(The last line of this makes more sense if I inform you that the person this is about has no feeling in his right hand.)


I shouldn't be pouring myself into you
But, it feels so good
I think it feels good

I think it's not causing more harm than good

Shaking you from sleep

Because, I feel you trembling
You aren't beside me
But, I think you realize
I'm trembling, too

And, if I'm shivering down your throat
I can't know that I am

I do this
Because, I cannot make the problems go
But, I think I can make them bleed

Although, I don't think

I'm adrift in my senses

I do this
So, that we can see the words
With doubled vision
With more precision

I think the bottle's in your hand

But, I am numb

For, I can't know which one

"And don't call us Maltesers." - Marquis

In reply to:

---

That's what happens everytime I have too many drinks at my best friend's place.

---

I wish I was your friend's thirteen year old daughter...

"And don't call us Maltesers." - Marquis

Now now now
Won't you grow up a bit?
You're being a pathetic
30-year-old brat

Just because
You're feeling hurt
Doesn't mean
You were indeed
Hurt by
Me
Or anyone

And just because
You're insecure
Doesn't mean that
I
Or anyone
Must endure your absurd doubts
All the time

And just because
You make me
Laugh
With your childish jokes and
Lust
With those perfect little firm round breasts
Doesn't mean that
I
Will love you forever

Understood?

"This future racing toward us paralyzes the wallet and the brain"

The memory
Within my pulsing words
Is like a drifting soul
That you can't see;
You sense its presence, though

You question what's not there...

You'll be tormented
Never knowing what
I wanted from you

Just stop screaming
And, you'll hear my whisper
Echoing the answer
Deep within your brain

You'll always be the same
In death, in life, in bed, in cars
In arms

So tied up in the ghosts of arms...

The fizzling scars inside my breast
That drizzle acid through my chest
Just like a tired battery

It sighs
To scrape the marrow from your bones

Replaces it with acrid burn
And, biting wind
The jagged sickles from my fingertips
That broke off your unyielding skin
Your cruel, unfeeling skull
The ossein
Dull porcelain
That looks so pure, to me
A smooth, round bowl of milk
For me to dip my flaring fingers in

A cure for me
That isn't death
You think I'd learn to love my flesh
Much more than this
For, when my dripping hands resurface
There it is, again:
The proof of soured life

The blanched, white twigs
That, soon, will forget how
To sheath themselves
Like snow-light boughs
That strip, only within the amber glow of Spring
That perceived sweetness
Skeletal
And, buried wings

Get frozen in

Over again
And, over again...

"And don't call us Maltesers." - Marquis

Little girl
Won't you mow down
The jungle
Around your
Golden mussel?

Down there
It's quite a struggle
With snakes and spiders
I juggle
In the hope that soon
You'll tickle
Then gobble
My avid purple
Muscle

"This future racing toward us paralyzes the wallet and the brain"

In reply to:

---

At least now we'll get to see whether he does searches for his name.

---

Since I've already stated that I do that, you're not breaking any new ground here, rapist.

But I wasn't searching for my name - just information for the Rapist Adrian D. Kirby Dossier. The Osaka police will, I'm sure, find it useful when they receive it.

Stu
3-14-12 Katsuyama-Kita, Ikuno-ku

In reply to:

---

Your prose is brilliant in it's conciseness, and you're clearly a romantic at heart.

---

My first time in I Was An Artiste
I never knew this shit was here
I never realised how gay Strawman was
But I’d always suspected Adrian was weird

Though I never appreciated the extent of his misogyny
Until I read the chronologically
Increasingly violent tone of his God-awful poetry
The prison psychologists will have a field day

Did I mention that Strawman is gay?

(Jeez I’m good. I mean, rhyming with “chronologically”. You don’t see that every day.)

Stu
Get Bowie Back Downunder

So as not to alienate the countless hordes of male posters who are surely clinging to my every word, I think I should note that the views expressed in the following piece do not reflect a belief that the nature of all men is predatory and manipulative. This poem merely reflects all the ones I've come in brief physical contact with.


Miss Lead's Manifesto of Passive-Aggressive Individualism


Man
Oh, man
I love you, really
Listen up, though
You can
Take me to the movies
Buy me frozen drinks
In the hopes that I will blow you
Tell me what you normally do/think/say to
All the other girls
But, not in my sweet case
Deny the things that bother you are what I think they are
And, order me to order much more for myself
In the confidence that that won't work
Fuck me as the bacon burns
And, pull my hair
Then, run away
You think you've left me soggy
When, I've charred you to a crisp
Devoured you like nothing
With no chance for you to notice

Trust me

Georgie
Oh, my porgie
I miss you, really
But, I've built immunities
To your X-ray glance
With leaden giants guarding strongholds
Fortresses of eyes
Bullets that aren't aimed to kill
They're aim is to plant poison in your mind
And, make you think I care enough about a win to whine
And, I'm so fair
That you can't see it

Trust me

Captain
Oh, my captain
I am you
I, sometimes, wish I got the credit
I still boast the mental medals
I know my own monicker
You must think that mine is.. "Conquered!"
As you drive your flag
Into my sodden land
Accept my bounty
Feed me lies
Vows and sighs
But, you will never make me bride
I like you, man
But, not enough to want your hand
Clamped tightly on my clammy wrist
And, not enough to bear your name or kids

Trust me

Boy
Oh, boy
I thank you, really
For your kind pretense
But, you won't
Beat me
At a mind sport
When that wasn't my intent
My offense
And, my defense
I guess it's wrong
I guess it's bad
To be a shifting shape of bull
But, you're the animal
I'm just the waste
I'm more content than you can face
And, for this, you're content
Let's let it be, at that
It's for the best

Just trust me
If someday I should surrender
You'd not want what you would have


If guns are made for shooting, then skulls are made to crack.
You’ve never seen a better Faig than with a bullet in his back.

"You took me out to wine dine sixty-nine me
But didn't hear a damn word I said"

"This future racing toward us paralyzes the wallet and the brain"

Now that I'm old but still unwise
And all my gods are dead and gone
I feel a wave within me rise
Of loneliness
And fear
And cold

I live among insipid rhymes
Silly stories and shaky songs
Thinking of the ones I admired
Bryan, Freddie
And David Jones
And all the other Davids
Wherever they may be
Now

Yes, life is hard without them!
I do the strand
I play the game
I scream like a baby
I rant and rave
I get wild then
I surrender
But in the end
I still suffer!

"This future racing toward us paralyzes the wallet and the brain"