deep Dark...Ero ****
i'm your o so wanna be lover I'm afraid not what you would expect though i admit to being a difficult pleasure perhaps a tad strange looking squishy with long tentacles half man half octopus with a winking cycloptic eye i entreat you looks can be deceiving how many pretty boys have you loved crawling worms for a soul that have left you a ruined creel a jagged cry chattering tears of desolation have you ever asked your self who adores you who would give all to protect love and cherish i'm waving my eight arms at you from the center of the universe i eat black holes to kiss your *** am i not a cosmic horror with my big Cthulhu smile quivering with tenderness do you hunger for butter **** lollypop i have two big **** heartbreakers with teardrop curves a feast for your ravenous holes of emptiness and many armed tentacles to hold you tight to slither all over your tender woven caves to pull you into me with suckers that thrill during swirling inky ***** i will unravel your mind your soul tilthed if you can get passed my gray rubbery boneless head i can push this shape-shifting balloon face through your annul tubular contours all the way up your beautiful *** licking salivating tickling into your tender bowel and throat like a great dancing tongue a stretched waving goodness entering your mouth from the back side can pretty pretty do that? come slowly unto me my beloved i am all chromatophores endless glittering nightlights incandescent so we may wander our way through long dim nights ****** in the deep deep dark with tentacle ***** galore an infinity of entertainment for every crevice and desire and one winking cycloptic eye that pierces your soul
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59
‘tis but a thing she does The female assassin They say that poison is her weapon… maybe on occasion But that is a level she’s surpassing You see, what they fail to understand is that she doesn't take lives for vengeance ‘tis but a profession The beautiful, tantalizing female killer Her male victim’s obsession One minute she’s a runway model… with her devilishly sinful grin A smile so engrossingly enticing… full, red lips that cut across her face playfully Against her flawlessly peaceful skin One word for that…’killer’ Forbidden pleasures… blissful sin She’s taken out big names… maybe even one or two heads of state To dinners she’s escorted these men… and later on left them in their deadest state She walks through the front door, but when leaving she can scale windows Agility is her forte… ‘Man killer’ she is The black widow… In a red dress You may be reading this thinking you can never fall prey to her seductive tentacles ‘tis an argument I do not even wish to get into I digress.
0
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 8:43 AM UTC
nigel-obiya
Seductive Reaper...
‘tis but a thing she does The female assassin They say that poison is her weapon… maybe on occasion But that is a level she’s surpassing You see, what they fail to understand is that she doesn't take lives for vengeance ‘tis but a profession The beautiful, tantalizing female killer Her male victim’s obsession One minute she’s a runway model… with her devilishly sinful grin A smile so engrossingly enticing… full, red lips that cut across her face playfully Against her flawlessly peaceful skin One word for that…’killer’ Forbidden pleasures… blissful sin She’s taken out big names… maybe even one or two heads of state To dinners she’s escorted these men… and later on left them in their deadest state She walks through the front door, but when leaving she can scale windows Agility is her forte… ‘Man killer’ she is The black widow… In a red dress You may be reading this thinking you can never fall prey to her seductive tentacles ‘tis an argument I do not even wish to get into I digress.
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22
The city spearheads the futures we sincerely sold, As it pluckers your pennies and your coins of gold. I felt poor amid the auras of their fearsome metals, Cowering in the clothes of our daily struggles. I am destitute enough To bleach out the interests of my cards, To shatter your savings for a disabled future, To rummage the stock markets for apertures. Yet within you exhales tentacles of the color Yellow. Yellow as in, The scattered stars that scorch the injured sky, The mellowing voices of neon artificial lights, The apex of fire alight in frostbitten nights, And the yolk of hope my cheers rely. So while you chase the sun with your copper-clad hands, remember but this: all that glitters is not gold, It’s the color Yellow in these eyes I behold.
0
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 10:56 PM UTC
seazyinkwell
The Color Yellow
The city spearheads the futures we sincerely sold, As it pluckers your pennies and your coins of gold. I felt poor amid the auras of their fearsome metals, Cowering in the clothes of our daily struggles. I am destitute enough To bleach out the interests of my cards, To shatter your savings for a disabled future, To rummage the stock markets for apertures. Yet within you exhales tentacles of the color Yellow. Yellow as in, The scattered stars that scorch the injured sky, The mellowing voices of neon artificial lights, The apex of fire alight in frostbitten nights, And the yolk of hope my cheers rely. So while you chase the sun with your copper-clad hands, remember but this: all that glitters is not gold, It’s the color Yellow in these eyes I behold.
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19
Slippery tentacles swirl, overlapping each other in eagerness, engulfing, embracing, the others. To be mindless clay thoughts clumping, and separating with the tide. Slimy, as seaweed but smoother, and yet bumpier as well. Slipping, sliding, simple thoughts of embrace, simple arms of the octopus.
0
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC
anastasia-webb
Octopus Arms
Slippery tentacles swirl, overlapping each other in eagerness, engulfing, embracing, the others. To be mindless clay thoughts clumping, and separating with the tide. Slimy, as seaweed but smoother, and yet bumpier as well. Slipping, sliding, simple thoughts of embrace, simple arms of the octopus.
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20
The flame in my flesh burns tor like Above conventions of average humanity, Propelled to hatred of their opposite By the pristine charm in the streaks of culture, Their Florence comes from the glory of orthodoxities In the time long fibres of religious pockets, Islam, Christian, Hinduism and all that steadily And firmly in piety aver perfection of Godliness, Forgetting the flame of same *** with oral spice In the God made flesh of the dear lesbian daughter, Spell binding the equivalent in blossoms of the gay, Provoking hatred from the threatened heterosexists, But the oral *** of a lesbian is an apex of human pleasure Surpassing all on earth and in heaven, as no human barricade Of whatsoever caliber will cull lesbian’s feelings From the glorious power in the genitals on kiss of lips, As the tongue of the chic wag from side to other Touching fountains of ****** glory in cement of sameness Throwing threats of law and black order to dustbins And trash yards of anachronisms as the power of LGBT Engulfs the young world into in its protégé, Shamelessly tethered on the sensual tentacles Of maximum gusto in the ***** of oral *** with a dear ‘less’ In tune with all rhythms of the times Remaining strange to the conservatives, Ever seeking pleasure from where pain hails Living gloomy life on a brink of melancholia, Worry not lesbian daughter you are powerful, In one away or so, rise up and walk tall You have power in your oral *** Oral *** Oral *** Oral *** of a lesbian!
0
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 4:43 AM UTC
alexander-k-opicho
TOP LESBIAN'S ODE TO ORAL ***
The flame in my flesh burns tor like Above conventions of average humanity, Propelled to hatred of their opposite By the pristine charm in the streaks of culture, Their Florence comes from the glory of orthodoxities In the time long fibres of religious pockets, Islam, Christian, Hinduism and all that steadily And firmly in piety aver perfection of Godliness, Forgetting the flame of same *** with oral spice In the God made flesh of the dear lesbian daughter, Spell binding the equivalent in blossoms of the gay, Provoking hatred from the threatened heterosexists, But the oral *** of a lesbian is an apex of human pleasure Surpassing all on earth and in heaven, as no human barricade Of whatsoever caliber will cull lesbian’s feelings From the glorious power in the genitals on kiss of lips, As the tongue of the chic wag from side to other Touching fountains of ****** glory in cement of sameness Throwing threats of law and black order to dustbins And trash yards of anachronisms as the power of LGBT Engulfs the young world into in its protégé, Shamelessly tethered on the sensual tentacles Of maximum gusto in the ***** of oral *** with a dear ‘less’ In tune with all rhythms of the times Remaining strange to the conservatives, Ever seeking pleasure from where pain hails Living gloomy life on a brink of melancholia, Worry not lesbian daughter you are powerful, In one away or so, rise up and walk tall You have power in your oral *** Oral *** Oral *** Oral *** of a lesbian!
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31
We know you, and your little dark colors too. A picture book in your purse penned in mustaches on the full faces of your fare. We call you from bed, 8 o' clock in the morning, dog-light you slow wander the Peruvian darkness making jellyfish tentacles with your hands while you feel your way through Salem. We're colder than night and we wake thrice the bits of your day gig. You collapse in a green field of dandelion where thrushes drown you in Brown. We gorge ourselves on mango slivers, pineapple yolks, a half of grapefruit. We know you are close to your end. On the tops of the cities you call to your lycan friends, the half-sick and muted bray allures them to you, from Bratislava and Mimon, the thoroughfare through the suq. We wait. The foregone untold, the beep beep jug jug swoop sound of the nightingale, in all her dun glory, we wait. Then, as if descending through the moor-lounging silver smoke, the cool stickiness to your fingertips; the fog. We are there when the blue-less and smoky screen surrounds you, when you shank the auburn Scot hair of the sly fox that stalks, say, a cigarette from your lips. When you take the corners swiftly, gadding the streets. The prize king of vulpicide. You rub its matte fur against your bristly gray beard. And while you lay in your lumps of twelve carat flesh you bleat and you nag. One day you will never come home.
0
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC
martin-narrod
Johnny 3:16
We know you, and your little dark colors too. A picture book in your purse penned in mustaches on the full faces of your fare. We call you from bed, 8 o' clock in the morning, dog-light you slow wander the Peruvian darkness making jellyfish tentacles with your hands while you feel your way through Salem. We're colder than night and we wake thrice the bits of your day gig. You collapse in a green field of dandelion where thrushes drown you in Brown. We gorge ourselves on mango slivers, pineapple yolks, a half of grapefruit. We know you are close to your end. On the tops of the cities you call to your lycan friends, the half-sick and muted bray allures them to you, from Bratislava and Mimon, the thoroughfare through the suq. We wait. The foregone untold, the beep beep jug jug swoop sound of the nightingale, in all her dun glory, we wait. Then, as if descending through the moor-lounging silver smoke, the cool stickiness to your fingertips; the fog. We are there when the blue-less and smoky screen surrounds you, when you shank the auburn Scot hair of the sly fox that stalks, say, a cigarette from your lips. When you take the corners swiftly, gadding the streets. The prize king of vulpicide. You rub its matte fur against your bristly gray beard. And while you lay in your lumps of twelve carat flesh you bleat and you nag. One day you will never come home.
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3
Métis, Themis, Ma’at, their banter was for naught. All the tides and tithings wisdoms and their teachings, Daemonium forgot! But the heavens cry  manna as Nix cried out reprieve! An act that loosed the flood, the chaos of her sea. Her pain arose a champion to tend to all her needs, Formed of Celestial Ocean he bore down on the freed. A giant wave of madness, thrusting mist of sadness eradicating gladness... One led the ruthless breed. Opaque in their beginning, formless shapes in twining. Conjoined but not together, accompanied the weather. Thalassa’s stringy tether wrapped them all forever. Come or go in seasons, live or die in age. No Spring to Fall in reasons, travailing of the mage? Black tentacles the streamers, rooted into wave. Witness the all-wise and snaking phantom phage... Chiron watches while he prances, his dressage on the shore. Arising liminal of beings wettened ambiguity of yore. Even Iblis is impressed, such black rotten to the core! Merkabah or egg, mountain, belly, tree they squabble. All elements do I cobble, such are actions of the wobble.
0
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
david-john-mowers
The Flood
Métis, Themis, Ma’at, their banter was for naught. All the tides and tithings wisdoms and their teachings, Daemonium forgot! But the heavens cry  manna as Nix cried out reprieve! An act that loosed the flood, the chaos of her sea. Her pain arose a champion to tend to all her needs, Formed of Celestial Ocean he bore down on the freed. A giant wave of madness, thrusting mist of sadness eradicating gladness... One led the ruthless breed. Opaque in their beginning, formless shapes in twining. Conjoined but not together, accompanied the weather. Thalassa’s stringy tether wrapped them all forever. Come or go in seasons, live or die in age. No Spring to Fall in reasons, travailing of the mage? Black tentacles the streamers, rooted into wave. Witness the all-wise and snaking phantom phage... Chiron watches while he prances, his dressage on the shore. Arising liminal of beings wettened ambiguity of yore. Even Iblis is impressed, such black rotten to the core! Merkabah or egg, mountain, belly, tree they squabble. All elements do I cobble, such are actions of the wobble.
Continue reading...
19
Spiny jellyfish Tucked in her curves Twinkles her tentacles At the sun Rising with the waves That make her go every which way To the east or to the west She just goes with the flow Letting the current pull her through The oceans pressure and blow holes Spineless jellyfish Drifts through the waters, To the left and to the right And floats with the waves In an endless sea of time
0
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 5:16 AM UTC
adellebee
Spiny Jellyfish
Spiny jellyfish Tucked in her curves Twinkles her tentacles At the sun Rising with the waves That make her go every which way To the east or to the west She just goes with the flow Letting the current pull her through The oceans pressure and blow holes Spineless jellyfish Drifts through the waters, To the left and to the right And floats with the waves In an endless sea of time
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15
Your advice Is my vice And you continue to add vices And you swim like mad pisces Through my stream of thoughts With all the lessons you taught From all the advice you brought So I avoid your glance To not give you the chance To see the results of our fishdance Or how much my life has been enhanced Until I begin to flounder As those pisces become piranha Feeding on other considerations And growing colossal Until your kraken is in my mind Cracking up my mind Stacking up the time It takes to get out of bed As I trust the tentacles that tie me down To a life floating on the surface Of an ocean Where the fish burn like a furnace And I watch the water evaporate Like the advice on which you elaborate As the advice that was once there Is currently water vapor in the air As I start to think of us as a pair From inside my secret underwater lair That is the cavern of my mind Where a school of fish Teach me how to live and die
0
Aug 4, 2017
Aug 4, 2017 at 7:49 AM UTC
andrew-rueter
Fish
Your advice Is my vice And you continue to add vices And you swim like mad pisces Through my stream of thoughts With all the lessons you taught From all the advice you brought So I avoid your glance To not give you the chance To see the results of our fishdance Or how much my life has been enhanced Until I begin to flounder As those pisces become piranha Feeding on other considerations And growing colossal Until your kraken is in my mind Cracking up my mind Stacking up the time It takes to get out of bed As I trust the tentacles that tie me down To a life floating on the surface Of an ocean Where the fish burn like a furnace And I watch the water evaporate Like the advice on which you elaborate As the advice that was once there Is currently water vapor in the air As I start to think of us as a pair From inside my secret underwater lair That is the cavern of my mind Where a school of fish Teach me how to live and die
Continue reading...
32
Pink and said to be mean Your tentacles tend to scare me You're often alone, are you lonely? Drymonema larsoni... don't worry We can be friends, just don't sting me.. Native to the Mediterranean, Caribbean, and The Gulf of Mexico.. Searching for Moon Jellies and feasting once they're found They wrap their tentacles around- them and drag them in What a cruel fate? you may think that but we do the same thing.
0
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 6:56 AM UTC
Jellyfish
The Pink Meanie
Pink and said to be mean Your tentacles tend to scare me You're often alone, are you lonely? Drymonema larsoni... don't worry We can be friends, just don't sting me.. Native to the Mediterranean, Caribbean, and The Gulf of Mexico.. Searching for Moon Jellies and feasting once they're found They wrap their tentacles around- them and drag them in What a cruel fate? you may think that but we do the same thing.
Continue reading...
9
Tentacles with impressive girth From space, rain down to Earth In furious flurry, birthing A new reign of terror Oy vey! Scream the globalist elite Suspended in animation As throbbing veins, Snares, entangling Penetrate their every orifice Nonconsensually
0
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 1:58 PM UTC
duderocketship
Tentacle Erotica
Tentacles with impressive girth From space, rain down to Earth In furious flurry, birthing A new reign of terror Oy vey! Scream the globalist elite Suspended in animation As throbbing veins, Snares, entangling Penetrate their every orifice Nonconsensually
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10
Poor little octopus. Big head and eight tentacles but no ***** ***** or testicles. What's that, you say? Then how do these poor little cephalopods buck such terrible odds when they feel like a ****** agenda and they don't have any pudenda? Well, it's quite simple, really. He hands her ***** on a tentacle and what do you suppose? She says, thank you very much, and sticks it up her nose! Honest. No dinner first or shoulder massage, she just whacks it up her nasal passage. You can be quite sure this is an amazing olfactory aperture. So the moral is, don't complicate a simple process. When you're feeling frisky, *** need not be tricky. Just consider the inventiveness of the octopus with no ***** or a ******** Because it's the ingenuity of the octopus, not it's ****** act, that we should court. Compared to the octopus, the human nose is naught. It's too high up and tight for such naughty, wicked sport.   Also, such a human act is fraught with political incorrectness.   A gentleman who tries this little rort to get the girls to snort and says, up your nostril, madam, might all too well receive a rude retort. Or even worse! I say herein lies food for thought.                                                                                      Mike T Minehan
0
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 5:15 PM UTC
mike-t-minehan
Octopussies
Poor little octopus. Big head and eight tentacles but no ***** ***** or testicles. What's that, you say? Then how do these poor little cephalopods buck such terrible odds when they feel like a ****** agenda and they don't have any pudenda? Well, it's quite simple, really. He hands her ***** on a tentacle and what do you suppose? She says, thank you very much, and sticks it up her nose! Honest. No dinner first or shoulder massage, she just whacks it up her nasal passage. You can be quite sure this is an amazing olfactory aperture. So the moral is, don't complicate a simple process. When you're feeling frisky, *** need not be tricky. Just consider the inventiveness of the octopus with no ***** or a ******** Because it's the ingenuity of the octopus, not it's ****** act, that we should court. Compared to the octopus, the human nose is naught. It's too high up and tight for such naughty, wicked sport.   Also, such a human act is fraught with political incorrectness.   A gentleman who tries this little rort to get the girls to snort and says, up your nostril, madam, might all too well receive a rude retort. Or even worse! I say herein lies food for thought.                                                                                      Mike T Minehan
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25
I need only to smirk and you’re mine Anytime If it’s god that you want I have dozens in mind Devilishly divine Bending time like a grandeur delusional Spine   In a mad hatter ectoplas-mystical slime A prismatic drug addict’s first nursery rhyme Of accursed hearse verses of graphic design Now to lay to rest intellect spectacles musing Of selves glorified more than those of my choosing To deify Destiny’s Deathly serenity Plentifully sending me vibrant surprises And penning my ending in violent demises Disguises surmised by the climate arises Girl always there riding my similar waves As I try to save face digging mechanized graves But the cloud tentacles To the depths Drag me down To demented ascension Black holes in the ground Where disciples of light And my huntress in white Vivify me by day Resurrect me at night To instruct and deduct Reasoning in a state Of a being supreme Contemplating its fate
0
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 4:52 PM UTC
michael-marchese
The Sentience on Acid
I need only to smirk and you’re mine Anytime If it’s god that you want I have dozens in mind Devilishly divine Bending time like a grandeur delusional Spine   In a mad hatter ectoplas-mystical slime A prismatic drug addict’s first nursery rhyme Of accursed hearse verses of graphic design Now to lay to rest intellect spectacles musing Of selves glorified more than those of my choosing To deify Destiny’s Deathly serenity Plentifully sending me vibrant surprises And penning my ending in violent demises Disguises surmised by the climate arises Girl always there riding my similar waves As I try to save face digging mechanized graves But the cloud tentacles To the depths Drag me down To demented ascension Black holes in the ground Where disciples of light And my huntress in white Vivify me by day Resurrect me at night To instruct and deduct Reasoning in a state Of a being supreme Contemplating its fate
Continue reading...
32
Octavian Octopus lives In the sea with eight long tentacles to hug you and me He spends his days with Seahorse Sabrina who dreams longingly of being a ballerina Octavian wants so much to be like his crony but sadly, all of his dance moves are bologna. Still he felt that he needed to impress his funky fresh pal in the pretty pink dress so for hours, Octavian practiced his spins and his twirls he even got a costume with glittery frills So came the day of the big talent show He could show old Sabrina that he too, was a pro But alas, half way through his act his big squirmy arms got caught in a crack He tripped and he stumbled and fell off the platform tears started to fall and away, he started to storm "Stop!" a voice shouted at him and he turned around to see his best friend Sabrina giggling with glee "the very best dancer, you don't need to be if you really want to be friends with me" He smiled and she laughed "you're very cool, you silly-old-goof, but just be yourself, not a stumbling doof"
0
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 10:43 AM UTC
LibertineScream
Octopus and seahorse
Octavian Octopus lives In the sea with eight long tentacles to hug you and me He spends his days with Seahorse Sabrina who dreams longingly of being a ballerina Octavian wants so much to be like his crony but sadly, all of his dance moves are bologna. Still he felt that he needed to impress his funky fresh pal in the pretty pink dress so for hours, Octavian practiced his spins and his twirls he even got a costume with glittery frills So came the day of the big talent show He could show old Sabrina that he too, was a pro But alas, half way through his act his big squirmy arms got caught in a crack He tripped and he stumbled and fell off the platform tears started to fall and away, he started to storm "Stop!" a voice shouted at him and he turned around to see his best friend Sabrina giggling with glee "the very best dancer, you don't need to be if you really want to be friends with me" He smiled and she laughed "you're very cool, you silly-old-goof, but just be yourself, not a stumbling doof"
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44
She was swimming for so long so when she felt the octopus grab her arm she thought nothing of it. Until it pulled her under to where she was surrounded by the greenish blue tentacles. She could see the jellyfish in the distance, the ones she had been swimming to, for so long... But the octopus grew on her she began to love it. Their love grew and grew, until the octopus swam away... so far she could barely see it anymore. eventually she began swimming again but in the opposite direction, looking for it. When she couldn't swim anymore, she slowly sank. She was lost for days, but he found her again and wrapped her up. But when she woke up, she was different. And everything was faded.
0
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 11:30 PM UTC
Jellyfish
The Octopus and Jellyfish Faded.
She was swimming for so long so when she felt the octopus grab her arm she thought nothing of it. Until it pulled her under to where she was surrounded by the greenish blue tentacles. She could see the jellyfish in the distance, the ones she had been swimming to, for so long... But the octopus grew on her she began to love it. Their love grew and grew, until the octopus swam away... so far she could barely see it anymore. eventually she began swimming again but in the opposite direction, looking for it. When she couldn't swim anymore, she slowly sank. She was lost for days, but he found her again and wrapped her up. But when she woke up, she was different. And everything was faded.
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16
Rising from the sand at low tide, The shipwreck’s spars, brown wet, decaying Reaching like skeletal fingers, grasping For one last piece of the breaking daylight Tentacles of seaweed, woven Wrapped around decaying planks Anchoring it firmly To Davy Jones’ Locker Barnacle encrusted planks Lie twisted, turned, unnatural Frozen in a final plea of mercy Before white tipped monsters Crashed across the bow, Splitting, tearing masts Sending it to the murky depths
0
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 3:12 PM UTC
nick-strong
Shipwreck
Rising from the sand at low tide, The shipwreck’s spars, brown wet, decaying Reaching like skeletal fingers, grasping For one last piece of the breaking daylight Tentacles of seaweed, woven Wrapped around decaying planks Anchoring it firmly To Davy Jones’ Locker Barnacle encrusted planks Lie twisted, turned, unnatural Frozen in a final plea of mercy Before white tipped monsters Crashed across the bow, Splitting, tearing masts Sending it to the murky depths
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15
palace of lights caved blooms through the body like reality pitted against a comic book not knowing where life came from not knowing how it will end food tubes or road **** is creation substance-less? 24 carat nonsense, or pure wisdom? perhaps bad therapy for lab animals and store front dummies monkeys shudder at needles unless candied with a heroine syringe chemistry a science of belligerence and euphoria pleasure before despair and than a sea of pain and a **** impaling her the lushly contoured female a frictionless exchange of power for ******* ecstatic death as her eyes bob and flutter like cascading echo's my birth tarot card **** of swords her favorite when I push through her like blood bubble gum b l o o d b u b b a b u b b le g u m a **** cathedral of lights flicker spit guttural diphthong like a vipers castanets uterine fire bursts like an appendix bomb her **** a zoo c u n t z o o i am peanuts worms and hay her face a mask to hide behind breath play sibilant **** specter or nightmares shadows and villains aphrodiac gagged and drugged hot ***** bound a big eyed **** s l u t l o v e *** cannibals turn me on her ****** a goddess a Russian roulette for shtttty kisses sploosh she shot me cuckoo spit k o cuck  k o  k o o twizzles willie milk in a drowning moss draped moon orifice under a shattered zodiac wrapped in tentacles of night she turns me on
0
Feb 9, 2019
Feb 9, 2019 at 1:44 PM UTC
zebrablack
She Turns Me On...Cunt Zoo Manga
palace of lights caved blooms through the body like reality pitted against a comic book not knowing where life came from not knowing how it will end food tubes or road **** is creation substance-less? 24 carat nonsense, or pure wisdom? perhaps bad therapy for lab animals and store front dummies monkeys shudder at needles unless candied with a heroine syringe chemistry a science of belligerence and euphoria pleasure before despair and than a sea of pain and a **** impaling her the lushly contoured female a frictionless exchange of power for ******* ecstatic death as her eyes bob and flutter like cascading echo's my birth tarot card **** of swords her favorite when I push through her like blood bubble gum b l o o d b u b b a b u b b le g u m a **** cathedral of lights flicker spit guttural diphthong like a vipers castanets uterine fire bursts like an appendix bomb her **** a zoo c u n t z o o i am peanuts worms and hay her face a mask to hide behind breath play sibilant **** specter or nightmares shadows and villains aphrodiac gagged and drugged hot ***** bound a big eyed **** s l u t l o v e *** cannibals turn me on her ****** a goddess a Russian roulette for shtttty kisses sploosh she shot me cuckoo spit k o cuck  k o  k o o twizzles willie milk in a drowning moss draped moon orifice under a shattered zodiac wrapped in tentacles of night she turns me on
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59
MA KING AME-RICA GRATE AGIN ( for Brian ) "Your mum's an alien..an... ha ha ha ha alien!" the children chant and taunt. I see through tears their sneers and hated etched upon their features like a mask they could/couldn't take off. It is like a thousand years ago all over again. The Age of the thing called Trump when humans were both orange and stupid. Now we have computers built into each whorl facts at our fingertips with just a finger snap we can call up what used to be called videos of the Trump thing teaching humans how to hate. I, unlike my sisters am not green except for a slight greenish hue every now and then. I am more the chameleon and can blend in. I have the necessary arms and the obligatory number of eyes. Only my mum and sisters look like a lurid 1950's comic "THEY CAME FROM OUTER SPACE!" yet earth would not be here if aliens( us )had  not come to save them from themselves back when earth had entered the Age of Dictators as the history apps. quaintly put it Now is come again the hateful hate ma king Ame-rica grate again like a mind grinding its teeth. I'm sorry am the English no good and the spelling as well we will have to hide behind our mind walls that we had to build to keep humans out. My mother taking me lovingly in her tentacles stroking me and drying my eyes and making tea With a snap of my fingers I bring up my favourite video and a Kermit hologram floats before my face "It's not that  easy bein' green!" and I singalong like any human being "...when green is all there is to be."
0
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 5:10 AM UTC
donall-dempsey
MA KING AME-RICA GRATE AGIN( for Brian )
MA KING AME-RICA GRATE AGIN ( for Brian ) "Your mum's an alien..an... ha ha ha ha alien!" the children chant and taunt. I see through tears their sneers and hated etched upon their features like a mask they could/couldn't take off. It is like a thousand years ago all over again. The Age of the thing called Trump when humans were both orange and stupid. Now we have computers built into each whorl facts at our fingertips with just a finger snap we can call up what used to be called videos of the Trump thing teaching humans how to hate. I, unlike my sisters am not green except for a slight greenish hue every now and then. I am more the chameleon and can blend in. I have the necessary arms and the obligatory number of eyes. Only my mum and sisters look like a lurid 1950's comic "THEY CAME FROM OUTER SPACE!" yet earth would not be here if aliens( us )had  not come to save them from themselves back when earth had entered the Age of Dictators as the history apps. quaintly put it Now is come again the hateful hate ma king Ame-rica grate again like a mind grinding its teeth. I'm sorry am the English no good and the spelling as well we will have to hide behind our mind walls that we had to build to keep humans out. My mother taking me lovingly in her tentacles stroking me and drying my eyes and making tea With a snap of my fingers I bring up my favourite video and a Kermit hologram floats before my face "It's not that  easy bein' green!" and I singalong like any human being "...when green is all there is to be."
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71
When they get to the aquarium, the kid asks if they have a Great White shark exhibit. The volunteer says no, we don’t. The kid asks, “Why? are you afraid he might try to eat people?” The volunteer chuckles at this and tells him no. no aquarium has successfully held a Great White shark live for more than a few days. You see, in order to stay alive, Great Whites and other sharks, like hammerheads, swim on their own continuously through the ocean, never stopping, never slowing, tramping a perpetual journey with many miles to go before they finally reach “sleep”. If they stop, the oxygen rich water around them no longer flows over their gills and into their bodies and they suffocate from the strain of being at rest. So they keep going, like lost children searching for their parents in a very large amusement park. This need to keep moving, this need for space, has made it extremely difficult to keep them in our meager glass human death cages. When the Monterey bay aquarium managed to capture a juvenile that didn’t thrash itself to death like the adult sharks they netted before, it bashed its head against the tank’s sturdy walls until the shock of being dragged out of its home and put in the equivalent of a coffin killed it. But, the volunteer continued cheerfully, we have other kinds of sharks here. We have zebra sharks, which don’t need to swim nonstop. In their natural habitat, they just lie on the ocean floor all day. The kid agrees to go see them The zebra sharks are not lying on the floor nor do they look like zebras. They swim slowly past him, leopard spots dotting their ridges on their backs, their fins, their long tails. “They’re called zebra sharks because of the zebra like patterns of the juveniles,” the volunteer explains. The ones we have here are adults.When they become adults, they get the spots and those ridges you see. Sometimes people mistake them for leopard sharks, which are a totally different species.” The kid stares at the zebra sharks for a full ten minutes, looking for a sign of resignation at being called something they weren’t anymore, at collectively being referred to by a childhood nickname they had long outgrown. They did not seem to care. He gets bored and goes to other exhibits, the split fin flashlight fish blinking on and off in their darkened tank, the touch pool, the medusa jellyfish with their trailing tentacles. But the sharks are what he remembers when he leaves, and they’re what he remember when he returns three months later, six months later, two years later, three, five, ten, this is what stays with him, the sharks in our tanks and the sharks in the ocean.
0
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 2:20 AM UTC
SilverBullet
At the aquarium.
When they get to the aquarium, the kid asks if they have a Great White shark exhibit. The volunteer says no, we don’t. The kid asks, “Why? are you afraid he might try to eat people?” The volunteer chuckles at this and tells him no. no aquarium has successfully held a Great White shark live for more than a few days. You see, in order to stay alive, Great Whites and other sharks, like hammerheads, swim on their own continuously through the ocean, never stopping, never slowing, tramping a perpetual journey with many miles to go before they finally reach “sleep”. If they stop, the oxygen rich water around them no longer flows over their gills and into their bodies and they suffocate from the strain of being at rest. So they keep going, like lost children searching for their parents in a very large amusement park. This need to keep moving, this need for space, has made it extremely difficult to keep them in our meager glass human death cages. When the Monterey bay aquarium managed to capture a juvenile that didn’t thrash itself to death like the adult sharks they netted before, it bashed its head against the tank’s sturdy walls until the shock of being dragged out of its home and put in the equivalent of a coffin killed it. But, the volunteer continued cheerfully, we have other kinds of sharks here. We have zebra sharks, which don’t need to swim nonstop. In their natural habitat, they just lie on the ocean floor all day. The kid agrees to go see them The zebra sharks are not lying on the floor nor do they look like zebras. They swim slowly past him, leopard spots dotting their ridges on their backs, their fins, their long tails. “They’re called zebra sharks because of the zebra like patterns of the juveniles,” the volunteer explains. The ones we have here are adults.When they become adults, they get the spots and those ridges you see. Sometimes people mistake them for leopard sharks, which are a totally different species.” The kid stares at the zebra sharks for a full ten minutes, looking for a sign of resignation at being called something they weren’t anymore, at collectively being referred to by a childhood nickname they had long outgrown. They did not seem to care. He gets bored and goes to other exhibits, the split fin flashlight fish blinking on and off in their darkened tank, the touch pool, the medusa jellyfish with their trailing tentacles. But the sharks are what he remembers when he leaves, and they’re what he remember when he returns three months later, six months later, two years later, three, five, ten, this is what stays with him, the sharks in our tanks and the sharks in the ocean.
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10
But why did I **** him? Why? Why? In the small, gilded room, near the stair? My ears rack and throb with his cry, And his eyes goggle under his hair, As my fingers sink into the fair White skin of his throat. It was I! I killed him! My God! Don't you hear? I shook him until his red tongue Hung flapping out through the black, queer, Swollen lines of his lips. And I clung With my nails drawing blood, while I flung The loose, heavy body in fear. Fear lest he should still not be dead. I was drunk with the lust of his life. The blood-drops oozed slow from his head And dabbled a chair. And our strife Lasted one reeling second, his knife Lay and winked in the lights overhead. And the waltz from the ballroom I heard, When I called him a low, sneaking cur. And the wail of the violins stirred My brute anger with visions of her. As I throttled his windpipe, the purr Of his breath with the waltz became blurred. I have ridden ten miles through the dark, With that music, an infernal din, Pounding rhythmic inside me. Just Hark! One! Two! Three! And my fingers sink in To his flesh when the violins, thin And straining with passion, grow stark. One! Two! Three! Oh, the horror of sound! While she danced I was crushing his throat. He had tasted the joy of her, wound Round her body, and I heard him gloat On the favour. That instant I smote. One! Two! Three! How the dancers swirl round! He is here in the room, in my arm, His limp body hangs on the spin Of the waltz we are dancing, a swarm Of blood-drops is hemming us in! Round and round! One! Two! Three! And his sin Is red like his tongue lolling warm. One! Two! Three! And the drums are his knell. He is heavy, his feet beat the floor As I drag him about in the swell Of the waltz. With a menacing roar, The trumpets crash in through the door. One! Two! Three! clangs his funeral bell. One! Two! Three! In the chaos of space Rolls the earth to the hideous glee Of death! And so cramped is this place, I stifle and pant. One! Two! Three! Round and round! God! 'Tis he throttles me! He has covered my mouth with his face! And his blood has dripped into my heart! And my heart beats and labours. One! Two! Three! His dead limbs have coiled every part Of my body in tentacles. Through My ears the waltz jangles. Like glue His dead body holds me athwart. One! Two! Three! Give me air! Oh! My God! One! Two! Three! I am drowning in slime! One! Two! Three! And his corpse, like a clod, Beats me into a jelly! The chime, One! Two! Three! And his dead legs keep time. Air! Give me air! Air! My God!
0
4.6k
Amy Lowell
After Hearing A Waltz By Bartok
But why did I **** him? Why? Why? In the small, gilded room, near the stair? My ears rack and throb with his cry, And his eyes goggle under his hair, As my fingers sink into the fair White skin of his throat. It was I! I killed him! My God! Don't you hear? I shook him until his red tongue Hung flapping out through the black, queer, Swollen lines of his lips. And I clung With my nails drawing blood, while I flung The loose, heavy body in fear. Fear lest he should still not be dead. I was drunk with the lust of his life. The blood-drops oozed slow from his head And dabbled a chair. And our strife Lasted one reeling second, his knife Lay and winked in the lights overhead. And the waltz from the ballroom I heard, When I called him a low, sneaking cur. And the wail of the violins stirred My brute anger with visions of her. As I throttled his windpipe, the purr Of his breath with the waltz became blurred. I have ridden ten miles through the dark, With that music, an infernal din, Pounding rhythmic inside me. Just Hark! One! Two! Three! And my fingers sink in To his flesh when the violins, thin And straining with passion, grow stark. One! Two! Three! Oh, the horror of sound! While she danced I was crushing his throat. He had tasted the joy of her, wound Round her body, and I heard him gloat On the favour. That instant I smote. One! Two! Three! How the dancers swirl round! He is here in the room, in my arm, His limp body hangs on the spin Of the waltz we are dancing, a swarm Of blood-drops is hemming us in! Round and round! One! Two! Three! And his sin Is red like his tongue lolling warm. One! Two! Three! And the drums are his knell. He is heavy, his feet beat the floor As I drag him about in the swell Of the waltz. With a menacing roar, The trumpets crash in through the door. One! Two! Three! clangs his funeral bell. One! Two! Three! In the chaos of space Rolls the earth to the hideous glee Of death! And so cramped is this place, I stifle and pant. One! Two! Three! Round and round! God! 'Tis he throttles me! He has covered my mouth with his face! And his blood has dripped into my heart! And my heart beats and labours. One! Two! Three! His dead limbs have coiled every part Of my body in tentacles. Through My ears the waltz jangles. Like glue His dead body holds me athwart. One! Two! Three! Give me air! Oh! My God! One! Two! Three! I am drowning in slime! One! Two! Three! And his corpse, like a clod, Beats me into a jelly! The chime, One! Two! Three! And his dead legs keep time. Air! Give me air! Air! My God!
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66
Lonely is a monster, Crawling from under your everyday thoughts, Slowly turning your mind upside down, Making you wish for things to end. For things to stop. Lonely hasn't got a shape; it forms itself through your fears and weaknesses. Lonely is a monster, Destroying you from within, A designed killer with a wicked power, Entering your head and spreading dark lies, Hoping to find some release in your pain. Lonely is a monster, Feeding on your insecurities and your failures, Wishing for more. Lonely is a monster, Moving its tentacles around in your head, searching for fears, Looking for more. Lonely is a monster, A lonely monster, created by you, fed by you, controlled by you. You give it its power to destroy you, You give it all it needs to live and settle within you. Lonely is a monster, a representation of all that you feel, Your concerns, Your pain, Your weakness, The dark side of you. Lonely is a monster, Looking for company, Looking for someone to break the monster, To change it into a person, To make you appear. Lonely is a monster, A sad monster, A weak monster, A scared monster, A hurt monster, A monster that wishes to be something else, Something that can be loved and cherished, Loved and cherished, Loved and cherished.
0
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 1:51 PM UTC
turnoffthelights
Lonely is a monster
Lonely is a monster, Crawling from under your everyday thoughts, Slowly turning your mind upside down, Making you wish for things to end. For things to stop. Lonely hasn't got a shape; it forms itself through your fears and weaknesses. Lonely is a monster, Destroying you from within, A designed killer with a wicked power, Entering your head and spreading dark lies, Hoping to find some release in your pain. Lonely is a monster, Feeding on your insecurities and your failures, Wishing for more. Lonely is a monster, Moving its tentacles around in your head, searching for fears, Looking for more. Lonely is a monster, A lonely monster, created by you, fed by you, controlled by you. You give it its power to destroy you, You give it all it needs to live and settle within you. Lonely is a monster, a representation of all that you feel, Your concerns, Your pain, Your weakness, The dark side of you. Lonely is a monster, Looking for company, Looking for someone to break the monster, To change it into a person, To make you appear. Lonely is a monster, A sad monster, A weak monster, A scared monster, A hurt monster, A monster that wishes to be something else, Something that can be loved and cherished, Loved and cherished, Loved and cherished.
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40
ONE man sits in a pristine state of loneliness his one heart in perfect singularity waiting to be found not bothering to search waiting to find himself as a part of TWO hands held with two beats, the quiet lub-dub of each of the two hearts slightly out of synchronization overlapping just a touch so the two double beats become a beat of THREE perfect circles in descending sizes in each of their eyes of which there are FOUR lip touches to say goodbye because the first would’ve been the last without the second, the second wasn’t sufficient and the third wasn’t enough and the fourth would lead to kiss number FIVE fingers locked around five fingers on the small of her back and five fingers wrapped up in his hair he wishes he had more fingers to make the hold stronger he wishes he had SIX syllables spoken between them the same three words repeated so they know that their hearts beat a little bit closer the veins and arteries wrapping around the other pulling it in pulling the beats together making them a little less disjointed but she’s all the nearer comatose, her slow beats in this minute barely reached SEVEN sounds that he counts in every minute that he stands there unable to sit his legs locked, shut like her eyes that he wants to stare into he shakes she does not stir even as the sun climbs higher in the morning sky she does not stir he counts more sounds every minute he counts as they go from seven to EIGHT arms and legs wrapped like tentacles wrapped so tight never wanting to release and show the red suction marks from each of their fingers on the other’s skin like an octopus their eight limbs holding together their one heart it’s dull lub-dub beat in perfect synchronization with itself in the perfect opposite of a pristine state of loneliness
0
Jan 5, 2011
Jan 5, 2011 at 3:01 PM UTC
gs-white
Octopus
ONE man sits in a pristine state of loneliness his one heart in perfect singularity waiting to be found not bothering to search waiting to find himself as a part of TWO hands held with two beats, the quiet lub-dub of each of the two hearts slightly out of synchronization overlapping just a touch so the two double beats become a beat of THREE perfect circles in descending sizes in each of their eyes of which there are FOUR lip touches to say goodbye because the first would’ve been the last without the second, the second wasn’t sufficient and the third wasn’t enough and the fourth would lead to kiss number FIVE fingers locked around five fingers on the small of her back and five fingers wrapped up in his hair he wishes he had more fingers to make the hold stronger he wishes he had SIX syllables spoken between them the same three words repeated so they know that their hearts beat a little bit closer the veins and arteries wrapping around the other pulling it in pulling the beats together making them a little less disjointed but she’s all the nearer comatose, her slow beats in this minute barely reached SEVEN sounds that he counts in every minute that he stands there unable to sit his legs locked, shut like her eyes that he wants to stare into he shakes she does not stir even as the sun climbs higher in the morning sky she does not stir he counts more sounds every minute he counts as they go from seven to EIGHT arms and legs wrapped like tentacles wrapped so tight never wanting to release and show the red suction marks from each of their fingers on the other’s skin like an octopus their eight limbs holding together their one heart it’s dull lub-dub beat in perfect synchronization with itself in the perfect opposite of a pristine state of loneliness
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105
I am sitting at a desk, back straight, head forward, eyes open. Blink. Economics melts into white noise as supply curves become demand curves become supply curves, elasticity. Water weeps through the crevasses of the windows and ceiling, mocking my ever fragile existence. Ankle deep in yesterday's cold forgotten words unsaid, the lesson advances. Demand curves become supply curves become demand curves, consumer surplus. A single drop christens my desk and terror fills my long hollow eyes as the ceiling mutates into a congregation of puddles. Rain that felt of hydrochloric acid dissolved the very flesh I tried to escape. God is not so sweet when it comes to sinners, confining me to the barriers of an insignificant wooden desk. The class remains like mannequins, indifference radiating from their plastic cores. Supply curves become demand curves become supply curves, externalities. The only witness to this nightmare,   my last breathe finally deserts me. I tense as the numbing waves climb up my spine,   injecting lethargy in each individual vertebra. Malicious tentacles wrap around my throat and water floods my collapsing black lungs.   White noise consumes the entire classroom as I float in and out of paralysis,   only to open my eyes. Blink.
0
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
lady-lazarus
A moment
I am sitting at a desk, back straight, head forward, eyes open. Blink. Economics melts into white noise as supply curves become demand curves become supply curves, elasticity. Water weeps through the crevasses of the windows and ceiling, mocking my ever fragile existence. Ankle deep in yesterday's cold forgotten words unsaid, the lesson advances. Demand curves become supply curves become demand curves, consumer surplus. A single drop christens my desk and terror fills my long hollow eyes as the ceiling mutates into a congregation of puddles. Rain that felt of hydrochloric acid dissolved the very flesh I tried to escape. God is not so sweet when it comes to sinners, confining me to the barriers of an insignificant wooden desk. The class remains like mannequins, indifference radiating from their plastic cores. Supply curves become demand curves become supply curves, externalities. The only witness to this nightmare,   my last breathe finally deserts me. I tense as the numbing waves climb up my spine,   injecting lethargy in each individual vertebra. Malicious tentacles wrap around my throat and water floods my collapsing black lungs.   White noise consumes the entire classroom as I float in and out of paralysis,   only to open my eyes. Blink.
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25
there's this jellyfish stuck in my head he swims there day and night and lights up the dark inside of my skull a bioluminescent, fluorescent jellyfish swollen and pink he likes to shock me lighting up the dark inside of my skull he has long, coral tentacles they squeeze around my brain and he hugs it and pretends to be a part of it I think he gets a little lonely up there if you ask me no one to talk to in the dark inside my skull there's this poor, poor jellyfish stuck in my head who swims laps around my brain as though the space in someone's head could ever be as good as an ocean perhaps someday I will set him free perhaps I will crack open my skull and it will no longer be dark inside of there pink will spew out a large mushy brain with a jellyfish attached his long, coral tentacles will claw at the air like tendrils of bubblegum until someone brings him to the ocean where he belongs there's this jellyfish stuck in my head and he's very confused because my head looks nothing like an ocean
0
Dec 28, 2017
Dec 28, 2017 at 12:41 AM UTC
Bluehairedboyo
the jellyfish in my head
there's this jellyfish stuck in my head he swims there day and night and lights up the dark inside of my skull a bioluminescent, fluorescent jellyfish swollen and pink he likes to shock me lighting up the dark inside of my skull he has long, coral tentacles they squeeze around my brain and he hugs it and pretends to be a part of it I think he gets a little lonely up there if you ask me no one to talk to in the dark inside my skull there's this poor, poor jellyfish stuck in my head who swims laps around my brain as though the space in someone's head could ever be as good as an ocean perhaps someday I will set him free perhaps I will crack open my skull and it will no longer be dark inside of there pink will spew out a large mushy brain with a jellyfish attached his long, coral tentacles will claw at the air like tendrils of bubblegum until someone brings him to the ocean where he belongs there's this jellyfish stuck in my head and he's very confused because my head looks nothing like an ocean
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39
Tentacles grasping for nutrition Soaking in everything around you. Filled with visceral emotion overload Angered by the world's injustices You must then express yourself in ink To empty.
0
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 7:32 AM UTC
white-widow
Octopus
Tentacles grasping for nutrition Soaking in everything around you. Filled with visceral emotion overload Angered by the world's injustices You must then express yourself in ink To empty.
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6