You, stealing into me
faster than the swinging door
between the rules of love and war
becomes unhinged and free of weight.
I know where it does gravitate.

You, peeling into me,
again, just like you did before,
again, the squealing rib cage door.
So, hide my heart inside my skull,
then throw my brain against the wall.

You, slipping into me
faster than the aural scurf
you left behind inside a shirt
you left behind inside my room
is fading to a smell of doom.

You, ripping into me
faster than a name and flesh
slips through the fingers of a death.
Like bone dust breathing into flight.
Devoured by the endless night.

Bring me stories, bring me out, bring me Hell and hellish doubt.
Bring me nothing, bring a smile, bring me somewhere cold and vile.
String me on, string me up, string me out on smirks and smut.
Things get strange, things won't change, in this indistinct exchange.

Stop, drop, shut 'em down open up shop! Oh, no! That's how Ruff Ryders roll!

you tighten
a plug
pleading to be dislodged
from a drain that drains frenzy
into watery self
distributes it evenly among every cell
your warm tributaries
they merrily swell
as you warily spell some four letter word
in a blurred non-language that cannot be heard
in a shiver that wags
awaiting a name
you swaggering braggart of shagging and shame
you staggering Bogart, now drunken and lame
you're a dame in a lonely place
still, smoky frame
shelled in a light
and dark
and tame
and lit by a spark, the dame takes a drag
inhaling a worry
and starting to gag
then starting to choke and joke and joke...
until "come hither" flashes lightning
in my stroke
oh, bright and frightening
in my stroke
to penetrate your flimsy yolk
to venerate your clumsy cloak
to sin with pride
to touch your side
uselessly baroque
inside my stroke

The end of semester is like the vaginal harvest. Capitalizing on all of that sexual tension is like a tribal ritual for me. I put on green paint, buy a 10 pack of Rough Riders and go to town. - Kev

And if I'm gonna keep posting this kinda stuff, I'll require a more angsty theme. I can't take myself seriously with that Rough Riders thing, and how I yearn to take myself seriously.

People are fragile things, you should know by now
Be careful what you put them through

Ah, please post as much as you want. I am currently in something of a fallow period and also dead busy as I am leaving the country in 24 hours. Expect much navel gazing, talk of alienation and poems titled Doesn't Anybody Here Speak English (I Thought We Won the War, Dammit!)? once I arrive in Japan

I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of and what I am proud of is disgusting - Moe Syzlak

Let's be a yeah whore grinning,
on.

The ropes to the ceiling and hangs
her fleshbag is color of human skin
gas mark distress insignia A trouble key, and
Her hemoglobin insect army
Like Antonio Torso feast show
(it is a thing you watch on television)
Bright flash retina scab sky of room And in.
And she thinking touch it
is red going to coos hand
To climbing a reptile blush and

Give me money,
She thinks she is going to touch it.

A festival tiny mouths
sewn bakery among afternoons
liquid perishable, nine month moon
Open queen and stocked
Eyeing spider fourth murtain
(it is like a curtain but mortal)
To bulb and ash splendor, wise
false calendar eruption on in sailor
Alright, can come, dig.
My smile is eight inches big.

Inspired by my crappy haiku. GP, I hope you don't mind, but I'm biting off your technique. (I think you know what I mean.)

To answer your question:
The tree makes a noise
It's a shriek no one hears
It's the curdling poise
of an august Sequoya that's rotting inside,
absorbed by a pillow like sand drinks the tide
Lapping away, now and screaming with blights,
teaming with mites,
and beaming with lights
(The lights help me deal)
But, they bounced off your eyes, because they weren't real

To answer your question:
There's no healing balm
Nowhere in Gilead,
and not in a Psalm
A kiss of the palms is all holy and chaste
But, it honors a myth and it seems such a waste
to be wasting away, now and bleary with need,
weary of creed,
and teary with seed
(The proof helps me feel)
But, it washes away, because it's not real

To answer your question:
It's hard to be true
when you ask me a question
that answers to you
I wish I could know what to say when you're sad
I wish I could be the only to be had
Crumbling away, now and ashen like ruin,
scratching and chewing
a patch of undoing
(The truth is revealed)
And, it means not a thing, being true, being real

Many girls want to be carnal with me... because I am such a premium dancer!

little plastic set of tools
chocolate chip and vericose veins
we came home laughing, to be abated
by shards of ceramic skull surrounding your rosy face
are you dead? are you a ghost? are you even here, at all...
your back, peeling like the color on your commemorative Desert Storm T-shirt
vermilion tan, blue blood, and a perpetually white mind
projecting blankness on a moving screen
that's swirling with time and feeling
you don't comprehend, you fucking mutant
that this is all there is
for that, i hate myself

Many girls want to be carnal with me... because I am such a premium dancer!

Took the slow route to get here and Im still waiting to arrive

spent hours in a town where they all knew my name
but chose not to use it
not that it matters
I am a different person I suppose-

gave myself a new name
but feel just the same
maybe more alone

maybe like my shadows casting me
here in a place where even the rubbish truck plays a tune

unrecognisablyCI admit.


I guess what I am trying to say is I miss you

Subter meat eyes. I candle to your candroid,
A posited question (read: redundant)
And tricks for swelling ankle shocks.
Simulacharm beeb in a John Cage phony,
We listen off cognition and ploy
A mate beat allegory; or is there allegory?
Is an allegory beat comes the beat itself?
Is an allegory thinking the thing itself?
Is an allegory unitrinsic and the beat bought itself

Or chance:
I was watching the number spinning like millionaire and
It a question; brought about; brought about
Broad allegory (stuck) to cognition
Which is itself a cognition and
glory method recursion cunnilinguistic phonemenon
Lexical distorgence simultaneity of meaning and coincidence.
I beatbox the alligatorical until it
bites the coq off my colloquialism.
It is playful butter inheritive to the somehow
and pertaining the formal surgeon (it itselfs reference
faux semantically and semioltaneotically
while I reference nothing but the language is an author
protative cognatogist?)

Or truth I want to refereme of sexiotics
For dinner tonaght fountain that spat phallic
It was like a cock which was its own continuous ejaculation
And bite the baby flesh alligorically off the fiercy
It was delicious and there were tomatoes.
Do you see where I was coming from?

Vote for me: TW's Top Fag!

I remember...how can I remember so many things from previous lifes?

I remember when you sent me that German song, it was so funny it made me cry.

I cried and cried, you moved me.

But I can never show my tears to anyone.

Until I met you as a 5 yearold.

Now I put my big black sun glasses even if it's not sunny.

Cause girls don't cry. At least not in public cause it fucks up their make up.

My ass belongs on your face.