Posts Tagged ‘die’

Lesbians

Posted: March 31, 2017 in poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
lesbians

I don’t know why I spend so much time looking at lesbian porn

It is a sad and lonely pastime

I suspect they’re probably just gay for pay

Is it because I can’t imagine myself in the scenario

Or just because I don’t like looking at cocks

I knew a woman

Like a mirror image

Who liked looking at gay male porn

I’m sure that lesbians are 20 percent cooler than straight people

Just because they don’t need men

And they’ve always seemed really cool to me

Let’s face it men suck ass

I hate myself for being a man

I hate myself for being lonely

I hate myself for being fat

I hate myself for being over forty and not young and funky

I am a sad individual

I am going to die alone

 

 

 

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rabbit-pothead-not-just-hippies-300x273

Trip through life and suck on sky

These concrete moments make me high

Sometimes I feel like I’m going to die

Someday I will tell you why

Bend the twilight into shape

While the heavenly harridan gapes

Things fall to pieces, shattering into dust

Crackling, crinkling deforming as entropy increases

While the bird in my brain tweets inane gibberish to cauterize my mind

And my limbs become robotic in under a flagrant moon

The moon that sucks on my wound

Stars that pinprick my eyes

I’m dying, I’m frying

I’m flying, I’m flying

Over vast swaying fields of marijuana

Stinky green crumbly buds with orange hairs

Everywhere

sx_dolls_10

Sex bot my sexpot

Oh let me die in your mechanical embrace

Feeling your suction and vibration

Sex bot my sexpot

I wasn’t sure if I should get you to look like Scarlett Johansen or Winona Ryder

But I’m glad I chose Sylvia Plath

Sex bot my sexpot

I love to turn you on if you know what I mean

Let us kiss then make electronic love

Sex bot my sexpot

You have settings for vanilla and kinky

Naughty spanky fun for you and me

Sex bot my sexpot

I don’t need to have social skills to get you into bed

You don’t care about my vast vortex of desperation

 

his_messy_room_by_ibrahimamr

He  turned around and said
“Life is passing me by
And soon I will die
I seem to be having a problem with my lifestyle
Sitting in the detritus of my life
Festering away in daydreams
Counting ear weasel delusions
Breaking wind and smoking bongs
Mired in mental excrement
Emitting waste and crap all over the floor
Beer bottles, Energy drink cans
Empty cigarette butts, filthy plates
Life at an easy pace in subterranean sickness
Sorrowing, breathing, dying inside
Snapping time into chunks with cigarettes
Watching TV
Dicking around on the iphone
Waiting for something to happen”

10028179-Close-up-of-a-smoking-cigarettes-in-a-stack-Stock-Photo

Time like cigarettes
Measuring out moments of tedium and trial
Just existing
Sometimes seems difficult
Watching television
To quiet suicidal ideation
Decaying cognition
Corrupted cogitation
Stinking thinking
All around the rubbish piles up
‘Cos I can’t be bothered cleaning up
Or have some mental block about it
Any woman would be frightened away
I’m going to die festering in my own filth

Heroin in spoon on black background

Heroin in spoon on black background

The sun hits the sky
Like a fist in the eye
And I feel like I’ll die
And I feel like I’m fried

The smack in the spoon
Is sucked up by a fit
And it’s coming on soon
And it’s really good shit

The woman explodes
Through her nipples and nodes
And I feel like she’ll die
But I’m just not sure why

The torture begins
And the faceless ones win
The moon cures the air
There’s a stench of despair

The sun hit’s the sky
Like a fist in the eye
And I feel like I’m high
And I’m just not sure why

grimreaper

Light bulbs blow
Coffee cups break
Glass shatters to shards
Hard drives corrupt
Entropy increases

Eyes grow dull and blind
Flesh rots to dust and feeds worms
Bodies wrinkle and bend
Hair becomes grey and brittle
Entropy increases

Cigarettes become cigarette butts
Cars rust to worthlessness
Buildings are knocked over to build more buildings
Every pet you ever had dies
Entropy increases

It’s inevitable
You can’t push back the tide of entropy
We are born, we die, we rot
The grim reaper is always at the door, his skull-face locked in a grimace
Entropy increases

loneliness2

Understand the solitary man
Burnt out tree lost in a forest of loneliness
Pebble under an infinite mountain
He puts on a mellow album
Smokes a couple of cones
Lights mandarin flavoured incense
Stares at the dirty plates and empty drink bottles surrounding him and recoils at how dirty the coffee table is
Considers doing the washing
Considers moving the dirty plates to the kitchen
Doesn’t move

His mental soliloquy:
“Oh my filth, my precious filth
No-one can tell me to clean up
At least I know where things are
Oh God ,I’m getting fat
My back aches when I walk
I’m going to die alone in a rented room
From a heart attack or lung cancer
Or I’ll get diabetes and someone will chop off my leg”

Paranoia, paranoia most foul in lonely rooms all over the world where excess men who nobody wants live out their pathetic lives
His personal space is small
No-one wants to invade it
His dreams are always full of women
But his life is empty of them
Too depressed to jerk off but soaked in longing
Waiting for death
Understand the solitary man

orange_bud

I’m running out of cones
The guinea-pigs are squeaking with hunger
They also need new newspaper and attention
The bedroom is a war-zone, festering and corrupt
The sheets are dirty and full of holes
The floor drowns in empty cigarette butts
Dirty coffee cups everywhere
I’m running out of cones
My imaginary girlfriend has a boyfriend
I’m going to die alone

I’ve lost my mobile phone
I’m running out of cones
There are plates all over the floor
There are lunatics at the door
I am tired and I am sore
I can’t take it any more
I think you know the score
I’m running out of cones
I have itchy balls
Desperation crawls up walls
Madness lurks within the halls
My brain feels full of eels
You don’t care how I feel
I’m running out of cones

handsup
Who wants to die?
Hands Up!
Pigs bleed from an assortment of orifices in the slaughterhouse:
Treacle blood snakes down the drain.
Offensive
Pungent
Like emotional napalm from the mouth of a black angel
Like a skull-shrill yelp of a dog beaten to death with a tire-iron
Like maniac moaning from a storm drain
Like horrendous howls from a perforated soul
Like crazy chattering of skeletons’ teeth
Like skinning a live cat

Who wants to die?
Hands up!
Bludgeon bean bags
Bash pillows
Blast feathers
Beat meat
Such inconsequential actions
Are nihilistic metaphors
For nothing at all
Who wants to die next?
Hands Up!
Formica feelings
Frigid grimace
Cancerous asshole
Bleeds suburban angst
Far from important
Not even newsworthy