"yank" poems
Damaged people are dangerous because they know how to survive,
And if you've never been damaged you don't know how it feels to be alive,
See struggle is the sauce that gives success its flavour,
when life kicked you down it was doing you a favour.
Cos it's in your darkest hour, not in prosperity
that you will realise your true ability.
Life dunks you in deep waters not to drown you but to cleanse you.
And that's just the beginning of what it will put you through.
But it's chiselling you down, you won't deflate.
It's not wearing you thin, it's getting you to your fighting weight.
Prosperity makes monsters, adversity makes men.
I believe when you reach the top life will yank you back down again.
You didn't break down, you just had a flat tyre
so get back up and relight that fire.
keep it burning and churning at the pit of your heart
and keep on learning and yearning and never fall apart.
Stare life in the eyes
and say "no matter how many times
my spirit won't break if my drive never dies"
So throw me a burden I won't lose my composure,
It's for this very reason that life gave me shoulders.
Get better not bitter
This weather will wither
I'll turn wounds into wisdom
sadness into spirit
tears to tenacity
I will never quit it
Take a deep breath and concentrate your stare
because a road with no obstacles never took you anywhere.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 6:40 AM UTC
This Poetic Seduction
Will be fulfilling its function
Building up to an eruption
Pure ****** destruction
Lets play..All night and day
Wont be sleeping anyway
Exploring shades of grey
Rock and roll you in the hay
Dom to your Submission
Set up every position
Tie you up bring pleasure is my mission
Hair yank feel the spank
Pledge to respect and thank
Cheeks turn red
Ultimate pleasure in your head
Ease in just a tease
Pound you as I please
Have you on hands and knees
Show you the world of D/s
Lubricate your gate
Feel my tongue vibrate
Like a spell you levitate
Savor this moment we create
Room steaming..Bodies start creaming
Reality shifts wonder if you are dreaming
Theater of thought supplies the word production
Scenario set for this Poetic Seduction...
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 7:04 PM UTC
Dusting off the rabbity
that squirrely tempo anxiety,
closing in with night.
The irresistible pattern
the irrational illogical fight
a battle with one’s discipline,
mirroring our might.
I make it home a fluttering
belly twirled and muttering,
I tell myself tis alright!
The damage done, and everyone,
I’m just like them and millions more
succumbing at the Devil’s door.
And the taste, the burn,
the healing calm,
the shaking and the thinking gone.
Knock one back, slam out another
night is early, rock it brother,
Tying on a swilly swirling
buzzed-out brain and mind a twirling. . .
“Ahhhh…”
I feel better now, exhilarated,
exasperation falls to stout resound;
I pour again and knock it down!
“Ahhhh…”
Spinning now, not to say I’m spun
but choosey choosing several a pun
I see myself an accomplished one!
Yes, that’s it, that is me,
look upon with thoughts of glory
yank open the freezer for glass that’s hoary. . .
How cool am I? certainly not boring
all night I’m here, pouring, pouring. . .
Buzz subsides, thoughts slow too,
lurid leering, slobbering swearing,
stupid actions and nothing new?
I lose the bottle,
I lose my shirt,
***** on myself,
pass out in dirt.
Another night of drunken hero,
time that’s wasted for kingly Nero.
But who am I to judge myself?
*I’m hardly worse than anyone else?* *
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 10:23 PM UTC
Yes, sir, I want you to spank me
With that hand I know so well
It is more than just five fingers
It’s the reason I rebel
Yes, sir, I want you to clank me
In bonds of silver and gold
Chained, I’m a precious gift to you
Unwrapping me never gets old
Yes, sir, I want you to yank me
Down on the floor to my knees
My gaze lowers at your command
I’m eager to do as you please
Yes, sir, I want you to flank me
Punish me from every side
I know I’ve been a naughty girl
Needing discipline you’ll provide
Yes, sir, I want you to crank me
Up to writhing ecstasy
Don’t stop ‘til I ******* beg you
Your tough love is what sets me free
Yes, sir, I want you to thank me
For being your precious pet
Even though I disobey you
It’s clear you love to see me sweat
Yes, sir, I want you to spank me
With the implement of your choice
Make it hurt to make me happy
In your dominance I rejoice
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 12:32 AM UTC
I'm big
I suppose that's why my women always seem
small
but this 6 foot goddess
who deals in real estate
and art
and flies from Texas
to see me
and I fly to Texas
to see her--
well, there's plenty of her to
grab hold of
and I grab hold of it
of her,
I yank her head back by the hair,
I'm real macho,
I **** on her upper lip
her ****
her soul
I mount her and tell her,
"I'm going to shoot white hot
juice into you. I didn't fly all the way to
Galveston to play
chess."
later we lay locked like human vines
my left arm under her pillow
my right arm over her side
I grip both of her hands,
and my chest
belly
*****
****
tangle into her
and through us
in the dark
pass rays
back and forth
back and forth
until I fall away
and we sleep.
she's wild
but kind
my 6 foot goddess
makes me laugh
the laughter of the mutilated
who still need
love,
and her blessed eyes
run deep into her head
like mountain springs
far in
and
cool and good.
she has saved me
from everything that is
not here.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 7:29 PM UTC
i have anxiety
undiagnosed.
sometimes it feels like my head is stuffed with crumpled ***** of paper: the things I never said, the things I should have never said, the things that someone never said to me.
all of these things are written on every piece of paper
there are so many right now that no more would be able to fit
yet i can't stop thinking things, i can't stop saying stupid things, i can't stop wishing things.
i sigh I reach up to my forehead and i grasp my bangs
with my shaky hands and pull
i'm hoping one day when i do this
the top of my head will yank open
all of these crumpled pieces of thoughts
will pour out in a pile
on the floor
i will kneel down
and uncrumple each and every piece
i will read each one
until my head fills up again.
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 11:42 PM UTC
it's cold and dark and calm outside
so you make sure that i'm tucked up tight
but i need fresh air so the window is open ajar
whilst there in the corner lays a battered guitar
i'm high as hell so you carried me home
and wrapped me up into a bed of your own
you throw a lumpy mattress by the guitar on your floor
and apologise in advance for the fact that you snore
because i can't even remember my name
may give the green light to most, to see me as 'fair game'
my hair is a mess and my clothes are askew
but that doesn't seem to matter to you
i'm taken aback as you toss me a shirt
you try to stifle your laugh but i catch you smirk
as i try to escape from the clutch of my dress
i hear a laugh which you fail to suppress
i wrestle your shirt with my limbs in a tangle
you yank it over my head, for which i am thankful
i wriggle free from the blanket and sit up cross legged
as you fling yourself down at the foot of your bed
you tell me you've just got a text from my mother
who says she trusts me with you and no other
and that you are under very strict instructions
to keep me away from all teenage destruction
it's 1.30am and my thoughts are cotton wool
but our bottle of ***** is still three quarters full
my eyes spy the battered guitar in the room
and i beg you to play me my favourite tune
an undeniably slow start as you mess up the chords
and ramble on about how i'm probably bored
but my eyes fix on yours with an encouraging grin
and as you continue to play, goosebumps rise on my skin
and as you place the battered guitar back down
you sarcastically ask whether i'm happy now
the buzz of my body and the smile on my face
shows that here, happiness is truly the case
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 6:17 PM UTC
Yank myself out of bed
Peel the film of sleep from 'round my head
It's 4:00 AM
And all the world is dead.
It's 4:00 AM and all the world is dead.
From the streets every man has fled.
But in hours it again shall be
Brimming with potential; energy set free.
I assemble my appearance.
Staring into the mirror,
I say to myself: "One last time.
"One final tour."
The door is open, before it I stand
To face morning's faint chill
Surrounded by paling blue.
There! The first bird's trill.
The air is sweet
And free of smog.
The faintest fog
Is draped on the trees.
The empty street beckons
And freely I obey.
I have things I need to do
Before the commencement of the day.
I pass the playground on the corner,
Where I wasted time as a child.
Where many a battle was fought
And we had adventures in the wild.
Past the playground and to my left
There is the river bank
Where I went fishing with my father
And my friends and I made our mothers mad:
Where we lit our little fires
And we had our first drinks.
Where we shared our first joint
And came to talk and think.
Our school is down the way.
We all can safely say
It's the place where we first learned
Classes and books have less to say than the real world.
We became:
Artists.
Athletes.
Academics.
Our achievements
Are scrawled upon
The stone walls
That lined that same river.
A little further on,
And there's the little store
Where I kissed my first fleeting love
Just outside the door.
I keep walking, I keep walking,
Until I reach the shore.
I put my back against a rock
And rest on that sandy floor.
The life that I'll soon be leaving
Lies behind me asleep
While I watch the sun lazily rise
Over the mysterious, unexplored deep.
I built myself in this town
And it built me as well.
But I cannot stay much longer:
In a few hours I will bid it farewell.
Will I ever make it back?
Will I ever return
To trace the scrawlings by the riverbank
With bare fingers full of nostalgia?
Nothing at all is sure.
Therefore I must take this last chance
To make my final tour.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 8:25 AM UTC
Goddess of virility suckles me
to ******
Her legs stiffen…
to acute angles.
Toes, ballerina firm
make her
body—
levitate from the bed.
A smile reveals…fangs
the tips of which
are barely…touching
my ear.
The lizard tongue hisses in ecstasy
revealing ancient—spiritual…bliss
mystics could only
speculate of.
Her anaconda legs
wrap—
around my back
as her fingernails
embed into
my spine.
When I yank
Her hair
Her eyes
Scream inside out.
Our bodies—
Swimming in
An ocean of ravenous
Liquids pulsating from our pores.
Sopping hair clings
to our foreheads
we suddenly realize—
A new shape is invented.
We make a sound so primal
inside each other’s mouth
as her jaws snap down
to my neck—
both bodies rigor-mortis stiffen
as the mountains collapse around us
and the sky is ripped open as a tsunami
billows down into a wave of exhaustion.
The wind cradles us,
Back to the earth
We split,
Admiring a new continent
We created.
Our limp bodies—
numb from the velocity and suggestions
resign to the crater
we call a bed.
We smile, simultaneously,
looking past
our brains,
realizing…
in this moment
we, are one.
Jul 23, 2011
Jul 23, 2011 at 7:18 AM UTC
I am sorry for ruining all vaginas for you
I hope you can recover eventually
She said
I hate to burst your **** bubble
But I’ve slid some lies between your thighs
When howling at your moon wasn’t so much praise
As it was longing for a change of ***** scenery
People change?
How I feel right now
is like when one time I was sick
And my parents recorded a show I watched
so I could watch it later
And at the end of the show
there was a number for a contest to go to space camp
I called that number
It was disconnected
I always find out the important stuff
A little late
I cried that day
I just wanted to go to space camp
And I just wanted someone to love me like a black hole
A warm black hole to put all my love into
**** me in and fix me like there’s no turning back
I mean in the darkness of space
They all look the same
All yank at you turbulent and fiery head rush passion
I mean we all love the same
So I am sorry I overshot your Venus
To crash land in Uranus
A semi-purposeful curious passion
You coulda yelled ****
We felt like ****
When we walked away
Parts of me have always been missing
And I tried to fill the gaps with you
Problem is when you might be gay and are fighting it
Your closet is a ******
Not your fault your beard looked funny on my ****
You can’t wear a person like an accessory
I can’t slap her like masculinity till I feel straight again
Some things aren’t right
I’m not right
And you are so messed up now
Because you have this superpower to turn men gay
You can’t turn men gay
You can only remind them of the pain that lies
In lying to themselves when they know
None of this feels right
None of it will
Dear former lover
Former black hole body
Former holder of my confusion
And filler of my empty spots
I ****** up by ******* you
I ****** up
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 3:55 AM UTC
all my life
ive only thought of one thing
YOU
you are why i got an education
why i tried so hard to make beautiful things with my hands
why i got dressed up
why i learned to sing
and dance
why i never stopped trying to make a living
why i always went to the gym
and worked out to be diamond hard
why i was polite or inconsolable
why i ran seven miles a day
why i tried to be charming
why i could never stop playing with myself
why i got through james joyce
why i learned
conversational hypnosis
neuro linguistics
magick
and
witch
craft
to invoke a spell
that would compel
YOU
to dance
the wiggle wiggle
naked
from hot rhythms
and slow melodic
sways
as i prayed
burning
blood red candles
during the darkest moon
for adorations
with endless masturbations
to your beautiful *** and feet
for tender red lipped mercies
kisses kisses kisses
because
you are beauty piqued
from your golden angelic head
soft silken hair
to your sweet pink arched feet
and twinkling painted toes
magnetized
to yank my eyes
and be your
**** boy *** toy
my goddess glitter ****
queen of heaven
all paradise any man needs
BUT
sometimes i couldn't have
YOU
and
it velvet crushed me
taught me hopelessness
broke my will
gave me fear
made me cry
and shiver inside
tore my heart to smithereens
twisted my in-nerds
like jagged metal
melting me
as i spiraled
down
into madness
all burning veins of fire
until inferiority dragged deep
suffocating me
shuddery
like
winters
midnight freeze
and howling winds
through
hollow desolations
marrow-less
bones
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 1:25 PM UTC
I’ll submit to your will,
make me swallow it all.
Spoil every inch of me,
slap me raw.
Fill me with your poison,
say you love me the most.
Don't throw me away,
hold me close.
Yank my hair back,
squeeze my throat.
Puncture me deep,
leave me soaked.
May 29, 2020
May 29, 2020 at 6:50 AM UTC
Folds of water
Layers of dirt
Bubbling foam
A vast body
wrapping itself around the Earth
Schools of life
Clumps of Color
This is where it thrives
The souls of creatures
A potpourri of lives
The might of the ocean
The strength of the Sea
No one can match
No one could hardly believe
its ability
to devour kingdoms
Engulf islands and make them its own
Drag them down
Yank them by their legs, shatter their bones
Drag them down
Til they ultimately can descend no more
I can almost hear the primordial sea deity bellow
With a voice so deep
It shocks, explores
and shakes your soul
An immense
Deep bass tone.
It strikes more than just a powerful chord
“Come back to me”
“Return to your mother’s womb, down here, down low”
“You belong to me, my right, my property!”
“Return to the world below.”
“Come back home.”
Under the Sea
What's deep beneath?
The iridescent water
The clouds of foam
Conquered by monsters?
Down there,
Do sirens roam?
We aren't aware
We do not know
Enigmatic waves
Rows of fossils
Caked in dirt
A haven for aquatic raves
A museum holding remnants
telling the story of the Mother Earth
This is the Sea
Take a swim sometime and feel its rhythm
Listen to its story
Flow with the sea’s entrancing beat
I have faith and I believe
That the sea is a world of its own
Accentuated sometimes by its powerful voice or melodious hum
No less mighty than the world above.
Let's keep this beautiful wet world untouched
to keep it as it is, the world we love
©SHREYA DRISTI
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 12:59 AM UTC
We hold onto
each other like
teeth trapping
new wisdoms,
heads crashing
through agony
as the jaw scrapes
and screeches like
demolition derbies.
We'll battle it out,
but who will last
until one is left?
No, drag my teeth
out of contention:
lasso a noose, yank
hard until whipped
numbly off track
to bleed the oil.
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 8:37 PM UTC
We have
A pair
Of demons
That constantly
Cover our
Eyes and
Rip open
Our chests.
They wrap
Us up
In chains
And yank
On our
Throats. We
Are always
In a
Duet with
Our devils,
And they
Know every
Step. We
Trip and
Fall, but
I will
Not hide.
My devils'
Duet will
Not be
My death.
I will
Not let
Them push
Me. I
Will not
Fall down.
The duet
is over.
I win
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 1:22 AM UTC
Go out to the tarmac shove a pig into dirt
Listen to the squeal make sure it hurt
Hogtie'em smack'em on the *** into the van
collect'em off the street and can them in the tan
Ford Transit then we off to the chop shop
The ****** butchers gonna cut some cop
Drag them up feet first arms tied to the side
Hang em up to dry over a reservoir for the gore
Cut the cartery artery while they cry no more
Whats it all for, whats it all for, a long pig cookout
A hairless goat bled out now its time to get guts out
Bleed slows to a drip time to take a head simply twist
Off it comes like pop easy as a ******* croptop
Get your blade nice and sharpish cuz next on the list
Is skinning a cop shave off fuzz into the slop
Then drag a knife from the plexus to the ****
Tie off the **** and yank the excess its painless
**** up and you can try again pick another off the herd
Cut up again and again plenty of pork to slaughter
Almost ready for the grill party just gotta get meat ready
Detach arms, halve and quarter, keep your hands steady
Time to get out the coriander and chili powder
Hammer with a tenderizer on the counter
Cuts of steaks without any guilt, all free range
As I bite into a roast I make a toast to my rage
That made this deranged cookout, pig liver on toast
With some grits and cornbread as the feds approach
Hundred cops'll will roll on the grillmaster
Hundred shots out swiss cheesed by the ********
Read in the paper a monster cop killer
Killed for fighting the terror with terror
Jun 24, 2020
Jun 24, 2020 at 11:12 PM UTC
pretty new blooms!
don't fear the ants
they are not who ***** you worst.
their bites will come
and their bites will go
but in the end, they will only take the bitter sap of you
and let your petals unfurl.
no no, do not fear them
but draw tight against the frost
who sings sweet serenades in the moonlight
and clings to you come morning
this insidious beast
will freeze your cells
and let them burst
letting that pretty pink soul
come flowing out
less sharp than mandibles
more of a constant tug
a pull
a yank
a collapse of self
do not fear the ants!
fear the long lasting dread!
and oh,
fear the cold
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
Where is the cake? You
totally promised me there would be
cake. Words fail me. That simpering
gleam in your eyes is well-deserved,
you swine.
Yes, I'm still ****** about it.
You said I could have some. All
I wanted was a bite because I don't even
particularly like cake, but I guess
all those sweet words of yours were
just artifice.
No, that's okay. I understand, you
just did what you had to. If that entails
giving away my cake, I don't care.
I'm not going to hold a grudge or anything
over something stupid like cake. Ha!
Don't be ridiculous, it's not like the cake was good, right?
Carrot cake, you say?
Someday there will be time to reminisce,
But now my current plan is one of dread:
To yank your hair and whisper **** on this,"
And pull your eyes out of your ******* head.
Mar 5, 2011
Mar 5, 2011 at 8:18 AM UTC
He's pulled the wool over our eyes,
But there's a thread I can yank;
The fabric will unravel;
We will see again.
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 10:18 AM UTC
You can yank me out of Yorkshire but I still want Yorkshire pudding
You can send me south but I’ll still go bargain hunting
Even though it is that I live in the South
I still have a hint of the northern mouth
Well that’s what the southerners say
But I’m sure to you it doesn’t sound that way
Anyway regardless where I am at
I’m Yorkshire bred and that’s a fact
To present this case to you
Some traits of yours; I have a few
I chose cheese to partner fruitcake
And forever search for savings to make
I always speak what’s on my mind
Which at times southerners think unkind
Though they themselves aren’t so good
When it comes to small talk in moments stood
A stranger is a momentary friend to a northerner
Whilst the southerner stands awkwardly waiting
I know which I would rather be
Let’s just say it has its’ own tea
So I am most pleased to see
That so much of you has rubbed off on me
For you my northern family
Are in my thoughts more than you know
And without you I would not be so
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
i feel like a shadow.
nothing more than a bleak, distorted reflection
of what is
and i am not
i feel like a shadow.
my love for you is false but unbroken
blind and unspoken
but i still take the pill everyday
i feel like a shadow.
and every day i pray to god
for completeness and think about
what sick monster
could yank at the chains of the lonely
i am a shadow.
maybe it's better that way
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
You see,
When you grow up in a place such as I have,
And you're a person like me,
You start to have a special kind of hatred for small towns.
In my town,
In the land of the brave,
And the home of the free,
Things are messed up.
Our motto should be-
Land of the cowards,
And the home of the free (if you're like us).
...They wouldn't even know how to spell you're correctly.
In my town,
Bibles are thrown,
Names are called,
Cars are keyed,
And people are beat...
All because they're different.
Its not necessarily the different that you would imagine.
If you're red headed,
Or anything but Christian,
If you're a yank,
Or a gay,
You're hated on.
I can promise you this.
At the red heads,
They accuse them of witch craft,
And being in line with the devil.
Some have even went so far,
As to burn down ones house.
If you're not a Christan,
Run as far away from this town as possible.
Its not the place for you.
On the road I live on,
There are 7 Southern Baptist churches,
JUST on my road.
Southern Baptist are a little crazy,
Run boy,
Run.
If you're a yank....
You'll be excluded,
And yelled at.
Everything bad that goes on in this **** town,
It will all be blamed on you.
If you're gay,
Oh lord forbid that you're gay.
Don't be gay in this town,
Just dont.
You wont survive.
As for me,
I am a red headed girl,
Who comes from out of town,
Who isn't a yank,
But is still treated like one.
I am a Christan,
But not as much as I need to be,
And I am not quite straight.
I dont like this small town of mine,
But its the place I call home.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 12:34 PM UTC
Marissa Ann was a firecracker of a little girl.
For her, there was no fence too tall to climb, no bully too mean to face, no street too busy to cross.
She was all tangled hair and toothy grins.
And she'd yank the book right out of my hands and say, "Gabrielle, we have more important things to do than read."
In the jungle of our lives, Marissa was a lioness, queen of the pride.
I was a mouse not indigenous to these parts of the second grade.
The world was a terrifying place, and I had no problem cowering in the corner, knee-deep in a pile of Nancy Drew.
I tried to stay huddled behind my words, drowning in the ink, attempting to let the pages be my armor.
Marissa would not let me.
When I allowed bookshelves to be my shields, she came guns blazing, and kicked them all down, then stood me back up on my feet.
She'd grab my hand and pull me head first toward adventure.
Marissa was tough, and everyone knew it.
There was not a soul alive brave enough to pick on Marissa Ann.
But me? I was an easy target.
The other girls said I was "weird" with my enormous wire frames resting atop full cheeks, and my frayed jeans, a glowing reminder of my mother's lack of wealth.
I heard the whispers on the playground about the chubby girl who read, (can you believe it?), chapter books.
Brianna was a demon of a child.
She'd bat her pretty little eyelashes and everyone would melt.
She had the entire second grade class wrapped around her tiny little finger.
She'd corner me on the soccer field and do everything she could to remind me that I was different.
But one day at recess, she was nowhere to be found, until I made my way through winding halls, back to the warmth of our classroom.
There sat Marissa with a devilish glint in her eye, waving me over to sit in the desk beside her.
Behind us, a sniffling Brianna, looking forlornly at the teardrop stains on her pink lace skirt, her mouth pulled tight into a perfect straight line.
I looked back at Marissa with a curious glance, then intertwined her hand with my own.
The sound of stifled sobs behind us and the warmth of her skin on mine sealing an unspoken vow between two girls with puzzle piece fingertips that only fit each other.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 2:21 AM UTC
It's unfortunate that Parisians
Are very hard to bear,
In terms of flash obsequiousity,
They drive me to despair!
And patience is an attribute
I don't profess to have
To mercifully administer
When accents veer to Slav.
Baltics look like jellyfish,
The Germans are obscene
And loud and overbearing
But the Swiss are very clean.
Italians are a swarthy lot
Who gourmandize on food
And sacrifice their suavity
By being impudently crude.
The Spanish are no better,
In fact they are probably worse,
For obsessing in the blood sports
I actually rate them in reverse.
Starchiness is British
They're convoluted to the core,
The Old Boy system's lost it's sheen
Aspirants flock to it no more.
The Yanks are looking slightly crass
Whilst fighting foreign wars,
Their pinky held up squeaky clean
To call "foul" to China's flaws.
China sits inscrutably
Holding all the cards
Waiting for the moment
To strike beneath the guards.
India and Pakistan
Are squabbling like kids
The uproar over Kashmir
Rates them lower than the Yids.
The Yids are walking tightropes
With Iran's nuclear ******
Whilst currying Yank approval,
Eventual bombing is a must.
The Dutch behave so anally
They're always proven right
When faced with rigid negatives
They blanch with haunches tight.
But not the Argentineans
They love to dance and flirt,
To chase the senorita
Cavorting in the scarlet skirt.
The South Pacific's wallowing
They're adrift from World affairs
Oz's self preoccupation
Mirrors Kiwi's vacant stares.
Africa's way past comment
Lost to heat and dust,
Warfare, **** and pillage
And the rest decayed by rust.
Eskimos are OK
Clean living on the ice
The population static,
Zer-O pollution's nice!
Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
14 April 2009
May 2, 2010
May 2, 2010 at 12:08 AM UTC
there's blood drying under my nails and i can still taste the blood in my mouth
i keep scratching and clawing at myself
a self-induced appearance of leprosy without the actual disease
i'm biting my lips, my mouth, my nails
there are strips and chunks of my own flesh sticking in my throat
i guess you could say it's a bit ironic that i'm choking on myself, that i'm slowly turning myself inside out
maybe if i just scratch harder, scrape faster
(scratch and sniff but with flesh and blood)
god i need to see open wounds I need to open every single bump in my skin
i yank out my hair and eat the skin off my fingertips but it's ok i don't need it
i claw open the side of my face and i don't need it, i don't need any of it
i need to smell blood, to touch it, taste it
i tripped and scraped my knee open and let me tell you i savored that moment
i hate getting hurt but i love the aftermath
sore throbbing fingers and blood in my mouth that's what i live for
jesus bled from every pore and i envy him
i'm a monster but the only one i'm killing is myself so it doesn't really matter
i don't really matter
maybe if i scratch enough i'll dig a better person out of this skin and maybe they won't smell like death
maybe they will be whole and maybe they'll be able to stand it
one, two, three new scabs on my shoulders, my neck, my face
one, two, three scars on my arms, my legs, my back
i'm no vampire but i still need blood on my hands and it's sure as hell not innocent blood because it's mine
one of these days i'm going to fall apart and i mean that literally
gnawing on my own bones will take it's toll i'm going to collapse in a pile of my own organs and i'm going to enjoy it
it will smell like blood
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC