your first deep underground poem

depression hurts and takes its toll but you used it creatively. well done.

memories hold alot of power they can make your day or break it. great poem.

Materialism - Published 7th March 2014

Materialism is the system,
Provide you with ‘ism’ prisons,
Unrealistic visions of living,
Fictitious prescriptions to live in,
Sickness is not wide spread yet,
Witness its being bred instead,
They are inside our heads,
Medication and media,
An easy way to lead us,
Force feed and defeat us,
But I won’t concede bro,
My cerebral is my cathedral,
You have no control over my type of people,
No superstition but let’s face it,
I’m a materialist atheist,
Many contradictions I foster and admit,
A conspiracy theorist and lyrical apostle,
It’s well know I am hostile but always watchful,
While I am alive I’ll count down the time that’s what this watch fo’

Dance

it previously occurred to me
trying reason, to no prevail
that you just might be Satan
and this could possibly be Hell

like a drug I fiend for
I need you endlessly
and like all addiction
you may be the end of me

there isn’t a third party
in this case of me and you
No, not three, you and me
you’re the Devil that makes two

heading down a path
while ignoring intervention
I walk the road to Perdition
with oh so good intention

at purgatories bridge
I pause to pay your toll
transpiring our only deal
dealt in the selling of my soul

I’ve devised a proposition
since the night we met
reject not my offer, please
to be your advocate

it’s so clear we’re right
you’ve left me in a haze
I beg you, lock this room
with only you to do for days

like a junkie, I came back
for more and continually
and you, my friend, the demon
who keeps giving it to me

every addict needs their drug
and habit to be kicked
still, you need me because
every drug needs an addict

yes, you are the Antichrist
that I would meet by chance
and I’m the girl, that met the Devil
who taught him how to dance

Im really hoping my first isn't the only one with erotic origins... So here goes

Eyes

Look into my  eyes, 
I want you to look at me while you come, 
While i force my fingers into you, 
Slowly, 
Deeply, 
Don't you dare close them, 
Even when you tremble, 
Uncontrollably, 
Desperately trying to control yourself, 
And fail miserably, 

Shh, 
Be quiet, 
Don't make me choke you, 
Make me squeeze until your vision Ceases, 

Let me rub you, 
Hear you moan, 
yelp, 
Cry, 
harder, 
Faster, 
Just on the right spot, 
Over and over, 
Relentlessly pushing, 

what will i do with those clawing hands, 
I Might have to bind them, 
stick my dick deep inside of you, 
watch you scream, 
Breathing quickly, 
Breasts hardening, 
Muscles quivering, 

Look into my eyes, 
I want you to watch Me come, 
watch me claim what is mine, 
dirty what was clean, 
Stain, fill, consume, 
Watch me, 
My little obsession, 
Watch my devour you. 

A'ight, here was my opener to this community I have grown to love, written and posted just before my birthday in 2012...


Final Score

I long to track light fear    
But something's in the trenches    
Heavier than the stenches    
Of sticky blood smear.    
   
The mere mention and all I hear    
Is a ringing in my ears.    
Some dear mon cher, it's clear    
Meets her ancestral procession tonight.    
   
After a vessel projection in my sight?    
I fight but despite the best of my protection    
She's uncreation's reflection.    
I fucking hate it when murder blesses its interjections    
   
Into poetic discussion    
Instead of simply crushing    
Opponents skulls in.    
Slay to win    
   
Until lesser predators stay in,    
Only sinning within,    
Growing weaker and then,    
Meeting the Reaper spent...      
   
Early like Confederate tin,    
Bent to curlies like smoke streams at their rim.    
Killing keeps you thin.    
Adverse to my whims    
   
A mystery worse than my pen    
Is right near, with sight unclear.    
   
Illumination self-blinding    
Like the over-information    
In Plato's Great Escape mine scene    
Minus Steve McQueen.  
   

Fuck allegorical humiliation    
All the more for introspective invasion.    
Even the score or change the station.    
   
Ooooooh... fear tracking's back on!    
Vision still gone.    
Enemy unknown blown that one.    
Listening for thickening voices of terror,    
   
Sickening choices, riveting inches from error.  
Whosoever Hunts Monsters, too close to compare,    
No room to share what isn't there.    
Not tonight mon cher,    
   
You're my only vice that's ever been right,    
The one price I can't spare.    
I'd sooner post you on the Dark Side of the Moon,    
Guarded by Victor Doom, safer for you there.    
   
Too close to home this unknown scare.    
Still deaf with the ringing    
But the tingling in my ears    
Tells me I'm near    
   
While reliance in the science    
Of any sense keeps making it disappear!    
   
Fuck that for flack!    
If Fear's source prime    
Has a mind off the track    
Like CalvinBall on crack?    
   
We can play like that!    
Watterson wasn't the only whack    
Who talked smack in sonnets    
To expel demons of reason    
   
Screaming mental vomit.    
I'm on it strong    
Twice as wrong off the track.    
Trimming a vellum map    
   
'Til it talks back    
Like the bleat from the spirit of the sheep    
Exposed complete    
Even the undead fall into my beat!    
   
My crusading pages are black and white and red all over.    
Like a burlap sack of pandas,    
Biting your head off the shoulders,    
Leaving your legacy bare!    
   
My songs attack to dare    
Like an insomniac's nightmare.    
Wherever wrong is at    
Like a mom on crack I'm right there!    

A maze of interconnected prospective playthings    
Splintering at the nexus from rage.    
Infectious plague traded for protective prayers.    
Slay your babies across the page    
   
'Til it burns blank    
Like how Tiananmen Square turned    
After Sherman tanks.    
But malice in memory banks    
   
Returns like Alice to Wonderland.    
Checking in on a promise,    
Onus abated after fictional creation's reclamation.    
The heckling of subconscious created    
   
Fates of imagination    
Spurns for prospective station    
Like Schroedinger's nullifying science's defiance    
At the Nth generation.    
   
So what the Hell's coming back for me?    
Touch, taste and smell picking up slack    
By exponential degrees.    
Such a waste of potential in three    
   
(In case you didn't catch iconoclastic threats for free.)    
   
A classic re-shaping for escapism,    
Erasing rakish coquettes,    
Faceless vets, hopeful corrected convicts.    
Appetites whetted of royalty's ravenous pets,    
Erasing names and faces they digest!    
   
"Stop replacing the text,    
You're riffing time and space frets    
Like the late space cadet    
From the Grateful Dead.    
Skip the talented tip of the wit text,    
Get to what's next!"
   
A step I touch,    
Mon cher's breath escapes,    
I taste like her body rush,    
Heatwave push    
   
Taking too much.    
Bloodrush.    
Fear swells.    
This I smell.    
   
Slack for three so what the Hell's coming back for me?    
   
Shit that can tell I wasn't bragging in the breeze    
About 3's hanging from trees earlier in this nursery.    
ConTENT that dragon-wit blurs    
It's hardly the worst of me.    
   
CONtent past my own consent    
Like pumping chronic    
Through the air vents of a convent.    
Same common sense consequence:    
   
Repression comes alive.    
Obsession runs past discussion to strive.    
Lessons from demons of less coherent creators drive    
Less cohesive pride    
   
To undress before rising tide,    
Naked nuns no longer fighting what's inside.    
   
So I'm exposed in mental nudity.    
My prose in spiritual fluidity    
Flows with eventual agility    
Past preventative captivity.    
   
It knows all of we, but grows in some of us.    
Shows when turning to rust    
That streaming water chatters,    
Vibrating all it scatters,    
Remaking walls shattered.    
   
Lost creations swallowed into dark matter,    
Escaping like the Mad Hatter.    
Empty space won't keep a gaze to my face    
Or find my soul to swallow whole!    
   
Set me before the gallows pole and watch me create.    
I'll fill my sandy space  
Like land was my pallet in a palace of grace.    
Dark matter won't find me to shatter,    
   
Writing ahead of my mind's own splatter.    
My mind takes a ride.    
I wake and rise,    
Unsurprised to have survived 'til sunrise.    
   
Just luck for Loki of Literati...        
   
Holy fuck I'm floating, where's my body?

Here's my first one...

Happy
Life has its ups and downs.
Sometimes it throws us off
The edge and hoping we’ll live.
Sometime life hurts and
Makes us unhappy.
That’s why we leave things,
Places and people behind.
It’s not because
They’re completely bad
And awful. It’s because we
Keep on walking forward.
They teach us what we want
And don’t want in life.
We know there’s something
Better out there for us.
Doors keep opening
And closing. That’s
Why they’re revolving doors.
Life keeps going and we’re
Given new hope every day.
We deserve to be appreciated
And loved for what we bring to
The table. We don't have time
For things that weigh us
Down and makes us feel
Unwanted. We don’t want to
Feel undervalued and
Under appreciated for
Things that are out of
Our control. We don’t have
Room in our lives for people
Only pointing out our weaknesses.
If it doesn’t serve us
Then we certainly don’t need it.
We need to be appreciated
And valued for being strong.
We are dedicated and hard
Working individuals who
Deserve chances. Life
Can’t knock us down.
We can only get back up
If we do. We deserve to
Be happy
Because happiness
Is the most important
Thing in life to have.
That and love. We deserve
Love too. We want to have
A lifetime of happiness and love.

My first...

"That look in your eyes only makes me want you more"
You whisper in my ear
Your voice is a growl
You're the predator
I'm the prey
And you have me now
Your hands gripping my hips
One going to the small of my back
You bend me over
To sample your prize
The sweet nectar of my arousal that lies
Dripping
Glistening
In between my thighs
And its source...
Let the sight of moist flesh rouse your inner-beast
Behold the image of my bare body
I am your feast
Come and let me ignite your fire
And awaken your dormant desires
As you come on upon me like a king conquering a new empire...

Like the first time. Again

The Tempter

His eyes pierced my soul,
His crooked smile clawed at my heart.
His hatred for life made me weak;
He was like dark chocolate, a decadent need.
He was everything I despised in a partner:
Arrogant, snide, rude, and aggressively mean.
And yet, he was a sight to behold.
His flesh was fervid, but his touch, so cold.
His eyes were knowing and clouded,
He could sense weakness in each soul he intruded.
His disdain for people was attractive, a pull like gravity.
He was the perfect fallen angel:
Scorned, dark, and vengeful.
He beckoned me into the darkness,
Which burrowed so deeply in my heart.
His charm seduced me sneakily as the way of a serpent.
He made me plummet to the black abyss below;
The abyss whose gates read
'Abandon all hope, Ye who enter here.'
He was all I'd ever wanted, the one thing I didn't need.
But the temptation was all too alluring to my greed.
O, temptation has never tasted as sweet.

Deleted Comment

[quote-356678-TheAlbatross]

Now that's poetry

Elegance+Destruction  

Take a tour of your inner most self,
with honest insights and witness all the
delightful and horrid nights.
The chapters flow like cars on a rush hour street,
see how many mistakes you continually let repeat.
The times you turned away a friend in need,
and the moments you fell not to the feet of greed.
Then blink twice and clear your thoughts with ice,
imagine yourself somewhere nice.

See yourself naked and honest,
exposed in all
Nature's elegance.  
Stare into the eyes you see
as to remember their color;
blue as the Ocean,
brown as the ground,
or maybe green as an Amazon scene
...
What emotion do they bring?
Warming calmness or chilling destruction?

Find now your calloused hands weathered and beaten.
Do they weave a tale of an enchanted house
holding scars of violence?
Do the fingers cry of a mystical heart deprived of magic?
Do the pads present themselves nude,
forever lost in the hustle and bustle of years gone past?

These questions that must be asked meant not to bring about
shame nor pinpoint blame,
but enlighten all the same.
For though we each carve our own path
we are but blind mice scurrying about a labyrinth.
We live our lives each day as if enacting a scene in a puppetry.
Blind to the fuckery and deaf to the poetry.
The only time we see the elegance of freedom
is through the eyes of destruction.

Take a tour of your deepest inner self,
with honest insights and witness all the
delightful and horrid nights.
The chapters of your life flow like cars on a rush hour street.
See how many mistakes you continually made repeat.
The times you turned away a friend in need,
and the times you fell not to the defeat of greed.
Then blink twice and clear your thoughts with ice,
imagine yourself somewhere nice
...
Rest In Peace
....

October 1, 2015

"Wild Child"  

September, Indian summer
Evening time, past dusk, not quite dark
She heads outside

Undressing

and intruding on the glistening water of the pool
Lets herself fall under then asks why I didn't fallow
As she rises to sit on the deck,
Lingerie failing to provide cover to the places I desire

Her satin mocha skin goose-bumped and tightened
Nipples hardened from the bite of the water, chilled by Autumn's kiss.

I begin to follow suit, breathless as she gropes her breasts
Enjoying the show of my jeans falling.
She can tell I know she wants to go.
Kissing and grinding...the splashing water the music to a
Lover's tango.

23 and a wild child
Rubbing her top where my dick will go
Then tells me to push record,
She's never done this before!
White lips, pussy and ass
Nude pics of the baddest chick

Two lovers young and reckless enthralled in coitus.
Police screaming, but bursting at the scene
And we'll fuck till we die her and I,

My wild child and I,
We'll fuck till we die!

Step

(I took a step back)
And right about now
I'm stuck in the down
of that fetal heart attack -
that uncertain sickness and slack -
    when you bring your foot down
    and expecting the ground,
                                miss.

You're the jolt in the moment
that I thought was over -
the ladder turned out to be ground -
but you're somewhere so close
that this glowing desire
    (all embers and fainting of prose on your fire)
has just got to hit you -
    (no way it would miss you)
my energy's imminent sound -
it is roaring and reaping
and dreaming and sleeping
and waking, to keep you around:
    I will stay here and sink
    and be blind on the brink
    till the touch of your lips I have found;
    till my body can haunt you
    and prove that I want you
my left foot will not find the ground.