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"unmentionables" poems
You came to me many times In distress and in shambles I held you close and gave comfort I let you sadly ramble I was there for you In loneliness, grief, and success You were there for me as well When life gave me the hardest test But what I could not see You hid behind a veil It distorted what I saw It corrupted that which I felt This veil of sorts I would call it a mask Allowed you to take things from me As you creaked in from the back You snuck up behind me You defiled what I confided It wasn't my friendship you were after It was the one that betrayed me in which you were guided This mask it so blocked That which I could not see Your eyes of deceit And your face as it gleamed For the one that was not For the one that was coarse It gleamed for the one That one to whom you showed remorse Of all the time we spent Bonding and growing It is with her now Her now with which you are moaning In the bed which her and I shared Many a heated and passionate night To where my unmentionables were stored In her body so tight Live your life with one eye As it looks out far and beyond For it is I that will be creaking Creaking up behind you one morn.
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Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 6:02 AM UTC
Mask
What filth from such a sweet girl not sweet never was just too lazy to speak truths apathy breeds misconceptions those who care may not share no, not an innocent doe I'd hit that 'til the sun comes up and some and one slam dunk in the face of foes don't suppose you expected much from the quiet kind of gal, just a smile now and then blush at the mention of unmentionables ***** I'd make your skin crawl right off tell some deep dark secrets thoughts of the perverted it's all a ****** rodeo if red is the seductive, the loss of purity I'm blood on sheets forming words that should never be strung together but forever and ever masquerading as nonthreatening begging for a chase to hunt and be challenged shown the world from the truest source of understanding.
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Aug 4, 2012
Aug 4, 2012 at 10:03 PM UTC
The Best is Yet to ***
Fandango cartography Dance of our lives Verbarxenelasia breast but not thigh Ruricolist unmentionables off to the side Blowlamp irradiance, pistil niche guide Sacerdotal ceremony the cloven hoof of ******* saints Intrinsic allegory to despoil trust and heart deflate Inaudible uproarious potvaliant jingoism schism Suppurateing deep held fears ungrounded sparks annihilate
0
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 8:25 PM UTC
In umbra of a women's mind
Sarah Wilson's blouses and unmentionables hang one-hundred feet above the vacant stomachs of strays who sniff suspicious puddles of dumpster runoff and rainwater little broken suns drip down brick mountains beneath condemned fire escapes
0
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
alleyway egg yolks
1.  If you aren't moving your hands while telling a story, it's a boring ******* story.  Add in something to make it exciting, like a chance encounter with a tiger.  So what if no one believes that tigers walk down 5th avenue, at least your story doesn't **** any more.  You know whose story ***** now?  That ******* who doesn't believe a tiger can make it in the big city. 2.  Make bad mistakes every once in awhile.  How will you know that you don't want to be part of a Colombian Drug Cartel unless you try it out for a few weeks?  Who knows, maybe you'll find out it's your true calling.  Maybe you'll stage a coup, take over the whole thing and get the hot girl in the red dress.  But no, you're sitting at your computer reading this.  My point is, drugs are bad ok? 3.  Don't be that guy who thinks he's better than everyone else because he always "does the right thing".  You know why he's never made a mistake?  Because he doesn't have a real life.  His life is as real as a Ken Doll's unmentionables.  Yeah it's all smooth and shiny, but he can't have any fun with it.  What's the point of  having a life that can't be potentially ruined by terrible decisions? 4.  Take chances.  and I don't mean by putting "Piccolo Pete's Face Burning Tabasco" on your hotdog.  I mean walk up to the next girl you see and give her a passionate kiss the likes of which she hasn't had since 3 days ago when she drunkenly made out with some random dude at a bar.  Yeah, you may feel like you've just been kneed in the groin and/or maced multiple times in the eye...but you know what?  You just made out with a beautiful woman, and you've got a good lawyer. 5.  Don't take advice from people you don't know.  Especially some random person on the internet, those people are just shady.
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Jun 6, 2012
Jun 6, 2012 at 8:02 PM UTC
Instructions for Life
1.  If you aren't moving your hands while telling a story, it's a boring ******* story.  Add in something to make it exciting, like a chance encounter with a tiger.  So what if no one believes that tigers walk down 5th avenue, at least your story doesn't **** any more.  You know whose story ***** now?  That ******* who doesn't believe a tiger can make it in the big city. 2.  Make bad mistakes every once in awhile.  How will you know that you don't want to be part of a Colombian Drug Cartel unless you try it out for a few weeks?  Who knows, maybe you'll find out it's your true calling.  Maybe you'll stage a coup, take over the whole thing and get the hot girl in the red dress.  But no, you're sitting at your computer reading this.  My point is, drugs are bad ok? 3.  Don't be that guy who thinks he's better than everyone else because he always "does the right thing".  You know why he's never made a mistake?  Because he doesn't have a real life.  His life is as real as a Ken Doll's unmentionables.  Yeah it's all smooth and shiny, but he can't have any fun with it.  What's the point of  having a life that can't be potentially ruined by terrible decisions? 4.  Take chances.  and I don't mean by putting "Piccolo Pete's Face Burning Tabasco" on your hotdog.  I mean walk up to the next girl you see and give her a passionate kiss the likes of which she hasn't had since 3 days ago when she drunkenly made out with some random dude at a bar.  Yeah, you may feel like you've just been kneed in the groin and/or maced multiple times in the eye...but you know what?  You just made out with a beautiful woman, and you've got a good lawyer. 5.  Don't take advice from people you don't know.  Especially some random person on the internet, those people are just shady.
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5
In the caste of what the fir trees denoted what should be or what should not be, I clasped the fig twigs and watched them split as if to say that all must come to an end. And in the end, who can the charred leaves blame if there should be tire rods and hubcaps strewn                                  across the forest's floor? After totaling the costs of what should not be, the last mast of yesterday's trade boat could skiff along the shore, with flag flailing like the playground children's hands. Irrationality piquing: birds dip and dive like a boxer's fists made of shadow from one powerline to the next. Training for the changing, biting winds, watching the unconscious cars staring. And the skiff oozing through the unmentionables littered in the creek : what will become of him? Lodged in stale, fossil bones -- floundered between the swingset and the droning, dusty traffic at 3 a.m. Metamorphic scarabs stolen from the gusts and pants of too much play. Basketballs stained with carrion, precarious gusto in the wake of money suckling and ripping alongside                                     the skiff. Cross here with two pennies. Goaded by the solitary abandonment of the 1930's, the used condom's mouth gaping open like hungry carp, dusty trails of light from the past lamplight hanging in the air Birds measured up along the powerlines, moving mindlessly along with the flock Bird drones, feathery spines Birds perched along the playground. Bird play so far as to say         does this not look familiar? Bobbing, weaving, slathered in cadence and involuntary muscle jerks. First we were here Then we were not.
0
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
All Play in These Times
In the caste of what the fir trees denoted what should be or what should not be, I clasped the fig twigs and watched them split as if to say that all must come to an end. And in the end, who can the charred leaves blame if there should be tire rods and hubcaps strewn                                  across the forest's floor? After totaling the costs of what should not be, the last mast of yesterday's trade boat could skiff along the shore, with flag flailing like the playground children's hands. Irrationality piquing: birds dip and dive like a boxer's fists made of shadow from one powerline to the next. Training for the changing, biting winds, watching the unconscious cars staring. And the skiff oozing through the unmentionables littered in the creek : what will become of him? Lodged in stale, fossil bones -- floundered between the swingset and the droning, dusty traffic at 3 a.m. Metamorphic scarabs stolen from the gusts and pants of too much play. Basketballs stained with carrion, precarious gusto in the wake of money suckling and ripping alongside                                     the skiff. Cross here with two pennies. Goaded by the solitary abandonment of the 1930's, the used condom's mouth gaping open like hungry carp, dusty trails of light from the past lamplight hanging in the air Birds measured up along the powerlines, moving mindlessly along with the flock Bird drones, feathery spines Birds perched along the playground. Bird play so far as to say         does this not look familiar? Bobbing, weaving, slathered in cadence and involuntary muscle jerks. First we were here Then we were not.
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26
Sitting in the aftermath Of shattered dreams on broken skin Left to wonder how Realizing we are all capable of unmentionables Steeped in regret Begging forgiveness Accidents are accidents Still, there is no forgiveness Self-affirming the negative Unintended consequences Alter perceptions Who are these people Who, then, have I become Though, that who feels more like a what And the demons laugh As they frolic in the real world Let them run free Let them dance Who I was Will hide in their dungeon For it is safer in there than out here Yes, it is much safer And there is no one To say differently           Punish the guilty                     Punish the guilty                               Punish the guilty Who needs proof What is proof It was only an accident Unintentional circumstances Affirm nightmares No one will find me in here Safe in the lair of the beasts who bore me Alone inside my head
0
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 11:53 AM UTC
Affirmant
My neighbor and I still hang out our wash, (I, each Thursday, taking my chances. She, according to weather forecasts, I think, or maybe by what she feels in her bones). We laugh at StarTribune's report of some suburban bans against clotheslines. We wonder out loud whose tomatoes will first turn red, and whether cucumbers will make it at all; this year, it's been too cool and dry for normal progress to the fall. Tenacious dandelions, spread as stars across green-earth skies, drive in spike-like roots, take hold of earth, and won't let go. Kids squeeze bunches of stems in tight fists that will open only to release the buttery bouquet to Mom who hurries to put them in water, in a crystal vase, wondering how soon she might mourn both flower and child. While hanging bright, white unmentionables (some somewhat tattered) on our clothesline, I, unembarrassed, remember my mother: with one clothespin held in her mouth and half a dozen more in her apron pocket, (thus needing not to walk over and over again the east-west path to the back door where full supply of pins hangs on the **** she does her woman's task with flair, spacing each garment so as not to block the sun or air. You'd think she'd held some tool to calculate where the sheet would best allow the breeze to circulate or where to place each pillow case and sock, so each would recognize and meet their mates! And I know she theorized regarding how to hang those socks, always with the toe pointed upward, so as not to show, when dried and worn, a crease or ever-so-slight evidence of the pin's pressure displayed for all to see on the exposed ankle, as if that might be a matter worthy of shame.
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Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 5:03 PM UTC
Upon Hanging out the Wash
My neighbor and I still hang out our wash, (I, each Thursday, taking my chances. She, according to weather forecasts, I think, or maybe by what she feels in her bones). We laugh at StarTribune's report of some suburban bans against clotheslines. We wonder out loud whose tomatoes will first turn red, and whether cucumbers will make it at all; this year, it's been too cool and dry for normal progress to the fall. Tenacious dandelions, spread as stars across green-earth skies, drive in spike-like roots, take hold of earth, and won't let go. Kids squeeze bunches of stems in tight fists that will open only to release the buttery bouquet to Mom who hurries to put them in water, in a crystal vase, wondering how soon she might mourn both flower and child. While hanging bright, white unmentionables (some somewhat tattered) on our clothesline, I, unembarrassed, remember my mother: with one clothespin held in her mouth and half a dozen more in her apron pocket, (thus needing not to walk over and over again the east-west path to the back door where full supply of pins hangs on the **** she does her woman's task with flair, spacing each garment so as not to block the sun or air. You'd think she'd held some tool to calculate where the sheet would best allow the breeze to circulate or where to place each pillow case and sock, so each would recognize and meet their mates! And I know she theorized regarding how to hang those socks, always with the toe pointed upward, so as not to show, when dried and worn, a crease or ever-so-slight evidence of the pin's pressure displayed for all to see on the exposed ankle, as if that might be a matter worthy of shame.
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36
stuff                with     me           drawer               underwear      all                                         your                         unmentionables            into                         your
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Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 11:02 PM UTC
The Hallway (10w)
it is easy to kiss a boys lips as his hand slides up your leg to play along letting the infatuation of the moment control you like a puppet tied to strings because ******* means nothing, its like breathing or sleeping it comes naturally that is the easy part human connection, being with someone despite how many hours grace the day or how many miles cut between emotional connection means they are there no matter what not just their unmentionables indulged in your body the hard part is holding hands or sipping coffee, puffing a cigarette in 5 degree weather, just to be together relationships, romantic or not require more than just physical elements and you ask me why i am already okay it's like you expect me to miss you my respect for you has begun to decay but can we still *****
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Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
emotional detachment
I am not interested in you view on life Sure I was once upon a time But it has been to clear for to long The un-Godly time unmentionable that you and I have blasphemed together Sure you say you have yours and on the other side You are a babe again Then, well so what what am I here now thee unmentionable time where the dead prescriptions are busy being written as stories for grave stones where you have a world for babes that are better not born in not your own no one thee unmentionables ours or who'd dare claim them Tell me something new for my own sake the children's or from yourself and I am ears I am heart Love forgiveness Yes **** it I could be interested!! Not in iced over cakes that have their day and nonsense and spend eternity as death and decay Or non-nonsensical romantic fairy tales I'd dare not tell the precious young Where sugar and spice is only nice And the end is already written in the beginning I guess so sadly to say we are so beyond that but for differing reason Mine is already stated Yours is self pity and hell's fury and justifications Tell me Show me Something NEW!!!
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Aug 15, 2012
Aug 15, 2012 at 12:44 PM UTC
Something New Please!!!
quietly, in the mornings with only your fingers shades tilted in, the lapis dawn that barely makes it through, door ajar studied, an open book quiz unmentionables, spoken in water drops melted butter shower steam vanilla milk cinnamon. before the sun before breakfast before the earth opens up like it does take it with a grain of salt, with an ounce of optimism the glass ain't even here, we have lakes we have amber canopies, other hands that shield lovers that reach for us mid-dream, us they reach for us in sleep induced affection, they may as well be reaching across continents who knows how far away they dream, fingers sliding across cello strings they make beautiful music while they are here, traveling limbos to find us but we're here in the morning, in the quiet morning. how to eat honeycomb.
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Apr 11, 2017
Apr 11, 2017 at 10:54 PM UTC
11/30 (how to eat honeycomb
Journal 12 My briefs were frozen because I put them in the freezer. I thought that freezing my unmentionables would make me a stronger person. I was alarmed by how ******* small my genitalia shrunk. Wow. My briefs were so ********* cold. Cause they were frozen. Holy **** I walked outside in these briefs and wondered if I had remembered my lunch box. Holy **** There was an egg salad sandwich in that lunch box. ***I ran frantically across the road back to my house, but a car ran me over. My skull had been concussed and decapitated on the windshield of that ******* car. Man. I wish I had worn those bunny slippers, because those were my lucky bunny slippers.***
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Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 1:18 AM UTC
Journal Twelve
in these days of sheltering on the isle-of-isolactation, a place amazingly located just ‘bout everywhere, staying occupado is muy importanto taught myself Latvian, can identify a thousand Avian, can vacuum the house in ten minutes flat, can count my steps mentally walking from the bed to the kitchen and on the way back again, detour via the den when I get really bored, sneak away to grab the laundry from the dryer, I’m on fire, desirous of my sanity, fold them twice, so they’ll be enough nice to meet her exacting standards, going directly into her highest level, Type A,  storage drawers but hit a snag, on certain articles of activewear, not to mention you know, the unmentionables, which don’t present corners or angles to lend novice folders directional cues, cannot even determine which is inside out, or outside out, with too many bedeviling straps too proud to ask for directions, after all I am a grown man, checked youtube buddy, they had no clue, unless it was a tutorial on how to remove them bodices from them body, which I will, study later...but I winged it except for those couple of items which I hid under her too many bed pillows!
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Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 5:54 PM UTC
cannot fold her laundry
they say they can do heads in whatever that means only them knows they say they can alter personalities i say i have already altered your personalities made y'all obsessives I'm jumping in your minds y'all think you've got snowflakes like ya'll swing from rope, male suicide is the largest killer in ya land they can't handle pressure, no spine mommy's boys my mate, my mate its all about ganging up, alone, they disintegrate and panic, they are made weak they talk of love yet they're plastic superficiality will do anything to belong, can't abide themselves cause it's all empty air and bravado all semblance no substance, they use money to buy love money gone love disappears cause they keep nothing real they are incapable of truth, snipers, back-biters  inveterate gossips pretenders and actors always scared of realities and the truth cannot deal face to face because they know not how to relate follow the crowd, do as others do, we are all equals EQUALS, my **** what makes you think I am like you, spineless inadequates unequipped, un-prepared indulgent saps of nanny county We love our moms, yes she cooks, clean, tidy and even ***** you And these are the ones that wanna do heads in, alter personalities NO we are not all the same you are dross I am quality AS you were, park lifers, go sup another pint...
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Jul 16, 2019
Jul 16, 2019 at 4:10 PM UTC
That Italian can **** so good, not lazy like you know the unmentionables....
I'm grieving your loss I'm mourning your choice I'm hurting for you in my arms But not in my heart My heart has found spring And is waiting for me To catch up I know me too well Your comfort distracts me I seek it to see me Less clearly Your hands pull me in To embrace And invisible tears soak my cheeks If I love you was never an option Then how is goodbye? Feeling clever and calm I breathe in Easily And until you next greet me I'll know What I know Hello I love you Goodbye And then....... An arrival distracts me Dances in my mind 118 118 Gets my number Got my attention Into a spin Along with my legs Let's get along Get to know Get out of this place And into our space Impatient Channelling energy Into unmentionables Choosing to focus on not-you Attached to detachment Amassing beliefs Between birthdays I believe In that Which I know not The latest learning To linger on my lips In my head As the music rises I slip out of the room And into a quiet Reflection I have high hopes For you And I I am high With hope And believing Goodbye I love you Hello
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Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 12:43 PM UTC
Hello, I love(d) you, goodbye
As predicted we parted ways The crossroads were inevitable A destiny our friendship could not escape Equipped with this knowledge still couldn't prepare me for the break It broke my heart to admit those unmentionables We had become different people wanting different things from life No longer could we stand beside each other in happiness Every encounter turned from joy to distaste We made promises at every turn Knowing full well we would never keep them Time pulled us away from each others love Erasing slowly our shared past It was a slow yet silent end The final seal set in place with the official end of college frivolity I don't hate you for this end We both were equally responsible for it Yet my regrets seem stronger than your own emotions For I have loved you for many a day And this was not what I dreamed of A future without your bright presence in it With the end of my college years I close this chapter of you Your stay was shorter than I wished it to be But the experience was nothing short of beauty Filled with love, happiness and a lot of arguments Not to mention beers Carlsberg white elephant in Cafe New York shall not be forgotten I wish you all the happiness in the world You are a bright light that I hope is never extinguished There are soo many people I may never meet, hug, love and kiss But I am so glad I could do it all with you Even for the shortest time Its memories shall not be forgotten with yesterday's half eaten sandwich But shall burn brightly in my heart for all days to come.
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May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 5:22 AM UTC
A chapter I'd never regret
As predicted we parted ways The crossroads were inevitable A destiny our friendship could not escape Equipped with this knowledge still couldn't prepare me for the break It broke my heart to admit those unmentionables We had become different people wanting different things from life No longer could we stand beside each other in happiness Every encounter turned from joy to distaste We made promises at every turn Knowing full well we would never keep them Time pulled us away from each others love Erasing slowly our shared past It was a slow yet silent end The final seal set in place with the official end of college frivolity I don't hate you for this end We both were equally responsible for it Yet my regrets seem stronger than your own emotions For I have loved you for many a day And this was not what I dreamed of A future without your bright presence in it With the end of my college years I close this chapter of you Your stay was shorter than I wished it to be But the experience was nothing short of beauty Filled with love, happiness and a lot of arguments Not to mention beers Carlsberg white elephant in Cafe New York shall not be forgotten I wish you all the happiness in the world You are a bright light that I hope is never extinguished There are soo many people I may never meet, hug, love and kiss But I am so glad I could do it all with you Even for the shortest time Its memories shall not be forgotten with yesterday's half eaten sandwich But shall burn brightly in my heart for all days to come.
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42
man cave versus she-sheds. A man I know, finished his basement, a skilled builder, he built it himself and installed the masculine items prerequisite, recliner and pool table, refridgerated mugs etcetera. When asked how he was enjoying his privy isle he replied, it’s ok, but haven’t been down there much lately, seeing as the pool table is used primarily for folding laundry, and the recliner reserved for her unmentionables. he has shed his man-cave secondarily to she that rules, Cardi-be-Cleopatra, she rules, the empire, now it’s her she-shed, he openly cried real manly tears to me, fellow member of hu-man-unkind. one more, just another finished man, a home & cave-less bro…
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Jul 24, 2023
Jul 24, 2023 at 7:27 AM UTC
man cave versus she-sheds
. We don’t look like they do, graphic replicas of a life in tatters, drifting on lonesome clouds Dove’s wing spread capturing the wind, waving goodbye to an existence that dreams in black and white, fashioning commercials like chip and salsa dispensers Camouflaged by sadness, greens and browns woven in corduroy overalls Contemplating the loss before the beginning creates a title and words have only meaning for other who chose to read and believe that each day is a jewel in the crown of the month Floating on seas of discontent even though heart shaped sails reflect on horizons much closer than they appear but still so far away that silhouettes resemble unmentionables as others keep a watchful eye for anything that even seems like a tide fueled rumor, just because they can Still, we don’t look like they do, maybe because our visions come through a brilliant sunrise and we realize we do need somebody and we won’t hesitate to cherish, quietly of course, those who come to touch us in the wake of our dreams, hiding in plain sight, disguised as no one in particular
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Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 5:16 PM UTC
No one in particular (in the wake of our dreams)
Love has a Southern flavor: honeydew, ripe cantaloupe, the honeysuckle’s spout we tilt to basking faces to breathe out the ordinary, and inhale perfume ... Love’s Dixieland-rambunctious: tangled vines, wild clematis, the gold-brocaded leaves that will not keep their order in the trees, unmentionables that peek from dancing lines ... Love cannot be contained, like Southern nights: the constellations’ dying mysteries, the fireflies that hum to light, each tree’s resplendent autumn cape, a genteel sight ... Love also is as wild, as sprawling-sweet, as decadent as the wet leaves at our feet. "Love Has a Southern Flavor" has been published by The Lyric, Contemporary Sonnet, The Eclectic Muse, Better Than Starbucks, The Chained Muse, Setu (India), Victorian Violet Press and Trinacria
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Feb 23, 2020
Feb 23, 2020 at 12:44 AM UTC
Love Has a Southern Flavor
disconnect melded with malcontent strewed through common intents durable perishables in spite of unmentionables see if they care to see if you care if nothing else at least you know the least of the beast in the shadow of the teeth the worst is seen and never felt and if it was would you know it when it happened?
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Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 2:14 PM UTC
differing inclinations
Let's paint with broad brush strokes from centuries of blood, ye fair permeable maidens: Once upon a summer's eve, menotoxins killed crops and wilted spring flowers. Pandora's box, opening to such bad reviews, closed down and fled to a monastery, where she wrote scarlet letters to family back home. Vallopes of black holland cloth, intrusive but necessary little bedfellows fit for a queen. Don't keep us in suspense, your fancy royal harness, guards are posted at either side, hooked & girdled. Take Communion some other day, Elizabethan petticoat. History tells of the strangest restraining order: Hippocrates threw his two cents into the fountain, banning bleeders from nearing the wishing well. Hey, Father of Medicine, our hallowed moon lures the currents, driving us all a little mad on some enchanted evening, not just the lassies. The foil of every fable rests in the absurdity of its fate, so often presumed upon the faint of heart: A damsel in distress, who must be saved from herself. The nonsense of which then seeps into the pores of reality, rousing fear in certain unmentionables that just might one day incite anarchy, tipping our planet over on its side and away we fly. Ignorance wears rose-colored glasses. It's high time he got his eyes checked.
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Nov 1, 2019
Nov 1, 2019 at 2:39 PM UTC
Vaginas Will Soon Destroy the World
By Arcassin Burnham My type of lady, Makes pancakes in the morning, Even perfect people make mistakes, Kisses on your neck, to make you ***** Just a temporary fix, To get you loving me more, If my last didn't care about me, Its you that I adore, Neck bites, Soft kisses on shoulder blades, Cut me deep, And I go deep and that's a promise baby, Now scream, Your so sweet and edible, Sheets are messy, With our unmentionables.
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Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 12:01 PM UTC
"Sweet Skin"
Went off with an alien, with his gigantic probe, he prodded. In and out of of everywhere, tickled her ears and stroked her hair. He wasn't bad looking, neither here nor there. Wanted to check her sensitivity, said he. He graduated with  an honours degree. He made the human inside her, ripple and shiver and shake. Nearly made a huge earthquake. Maybe even a river. "Keep your helmets on chaps", he said with a glint in his eyes, all three of them. The naughty little earth girl said "one at at a time please," as she squeezed her unmentionables  so very tight. She wanted to sleep just a little that night. He had a large horn on the front of his head,  as banged her hard down onto the bed. He used it unexpectedly, so from his shackles she broke. Her ripples and trickles and body  he took, Made her heart beat  fast as her body it shook. Woke up in a puddle, her bed rather wet, whatever had happened had sure  made her sweat. (C) Livvi
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Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 11:54 AM UTC
Oh well, I write allsorts!
Her shaken hands, moist with rain water, Trickling from the strands of hair hung over her face. Covering the entrance to her soul. Her eyes. Glistening, Ridden with thoughts of harm and stress. Her thighs, tattooed with blue bruises From last weeks encounter With the devil of her universe. Her jumper barely covers her unmentionables. The folds in the wool, Like waves of controlled anger. She’s searching. Searching for a place to hang up Her insecurities, A coat hook just won’t do the job. Never has anybody seen Such a shell of a person. With each client, With each sickening kiss, With each slap, She loses another part of herself It won’t be long before she’s face to face With a demon, Strong enough to crush that shell. You figure it out.
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Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 9:56 AM UTC
You Figure It Out.