The Writer meets the StripperNarcissists will panderto the one-way mirror,sycophants fall in love.
The Flutter VelocityI didn't know the bridge would fallor that the water beneath could consumethe last structures of an identity,when held still I don'tfight anymore.The architects were ignorant.I make gills and breathe,submit to pressure,the last car to fall is black.I don't care anymore.The shore persists.
To a NihilistYou are a collection of atoms expressing sentimental miscellanea, introverted processes designed by coincidence to always prove the theory of chaos,I am unstable,but you are decomposing. I wonder,sometimes, if you contemplate futility or peaceor constance or value or the fate of our mortalityin a universe that holds its dead starsfor millennia, a history of dust,implosions,but then I remembereveryone does.And that is what you never learned, never sought to.
And The Silver SpoonMy associative prismhas lost a coloror a shade,a shape of long grassfrom the eyes of a spun child lying.I collect evidencefor naivety,none,but without abscence.The blades trippedinto each other,water beads,laughter,shiny leather shoes.
Blue DreamI discovered a manwho makes me feel incomparablethe same way Columbus discovered America:he existed beforehand and was probably better offwithout a directionally challenged sociopath,no matter what those Thanksgiving craftspeddle to Neoamerican children.Regardless, his persistence withstood my apathetic exterior,and I like his music even if I don't say it,"You're okay," translates to something meaningful,"Pretty great," says exceptional, "I'm really senstive," adresses that he knows what he's doingwith his tongue, his lips, his cock,and ten competent fingers,but now I'm making excuses. I have a big nose,countable ribs, narrow hips, an ass like a sheet of drywall,a shipful of charisma, countless manipulations,social ineptness, political anxiety,and over a thousand pages of writing, which,for the record,in case he doesn't get it:that's a lot of emotional bullshit,and about half of it is melodramatic, petty,unsubstantiated stories about my life
Muon neutrinoSome number of daysbecome one: a thought bound togetherby the number of pills I took, 12 on Wednesday,you forgot Thursday, when God lets his head resta blackhole forms,and you ask for your poems back.Maybe I took a reflection gold like yours,a few back hairs, the phone you bought, a German market,your accent, but my hand was possessed:I spun a new era,knocked around plastic bottlesand shattered a dropper. My lines were perfect,nothing like the fizzy bits of an atom,when your car never started,a roach on the nightstand,my eye imploded,but I send my poems back.The ones on napkins, dollars, candy wrappers,unduplicated sinews of sex, laughter,or just an amphetamine,your smile--You were always better. And betteris impossible to swallow,light's always faster,and when God blinks,nothing happens.
Shrek is Love Shrek is lifeShrek Is Love Shrek is Life.I was only 9 years old I loved shrek so much, I had all the merchandise and moviesI pray to shrek every night before bed thanking him for the life I've been given.Shrek is love I say, Shrek is lifeMy dad overhears me and calls me a faggotI knew he was just jealous of my devotion for ShrekI called him a cuntHe slaps me and sends me to go to sleepIm crying now, and my face hurtsI lay in bed and its really coldA warmth is moving towards me.I feel something touch meIts shrekI am so happyHe whispers in to ear "this is my swampHe grabs me with his powerful ogre hands and puts me on my hands and kneesI'm readyI spread my ass cheeks for ShrekHe penetrates my buttholeIt hurts so much but I do it for ShrekI can feel my butt tearing as my eyes start to waterI push against his forceI want to please ShrekHe roars a mighty roar as he fills my butt with his loveMy dad walks inShrek looks him straight in the eye and says "Its all ogre now"Shrek lea
Un petit Poeme - A little PoemYesterday evening I saw this funny Deviation of a Dear Friend af mine!http://klo-badelaine.deviantart.com/art/Parfois-440496566And, reading at the comment below...... I started to write a comment ...... and soon, following a spring of the moment (I was in a funny mood), I began to try to wrote in rhymes in my very poor French!And now, since I would to have and give to you a funny moment in this bad, heavy and nervous day,...I would share with you my little, silly, French-written "Poem"!"Parfois j'aime attacher mes amies.Sometimes i love tying my girlfriends up." (Klo-Badelaine)Et un bonne Journée a tout le Monde!
Well That Was UnexpectedRoses Are Red,Violets Are Bluish.A Leprechaun Told Me Saint Patrick Was Jewish.
Fatto CampThe fattos arrive and we show them the campThey knock over tables, photos and lampsChairs are destroyed by their oversized rearsAnd yet they wonder why they were sent here.Lovely was the fattos' danceWatching them jiggle as they pranceSweating amounts of sugary sweatWhich dampen their shirts and pants.Fattos bleed grease instead of bloodIt soaks the floor as if it were mudI see a fatto slip on the groundAnd he drops to the floor with a thud.Hungry now is what the fattos must beWe try feeding them citrus from a treeThey refuse to eat anything healthySo we give them cake and they swallow with glee.Bigger become their rolls of flubberMore useless than balls made of rubberThey become to heavy for the fattos to handleSo we light them aflame with the help of a candle.What should we tell their mothers?The fattos burn easily, though it's puetridTheir extra calories act as lighter fluidSoon there is nothing else but piles of ashWhich we collect and dump it all into the t
Food, Luxury, Food Food, Luxury, FoodDrowsiness, my eyes clench togetherAs a bright light invades the dark roomA stale smell of coffee resides the lips of the figure over meHe comes with a warm gestureThe scent of my mornings' greetingPancakes drenched in maple syrupCrispy bacon still sizzlingFilling my lungs with a splendid aromaRare mornings begin with thisWhat a delightful luxuryI wonder what he wants from me now
Dress To Depress'Please mirror', I whisper softly'Make me look okayI won't ask this any other timeonly for today'I take a step back and inspect myselfMy head tilts to the rightI sometimes wish the morphing bodyWas just my poor eye sightThe trousers zip has brokenThe top has shrank in sizeI repeat these lines to myself x10But i know that they are liesI yank them off in a struggleAnd put on a simple black dressThey show off my unshaven legsAnd i really begin to stressI put on a pair of black leggingsPraying to look trendy and coolBut the model wearing them in a catalogueSeems to laugh and shout at me 'fool'I chuck them into the wardrobeAnd look whilst breathing deepThe majority of clothes don't fit meAnd melodramatically i begin to weepI rip the clothes off their hangersAnd throw them onto the floorI stamp and I scream and I swearI can't take this any moreI search in my drawers for anythingJust to give me a glimmer of hopeI end up finding my favourite necklaceWhich is layi
Hemingwaywas half-right—write high;edit high;proofread sober.