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Anais Vionet Apr 19
Donald Trump’s on trial - the first of many.
It’s a cold feeling, being judged
- with your future held in the balance
(Ok, that sounded SO much like college life).

We all hope for greatness, I believe.
As kids, we see ourselves winning Wimbledon,
or standing on the gold medal podium at the olympics.

Donald Trump was a controversial president
I think that’s fair to say - some saw greatness,
others - not so much - but I think Mr. Trump
has what it takes to be a great prisoner.

First, he’ll eat practically anything
and he’s used to both paying for ***
and working with criminals.
I think he’ll have greatness ****** upon him.
.
.
songs for this:
Secrets (Your Fire) by Magdalena Bay
POSE by MICHELLE
Hi-Fidelity by Lava La Rue
Leave it on the Dance Floor by Hope Tala
Get your noses out of that stank hole you half-man beasts.

Most of you walk around with **** and **** on your breath; Disgusting punk cuck skanks clean up, lazy vermin.
Life is the antithesis of degradation
Anais Vionet Aug 2020
Let me introduce
David Dennison - wealthy,
*****-minded man.

Credit card in hand
and his pornographic plans,
for *** on demand.

Little girls attract
him - his daughter's body
teases and distracts him.

Of course Jeff Epstein
knew the way of it - the pay
& get away with it.

David’s lawyers
smoothed the way - and he’s the
President today.

*David Dennison is Donald Trump's alias in non-disclosure agreements with prostitutes
Let's elect the stupidest, most immoral man we can find.
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Novelties
by Thomas Campion
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Booksellers laud authors for novel editions
as pimps praise their ****** for exotic positions.

*

Original Latin text:

IN LIBRARIOS
by Thomas Campion

Impressionum plurium librum laudat
Librarius; scortum nec non minus leno.

Keywords/Tags: Campion, Latin, translation, epigram, novels, novelties, booksellers, publishers, authors, pimps, ******, prostitutes, prostitution, exotic, positions, quote, quotation, saying, witticism, bon mot
Brandon Conway Jul 2018
A city is nothing but a menagerie
caging different shades of insanity
dusty streets, concrete tombs, lingerie
costumes shooting up profanity

Here I stand
no shade of dignity
*** of cash in hand
shaded with apathy

Things I do with these creatures
in the concealing night
a spoon and a woman, double feature
finished and feeling contrite

Cross the bridge to leave the zoo
back to my normal life
conscience I must subdue
while I lay down next to my wife

I am sorry
I just miss the thrill
I am sorry
I just miss the feel
I am sorry
I just miss the comforts of the landfill
and the parroting comatose safaris
40 years we have lived in the light and baunty so bright,
then comes 40 Years of darkest night.
Our town sleeps one last time in our lovely homes before we set off for the land of safety and light.
The twilight is here to the town's dismay,
the horrors come forth from the darkest pine-forest beyond our friendly place.
The town here's the evil waking in the dark place beyond and sounds the horns to board the ships that will carry them to safety from this soon-to-be horrid place.
We left a lovely town in the shadows of death,
we will return in 40 years to reclaim what we have left.
Good luck to those who stay behind for we are the lucky ones that flea from the coming endless night.
Those who stay will face their ugly nightmares,
but fear not for we will be back to bury your bones beneath our lovely Town in 40 years.
Whether you're brave or stupid we shall not know.
Death awaits you beneath the snow.
Good luck you poor soul.
Copyright Michael Robert Triska July 2018 This is a Dungeons & Dragons 5th edition game called Endless Night. The players are besieged by all manner of ****** has the 40-year night Falls over the town and the town villagers have all left the village for safer climates.
Cassandra Lane Oct 2017
In an era where used cars are “pre-owned”
And ****** are hard to come by
I search back alleys for a sign of life
All the flowers died in my apartment
A lover tells me it’s from the cold
He hated it and so did they
I thought he meant of the winter
I spent the last 5 years meat free
My cats hate me because
I can’t share plums with them
I plant the pits but they never grow
A different lover tells me that isn’t how plants work
I’ve never been smart
But any good man likes a starving *****
Except for the ones that matter
So i wink at the guy in the produce section
His daughter asks if I’m a witch
I say yes
But he’s too committed to a piece of metal
To visit my apartment
Of death and empty flower pots
I wear a lot of black
But my favorite color is yellow
I want yellow shoes
But I’m afraid they’re too brash
So i wear olive heels
And pin stripe dresses
And heart shaped sunglasses
Because spring is here
And everything is warm
But my flowers still will not grow
I always thought he meant they didn’t like the winter
But he always meant my heart
David Flemister Mar 2017
Smirnoff is for *****
Down it, darlin'
Martin Narrod Jan 2017
The cold is my commander, it taunts me, while it steals my sheaths of warmer cleaving skin sections exposed by its notions and collected conscious. The sounds are complicated, the moons azurean hue resembles the coldness of my cigarette's embers blue, and then the commander shucks my final breath away. It isn't something that I barely feel, but rather something that lightly see. It's hoarfrost births its fickle shell of hardrime on the last of those interstices I once called my fingers. And from this choke, this frozen voice is detained by the vox ice amplifier that steals each noise. Besides, in an interruption I hear our whorish neighbors score of shouting scripted shouts, and screaming scripted screams. Each day she becomes less and less like any real human being. It's hard to believe that behind these walls that shield me from the albicant and atrocious heraldry winter casts me through, these sounds are concentric like limited Earth words written in the prompts that some ill and wanton succubus would. If only to lure herself from the pains she gained while lying to those amidst her closest ties. I am further distressed, though fully dressed narrowly watching bits of frozen water interlace themselves beneath freezing in the corners of my mind. When until the shaking and commandeering of my mortal sounds, disperse amidst the ferocity that Spring white snow absconds. The tremulent vocal chords are hailed by a hard-rimed ****, who ensuingly rips the cantering spirit from each last place it stood. Only those who know this wind could speak about the way it genuflects and obsesses on these rules. This freezing genuflection hails to every servant of its rein, I can barely exhale the inspiration that rises from the head, until any skin exposed to air is reclaimed by my commander for good. Then each neighbor's head may lilt upon the piste, and pray for something more balmy than negative eleven degrees.
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