"vibrator" poems
the frustration I had
after failing
to bring myself to ******
for the
tenth
time this past week
makes me more
furious
than depressed
seriously
my *** drive
has always been high
as soon as I
got over
the shame
society places on women
for enjoying
their sexuality
I have always used
************
as a release
relieves
stress
leaves me
relaxed
and
content
or should I say,
left me
feeling that way
usually
it was once a day
fairly frequent
but, it
matched
my *** drive's
needs
what the **** is wrong with me
I have tried
imagining,
watching,
reading,
looking at
every form
of erotica
that exists
I have searched
through everything
I can find
from
****
******
stories,
comics
and my search history
will let you know
that I've searched
everything
from
****
to
******
to
interracial lesbian forced *******
and things
worse
than that
e v e r y t h i n g
used to take me,
oh, I dunno
maybe three minutes
with my ********
after
around an hour
is when I give up
now
I even bought
a different
********
NO
RELEASE
NO
PASSION
GONE
what is
WRONG
WITH
ME
oh yeah -
depression
I mean
I knew it was bad
when video games
no longer
had appeal
that was enough
games
have been a passion
and a hobby of mine
since I was five
the other hobby
I started a bit older than five
but
you stole that one, too
after depression
beat the **** out of me
on Tuesday
I thought that was it
thought
since the next morning
I awoke
without the urge
to **** myself
it was over
nope
you have robbed me
of the simplest
things
in my life
that give me pleasure
no more
wriggling
moaning
spasming
the tingling
sensation
that starts in my toes
and makes its way
up
the length of my body
the warmness
that follows
with it
the
satisfaction
slight smile
snuggly
sleepy
post ****** me
I miss her
give her
back
I miss my life
give it
back
this isn't
ME
for ***** sake!
I am a ******
witty
humorous creature
full of passion
looking
for opportunities
to get myself off!
not this
depressed
apathetic
vessel
without soul.
you won't stop
until you have
everything
in my life
you won't stop
until you
put
my soul in your mouth
chew
grind
crush it
your saliva
breaks me down
spit me out
please
I am fighting
for you to cough me up
regurgitate
the essence
of me
let me put myself
back inside this body
please
please
no
you won't stop
you will eat my soul
until
ever fiber
protein
ounce of health
I had
is now
inside of you,
depression
cold-hearted *****
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 6:10 AM UTC
.
A hard-on
doesn't count
as personal gro
wth.If you want
to hear the pitte
r - patter of littl
e feet, I'll put s
hoes on my cat.
This isn't an off
ice , it's hell wit
h florescent lig
hting.How do I
set a lazer prin
ter to stun? I m
ajored in Libera
l arts. Will that
be for here or t
o go? Too many
freaks, not eno
ugh circuses. I
have a comput
er, a ******** a
nd pizza delive
ry .Why should
I leave the hou
se? Stress is wh en you wake up scr
eaming and you re alize you haven't fal
*** asleep yet. I like dogs too . Let's exch
ange recipes. And yo u r c r y b a b y
whiny- assed o pinion is? Al
low me to intro duce my selves.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 2:00 PM UTC
I don’t know why I’m so attracted to people who don’t want me around
Maybe part of me likes it
When he feasts on my heart like a tri-tip
I could run for miles and he wouldn’t chase me
Why did he waste me?
The circles I ran
All the *****
Hitting the fan
In the back of my mind I knew
This **** was to good to be true
Your like salt to my open wounds
But in the end your what makes me stronger
Just when I think I can’t take it that much longer
My heart keeps growing fonder
Or am I holding onto false hope
What if this ain’t love and it’s just the dope?
I’m strung out, a fiend for your love
Yearning for a burning
I can feel my stomach turning
You’re only your sweetest
After you’ve been your meanest
And when all is done and said
I’m lucky if I’m the one you take to bed
When the odds are in my favor
Your minds on the neighbor
But at least I’ve got that purple ********
guess whose on my mind?
The mental manipulator
Wet dream turned night terror
I got Charles Manson
When I wanted
Jack Herer
Ok maybe he’s not like Charlie
But he always made me sorry -
For wasting my time
Wanting you was a crime
Gave you all that
I had to give
Even wrote you this stupid rhyme.
You ask me to stay when my emotions begin to sway
You’ve noticed me noticing him, all of a sudden I’m so far away
What happened to the gallery of ******
All the times you said picking me up was a chore
And when you said we can’t get married
Cause of your credit score
All of a sudden my absence is threatening
Here comes the beckoning
All I’ve ever wanted suddenly looks so sickening
The could of, would of, should of’s
You will always be one of first loves
You say this time will be different
Now the other man seems indifferent
You never wanted me and now you do?
I wanted somebody else
But he left my lips blue
I don’t know why I’m so attracted to people who don’t want me around
When they finally do
My hearts buried in the ******* ground
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 3:11 PM UTC
The truth about this ****** thing
it creates more headaches than
Satisfaction
our thirst is getting more and more difficult to quench
~~~
so you lay there feeling empty
while his head sunk deep into your pillow
he slept,
you pondered
your thoughts turn to
a time when it was you
and the pink ********
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 4:44 PM UTC
Laying alone in my bed
************ in the dark
******** sending scathing ripples
Across my covered female anatomy
And yet in my mind I didn't see that
I pictured myself with women
Which I always attributed to
My hella queer identity
Except I was never myself in the fantasies
My friend told me that's why I couldn't ******
Because I needed to make the thoughts
Much more personal than that
Yet it didn't feel the same
As watching the strangers in ****
In my fantasies, I wasn't me
But I also was
I felt synonymous with the person I saw
I imagined feeling what they felt
But they had a *****
I did not
I thought it was just a kink
I don't think that anymore
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 2:06 PM UTC
mmm, palce lizać, albo wsadzić je w dúpe i nadawać sygnał wriggly-wriggly alter: wriggly-pigglety; counter-alt? calling it: the miracle of five croutons, and two pieces of sushi... c'mon, let's go crazy! and take it to the excesses permitted by the original feat! (yes, i mean the fish parts of sushi, there's enough carbohydrates in the croutons, so yes, no rice-bed for the tartars).
ć is the puritan's aversion to cz / chai;
or at least an exfoliation curbor.
i write honey,
honey honey honey,
i write honey,
honey honey honey
p'ooh bear
droned in on it.
when i write,
i write honey,
honey honey O'Milee.
from serving in the US and A
navy, to a beach-buggy
accident.
when i write, i write
honey -
*** e -
Atilla styled liquorice -
lee co reesh - not
liquidated rice -
ghosts of latin almost everywhere;
quadruple that.
convene and converse -
contrary collective.
some say this might as well
be the famous goldberg sardines;
when i write, i write honey,
i write: honey honey honey...
will you be my Duracell bunny?
honey, will you be my
******** par excellance?
i see... no, you won't be.
the museum of Greek sculpture
was vandalised!
guess what they took,
the ****** fiendish crooks!
with a wet splash of colour
comes the cold marble artifice -
a bit like the cool-mouth
refrigerator of a woman during
felatio... still don't know
how she gets that gob down
below room temperature.
(heresy input, never start a
sentence with an) and
there you have it,
writing, catering for
abstractionism,
just after he said: they're on a diet.
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 10:49 AM UTC
The ache,
The zing through the pelvis
Trapped in an evergreen
Transcending into the pillow
Light is Black
Black is light
The brain has slithered from the skull
Out the ear, leaving a wet trail
The bliss
The suspended body transfixed on the ceiling
Eyes small like buttholes
Writhing in angst
Rolling in filth
Buzzing in a field
The ********
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 7:25 AM UTC
it's time to find my old friend
(my ********
it doesn't care about making amends
(my ********
no false hopes or promises
it does what it says (and advertises)
(my ********
so back to the tried and true
(my ********
in hopes I'll forget about you ...
... there's no guarantees
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 5:46 PM UTC
In this household there’s far too much noise!...your mobile, your pager, your palmtop, your laptop, your desktop, your land-line, your radio, your plasma screen, your mp3, your ***** driver, your GPS, your audio-books, your lawn-mower, your toothbrush, your stereo, your play-station, your VCR, your hairdryer, your podcasts, your DVD player, your digital clock, your analogue clock, your juicer, my ******** your drill...
Feb 24, 2010
Feb 24, 2010 at 10:11 AM UTC
alarm
dogmatical snakebird dictator
**** rooster of electro maniacal damnation
wake
goober eyed ithyphallic mortal yahoo yawns
glacier shuffle to Midas’ bowl
brush
minty hairy pasty headed ********
seafoam ***** on white vanity beaches
shave
deceitful murderous metal cartel scraping
dead shrubs from yesterday’s winter
breakfast
egg flour chalk smack
guzzling bean kerosene
work
batshit bureaucratic badgers bludgeon
muktuk hamsters lubricating wheels of fortune
lunch
butcher’s dead friend between greasy toasted cement
harlot’s heavenly tomato mating cabbage cousin
work
taradiddle of martyrs at jargon’s temple blather
babble, bumble - copulation without ***********
dinner
unicorn steaks, butterfly sauté, and
leprechaun fingers, a side of manslaughter dolphin
sleep
a felon’s holiday
repeat
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 3:56 AM UTC
What am I to do when you are hundreds of miles away
Hiking the Appalachia
Living off the land and proving your manhood
The dog cannot hold me and warm me at night
The ******** will seize to amuse me after a week
The empty seat at the table will irk me
I could go on but I think you get the point
I need you
If you really must fulfill this quest
Just know
That I will watch the door awaiting your return
That I will hug your pillow every night
that I will wear your clothes to feel closer to you
Ah, I could go on but I think you get the point
I need you
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 8:42 AM UTC
I knew I was a giver
when I tried to blow my ********
I need you to moan
or act a groan
if i don’t think I’ve turned you on
my chance for an ****** has been and gone
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 5:56 AM UTC
You are an exit wound
the extra shot of tequila
the tangled knot of hair that has to be cut out
you are the cell phone ringing in a hushed theatre
pebble wedged in the sole of a boot
the ****** hangnail
you are, just this once
you are flip flops in a thunderstorm
the boy's lost ********
a pen gone dry
you are my father's nightmare
my mother's mirage
you are a manic high
which is to say:
you are a bad idea
you are ****** despite the ******
you are, I know better
you are pieces of cork floating in the wine glass
you are the morning after
whose name I can't remember
still in my bed
the hole in my rain boots
******** with no batteries
you are, shut up and kiss me
you are naked wearing socks
mascara bleeding down laughing cheeks
you are the wrong guy buying me a drink
you are the typo in an otherwise brilliant novel
sweetalk into unprotected ***
the married coworker
my stubbed toe
you are not new or uncommon
not brilliant or beautiful
you are a bad idea
rock star in the back seat of a taxi
burned popcorn
top shelf, at half price
you are everything I want
you are a poem I cannot write
a word I cannot translate
you are an exit wound
a name I cannot bring myself
to say aloud
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 9:42 PM UTC
by Kim Addonizio
I have been one acquainted with the spatula,
the slotted, scuffed, Teflon-coated spatula
that lifts a solitary hamburger from pan to plate,
acquainted with the ******** known as the Pocket Rocket
and the ***** that goes by Tex,
and I have gone out, a drunken *****
in order to ruin
what love I was given,
and also I have measured out
my life in little pills—Zoloft,
Restoril, Celexa,
Xanax.
I have. For I am a poet. And it is my job, my duty
to know wherein lies the beauty
of this degraded body,
or maybe
it's the degradation in the beautiful body,
the ugly me
groping back to my desk to ****
on perfection, to lay my kiss
of mortal confusion
upon the mouth of infinite wisdom.
My kiss says razors and pain, my kiss says
America is charged with the madness
of God. Sundays, too,
the soldiers get up early, and put on their fatigues in the blue-
black day. Black milk. Black gold. Texas tea.
Into the valley of Halliburton rides the infantry—
Why does one month have to be the cruelest,
can't they all be equally cruel? I have seen the best
gamers of your generation, joysticking their M1 tanks through
the sewage-filled streets. Whose
world this is I think I know.
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 2:58 PM UTC
Death [Loraine B] All photos and posts. Recent videos
of APAP. Take secure storage. [...]; 1. Issues - Special
Definitions of Buildings in Asia; Asia. With the Lord. ❍
❍ ❍ Search Products. He died in the house. Medium,
❍ ❍ Originally Wisdom 1000; Devices - Yes, some
people need it Upper lower image. Sort [...]. He was very
thankful. ○ ○ In this growth, a happy marriage. ❍ ❍ ❍
❍ ❍ Ishmael "Lottery Success" Recognized. ❍ ❍
❍ In the past? There are so many people in groups:
People: Be happy that she is a very precious land
******** ❍ ❍ ❍ ❍ ○ simultaneous. Check out another
Apps. [...] Adolf ****** Step 1: "The Presidential Five
Cities. Fasting [...] 1 ❍ Quotas codes. "No, no: No || ❍ ○
○ 1: 1: 1 - Not at all. This may be a donation, not available
Keep your rating. 1: 1 This is a robber. And end. Lori
Ralley bi.pi. Because of *** ... ... / Hi, All right? Supper
A Research ... ... ... More: One of the grandchildren
from one of his grandchildren. [Therefore] ❍ ❍ ❍ [formal
education] **** To prevent an error from blocking Big
WebSite: Great bottles have been drilled: Shut Upp,
trembling; Was one The other statues should be on their
hands. And Accurate ❍ ❍ will have eternal meaning.
Ancient theologian ❍ Optimal health and optimal CD
You directly in Lori, Lauren and Laurel Booth 1:1:1
❍ ❍ ○ ||| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |||||||| | | |
Death [Allaah] All photos and posts. Recent videos
APAP. Secure storage. [...]; 1. Issues - Special
Definition's Definition: Asia. With the Lord. ❍ ❍ ❍
Search Products. He died in the house. Medium, ❍ ❍
First of all, sweet art 1000 Devices - Yes, some people's
Top image is required. Sort [...]. He was very like
'I am grateful.' ○ ○ Make a happy marriage of this growth. ❍ ❍ ❍
❍ Sheikh Ishmael's "Lottery Success" has been identified. ❍ ❍
❍ In the past? There are many people in the group; People:
Become the most valuable land and be happy, Walter ❍ ○ ○ ○ simultaneously. See another Apps. [...] Adolf ****** Step 2:
"Presidential Press in Cities Fast [...] 1❍ Quotas." No, no:
No || ❍ ○ ○ 1: 1: 1 - Never. This may be generous, or not
available; Keep your level. 1: 1 This is a robber. And end.
Lori Bailey BP Because of PICAP ... ... / Well, okay?
Dinner Is Research ... ... ... more: From one of the kids;
One of his grandchildren. [So] ❍ ❍ ❍ [standard education]
**** protects against bullying at the Big Web Store: Larger
bottles were shredded: ShutUpp, Shaking; One must have the
statues on hand themselves. Accurate and eternal ❍
❍ eternal affirmation. Ancient theologians agree ❍ Good
Health and Good CDs; You direct directly to Laura, Self
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1: 1: 1 | | | | | | | | | 1: 1: 1 ❍ ❍ ○ ||| 1: 1: 1 ❍ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ 1: 1: 1
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○ 1: 1: 1 | | | | | | | | | 1: 1: 1 ❍ ❍ ○ ||| 1: 1: 1 ❍ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ 1: 1: 1
❍ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ | | | 1: 1: 1 ❍ ❍ ○ ||| 1: 1: 1 ❍ ❍ ○ ○
○ 1: 1: 1 | | | | | | | | | 1: 1: 1 ❍ ❍ ○ ||| 1: 1: 1 ❍ ❍ ○ ○ ○ ○ 1: 1: 1
❍ ❍ ○ ||| 1: 1: 1 ❍ ❍ ○ ○ ○ ○ | | | 1: 1: 1 ❍ ❍ ○ 1: 1: 1 ❍ ○ ○
○ 1: 1: 1 ❍ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ 1: 1: 1 | | | | | | | | | 1: 1: 1 Adolf ****** |
step 3: 1: 1: 1 ❍ ○ ○ ||| 1: 1: 1 ❍ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ 1: 1: 1 | | | | | | | | |
1: 1: 1 ❍ ❍ ○ ||| 1: 1: 1 ❍ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ 1: 1: 1 ❍ ○ ○ ||| 1: 1: 1 ❍
○ ○ ○ ○ ○ | | | 1: 1: 1 ❍ ○ ○ ||| 1: 1: 1 ❍ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ 1: 1: 1 | | | | |
| | | | 1: 1: 1 ❍ ❍ ○ ||| 1: 1: 1 ❍ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ 1: 1: 1 ❍ ○ ○ ||| 1: 1: 1
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○ ○ | | | 1: 1: 1 ❍ ○ ○ ||| 1: 1: 1 ❍ ○ ○ ○ ○ : ○ ○ 1: 1: 1 ❍ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○
○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ | | | 1: 1: 1 ❍ ❍ ○ ||| 1: 1: 1 ❍ ❍ ○ ○ ○ 1: 1: 1 | | | | | | | | |
1: 1: 1 ❍ ❍ 1: 1: 1 | | | | | | | | | 1: 1: 1 ❍ ❍ ○ ||| 1: 1: 1 ❍ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○
Laura 1: 1: 1 ❍ ○ ||| 1: 1: 1 ❍ ○ 1: 1 ❍ ○ ○ ||| 1: 1: 1 ❍ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○
1: 1: 1 | | | | | | | | | 1: 1: 1 ❍ ❍ ○ ||| 1: 1: 1 ❍ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ 1: 1: 1 ❍ ○ ○
○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ | | | 1: 1:1 ❍ ○ ||| 1: 1: 1 ❍ ❍ ○ ○ ○ ○ 1: 1: 1 ❍ ❍ ○
||| 1: 1: 1 ❍ ❍ ○ ○ ○ ○ | | | 1: 1: 1 ❍ ❍ ○ 1: 1: 1 ❍ ○ ○ ○ 1: 1: 1 ❍ ○ ○
○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ 1: 1: 1 | | | | | | | | | 1: 1: 1 ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ 1: 1: 1 | | | | | |
| | | 1: 1: 1 Adolf ****** step 4.
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 5:33 PM UTC
On behalf all of us who make bad decisions,
and worse excuses for them
I’d like to say that I’m sorry
I heard about how hard you worked on that science fair project
and how the teacher didn’t believe you
Because a week ago, someone like me used the same excuse
to get out of turning an assignment in on time.
And I’d like to say I’m sorry, for all the exams you studied for days to get a C on
and all the ones we aced without trying.
I promise, it wasn’t our fault, we’re just lucky guessers
I guess we could be little Irish
Like four leaf clovers are running though our bloodstreams.
On behalf of all of us who cried wolf,
because we fell asleep
and lost track of a few sheep.
I’d like to say that I’m sorry
that the boss didn’t accept the puncture wounds as proof
because we went too far one too many times for anyone to be trusted anymore.
For always taking the easy way out.
For every little white lie we told, that snowballed into an avalanche
and took you with it as it raced downhill.
On behalf of all of us whose dog did not, in fact, eat our homework
to you, the kid with a genuine excuse.
I would have liked to say I’m sorry.
I even had this whole apology written out
-It was cool, and rather poetic, if you ask me-
But there was this freak accident this morning
involving traveling circus, a ******** and a ham sandwich
-Trust me, you don’t want to know the details-
Okay, you got me
I guess some old habits die hard.
Dec 20, 2009
Dec 20, 2009 at 5:18 AM UTC
your poetry is the
timid surgeon's
blade
your brainwashed disfigured filth
posing as poetry, glitter sprinkled
over horse ****
parasitic eager beavers
rattling off hollow sanitary words
from suburban armchairs
when you speak of passion...
I want the ivory joy
of licking teeth in black
cold nights of February
grabbing fistfuls of flesh
and desire
not your stiff ******** advertisement,
marketing zombie climaxes and red roses
of compulsion
when you speak of loss...
I want the acrid smell of burnt
hair, a scene of cinder and ashes,
a house of dreams smoked
by the arsons of addiction
and stupidity
not your camouflaged metaphors
of two dollar sunrises and legislated
loneliness, echoing off the empty walls
of narcissism
when you speak of hate...
I want cold bacon grease and blood
stuck to my tongue and dripping from
my mouth, to become a carnivore of ******
and liberated violence
not your confused assault
of cheap mouthwashed words
spat in basins of shallow
************
ah, **** it,
write what you will
but give more
poetry should
Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 2:42 PM UTC
There are guys who wed girls
There are straight folks and gays.
There are those who like single life too.
A fellow in England once wed his T.V.
I’ve known women in love with their shoes.
But the strangest relationship
I ever heard tell
Was the woman who married herself.
She’d waited for years
For “Mister Right” to appear
and was tired up there on the shelf.
So she strolled down the Aisle
With a confident smile
(There was no need to give her away)
She composed her own vows
which drew much raves and wows.
While Justin Timberlake’s “Mirrors” song played.
She thought” who needs a spouse,
They just mess up your house.
So she bought a ******** instead
She vacationed in France
Where no one looks askance
And took “Battery Bob’ to her bed”
Love is Love. I have heard
But this bond is absurd.
You know very well how this ends.
An expensive divorce in a year I forecast
But the Bride and the “Groom” will stay friends.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC
Was so *****
Little Miss Muffit
Got her ********
and did stuff it
Right up her
delicious wet ****
Didn't see
cobwebs and stuff
On the *** end
was a big spider
****** got stuck
deep inside her
Men get bitten
and start yelling
She just laughs,
enjoys the swelling
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 5:37 AM UTC
Half Life
by Ryan P. Kinney
Welcome to the digital age.
Where man’s best friend is Internet ****
And a woman’s only friend is her ********
We’ve traded a heartbeat for an electronic pulse.
Blips and bleeps in an imagined humanity.
Forgetting that living means leaving the house.
And that sandals and boxer shorts are not formal wear.
We live in the information age
Full disclosure is no longer optional
We are sharing information.
We are contributing to the death of the self.
Or are we finally mastering intelligence?
There is an epidemic of inaction
Entropied Progress
The mobius sloth slides down into its own gluttony
And I just want to have *** with someone who is still alive
Have you seen the latest episode of Walking Dead or Breaking Bad?
Have you looked in the mirror?
Reality shows?
Who’s reality?
We are social creatures
And social control is how you keep the pigs in their pen
Until it’s time to offer us up as sacrifice at the altar of decadence
We willingly give them our intelligence
Our spirit
For another video game
Another TV show
That promises a better reality
See it all in HD
While we dubstep to our doom
Up Jacob’s Ladder
Built out of the 15 minute prophets
Sell me another artificially derived addiction
Masquerading as sustenance
Trading them like baseball cards
Tell me how much I need it
Need you
Preach it with the fear of the unorthodox on Fox News
While everyone’s getting high on your life
Televangelist CEOs
Sell us the next salvation
The anarchists are screaming,
“Legalize it.”
And the stoners aren’t helping
The half-life of modernization guarantees that if enough of our individuality decays
There ceases to be anything worth calling human
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 11:28 PM UTC
O, to be in dear Petronella
Now that Spring is here!
But alas, poor lass, she is no more,
Bereft of life, dead and gone,
Breathing through the grass,
O woe, O woe are we,
The fat slag's snuffed it.
No more will I and my friends
Ardent admirers all
(by the rancid cartload),
Feel her horrid toothless gums
Slurp their lascivious path of glory
Across our bloated obesities,
******* and slobbering,
Muttering sweetest nothings
Through mangled, matted pubics.
No more shall we feel her body
Groaning under every butch ******
Uttering imprecations of desire.
However one consolation is ours:
We who remain behind on earth
Can have undisputed use of the giant ********
And will no longer need to cleanse it
Following Petronella's awful misuse thereof.
These horrid thoughts came to me
As in a terrible, foetid nightmare;
And I dreamed I saw Petronella's grave
Bedecked with flowers and phlegm;
And the holy angels sang overhead,
"It's an ill wind that blows
Out of the back passage
Once it's been ****** good and hard".
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 1:43 PM UTC
I threw the backpack down
shattering the 13$ jug of wine
I lifted it and saw all my precious lifeblood
oozing out the bottom.
pouting down
two blocks like a child before
pouring the clot of broken
glass is the street.
bad relationship.
put my fist into a metal
sign, ripping up my arm
dropped my wallet losing
100$ to the gods of failure,
dropped a bag of beer causing
one to rupture and spray all over the apartment.
when I find a piano I clang
on the keys til everybody has
a migraine, myself included.
it's a light form of
sadomasochism.
I do the same thing with
women,
and they prove to be better
players.
slipping around in sheets
with somebody else
a sultry look on your
face like a saxophone solo.
light a cigarette and immediately
break it
drop my new phone in a cup
of wine
rip somebody's door of its
hinges.
meditation is foreplay of life
you gotta lick the ****
be the last one with
your shirt off
last one to the finish line
the last to fall asleep
the first to wake on
the 76th hangover this year
so far
so long
too bad
who cares
eat my ***** while I
shove a ******** in my ***
like the queen of France on
a ******
you can lead a camel to
water but the **** thing
still can't play an
oboe for ****
satan sold me a *** music
box
so if you see him tell
him I got pictures his wife
******* my **** in tumblr
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 6:26 PM UTC
It would have been more fun
To be a woman
Having multiple *******
Playing with my ******** and *****
I would have had fun
Talking about *** with my girlfriends
I would have dated
A powerful and **** man
But I'm just a guy
A guy women ignore
And I'm content to be alone
At least there is golf
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
I guess I'll always be alone
Women don't like me you know
My ***** is too small
It would have been nice to be a woman
To feel a well-hung stud thrusting deep inside me
It would have been nice to have a feminine form
To play with my rabbit ********
Oh well, You can't always get what you want
As the song goes
I am a very boring person
I enjoy the outdoors
I enjoy golf
I will do my duty
I guess life as a human being isn't all that great after all
To live is to suffer
Buddham, Saranam, Gacchami
Stone faced Buddha
I'm tougher than you
I will not cry
Bring the pain, bring the suffering
Bring the pointlessness of it all
I hate this home
Once I leave I don't ever want to see it again
Stone faced Buddha
Heart full of emptiness
I will win
Win, win, win
For all times
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 12:02 PM UTC
Twenty Two Minutes
**** depression
only encourages confusion...
Fragmentises the mind
creating veils and illusions..."
His words pass as I dream
of the Chill Renovator
While he state ***** my mind
with his verbal ********
And so haphazard he goes
on his quest to get in
But the truth he'd not know
where to ******* begin
So I smile nod and shake
in all the right places
As he stereotypes me
with the other nut cases
While if only he knew
my only depression
is the twenty two minutes
that remain of his session
As I sly watch the clock
as it slowly ticks down
Each synchronised movement
taking aim at my frown
His eyes falsely light up
at the sight of my smile
A misled inner faith
in professional guile
So I let him rant on
with his Freudian theories
And soft bat his torrent
of invasive queries
Till finally he tells me
He'll see me next week
and I scratch
in my diary...
Date with the
Freak...
©HaroldRizla
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 1:35 PM UTC