Glorious ShitAnother Dream-You can make it;Pass through shitTo welcome the divine.********************What kind of mind is this?What kind of perversion?You don't make much sense to me,You don't make much sense to them-You don't make much sense.Return to painting flowers,Name flowers flowers,Name darkness strangeness,Name genius a vile trait.We cannot decipher you...Bend down a little.Everyone needs their audience-Who are you to dispute?Who is it you're talking to?It can't be to yourself!Alright. Now...Everything is illuminated!(I can write my glossaryOf horror and neglect.)Do I love you?Of course I love you,Nobody else still caresAbout the little things,Such as your senseless self.(Yes, I'll make everything clear,The way you want me to.)Let's speak a new language,Let's call man the Head,The alphabet into the globe-The stud of universe.(Of course we are the center,Can't you see?)NowStrip.Stop laughing,Stop writing-Stop mocking me!You are a brilliant little b
MotherA knot deep in my stomach-An unbearable growing painContaining breaths and scars,Momentary intervals of our life's game.A knot in my throat,Choking me before the rise,Depriving us of understanding,Taking away left time.A tidal wave devours my skin,Casting me bare, without a kin-Without the courage this blast to bare,Stolen from time,Convicted to just stareAt every day that passes by,At my lack of bravery,My egoistic past wounds driveSafekeeping me against the onesI should be the least afraid to love.A knot is tied around my heart,Bred inside it for years-For too damn long for me to claimDespite the drain I still have one.
The WriterI am not my stories-Not all of them at least...There is truthAnd then there's fiction.Spare me just this.
HardDo not flirt with Death.He will fuck you anyway.
ReturnIf Time existed,I would not.The face is erased,My eyelids reversedTo form a danceOf dissonant notes.The unbeliever in me,The lioness in me,The crimes perpetratedUpon my life;All these exist-While I could not,Even if I wanted to;Within this hellNo man could breathe,Expand, or love.Take this sigh,This glimpse into my underworld.Step in,Or forever Goodbye.
LoversYou define me.You hold me imprisonedin the snaresof magic unprecedented,under the reign of love.My eyes are wet-and in thisthey're not alone...I want you.I must devourevery inch of you-Before it is too late,before the passion disappearsas unexpectedly as it came.
The Serpent's RevengeFlames protrude through my eyes.The pain is sharp,clear inside my mind.As the smoke escapesfrom my future corpse away,everything is possible.The epitaph stands cold,alone within my life,in memory of fear.I grow into a lionessroaring through my spirit.My soul is for saleto anybody interested.The flesh grows old,denouncing my history.Hanging from a thought,this world I leave behind.I denounce my possessions.From the imposed egoI recognize but fearaugmenting with each loss.Our prisons we buildwith our faked tears.In full denial we screamtowards the unattainable.With hatred-filled fiststhose secluded we attack-Like amoral beastsdemanding vindicationin the name of victims sodomizedin their reign of broken human pacts.
BitterIt starts with a feeling,a flashing memory,a suggestion of movement
It all comes back to me:Faces, dates, facts.It all comes back to me-But I am not there
A teardrop, your handinterchanging genders
Our lives could bethe finest, most delicate,most intricate scenarios.My thighs spread apart,waiting for you.My mind gets rid ofits burdens most unbearable.The music is familiar-And so is your smile
Always promising,never truthful.While I gnaw away the timelost in contemplation,you start another life.As lovers we first met.As foes we diefrom our histories apart-Creators of riddles,friends to no one.
Turning into GhostsWho's that face on the wall?Who's that mirrored mask of horrorother than my own?Leaving the years flowwithout the time to lookinside or outside,we let our livesmove on their own.So drag this carcass on the mud-Smear its facewith these horrid colorsof solitude and alcohol.For of this selfwho used to be my own,I recognize the traitsbut not the whole.
Against His WillINTRODUCTIONThis is the true account of my personal experience as a feeder, fattening up my husband against his wishes. I have done my best to offer this story exactly as it happened, other than changing names, with no exaggeration. You may feel that what I did is morally reprehensible, and I cannot disagree. But I also cannot bring myself to regret even one moment of it. It was the most exciting time of my life; I have never felt more alive or sexually satisfied. Not to mention the child who resulted from this brief but scorching affair, who is today the light of my life.I. BORN THIS WAYMy name is Marie and I was born with this fetish of feederism. All my life, as far back as I can remember -- maybe age 5, long before I even had a sex drive -- I have had an intense fascination with overeating, fat bellies, and weight gain. It was the subject of pictures that I drew and stories that I wrote and fantasies that I daydreamed. I was always overweight as a child but not remarkably
Mirror ImagesI was the first person in my family, outside of my parents, to hold my sister. I had only just turned five at the time, and did not quite understand the logistics of adoption, the figurative birth of a child into a family. All I knew was that here was this small, scrunched up little thing and that she was mine to keep. I held my arms out, and she was settled in them, her pink newborn face wrinkling as she was jostled. My sister, in her infant sleep, looked either deep in thought or constipated, her little brow furrowed, her small cherry mouth pursed in concentration. Dreams played out on the movie screen of her face, small fingers flexing and toes curling. My mother tells me I was much the same, my face an open book, my heart begging to be written upon.She is eleven now and I am sixteen. We are more different than alike, separated by more than uncommon backgrounds. She is stretching tall, her shoulders broadening, and her feet are that of a puppy they showcase what she is yet t
Embarrassing Stories: Hanging Wedgie Growing up in the country with no friends around was boring, even though I was too young to understand what boredom meant (although I had an idea when my mom took me to the bank). The place I used to live had a lot of trees around, so I learned how to climb them. If you've read the title, you can already see where this is going. Even after we moved, I managed to find trees to climb. In fact, there were even more around this time. Our new house had a long driveway with a few turns, and trees covered the sides of the driveway from beginning to end. You couldn't even see the house from the road. The tree that I really liked to climb was right in view of the driveway, so it wasn't very far from the house. It had a bunch of strong branches, and each of them was covered in leaves. One time I threw a Frisbee and it got stuck in the leaves, so we threw a soccer ball up to get it down. The Frisbee came down, but my beloved ball got stuck.
Sonny Moore BiographyMikaela M*****May 11, 2009BandPortfolio ProjectSonny Moore BiographySonny John Moore was born on January 15, 1988, in Los Angeles, California. He would go on to become the lead singer of Florida-based band From First To Last, and is currently the front man of his solo project, Sonny.Moore began his musical career when he was nine years old, receiving a guitar for Christmas from his father. However, Sonny didnt become serious with the guitar until he was about twelve years old. In the Alternative Press podcast, Moore was asked At what point could you call yourself a musician? To this, Sonny responded, I started learning songs 'cause I was a guitar player before I was a singer. [My father] would, like, brag about me at his work 'cause I used to play in local bands, and he would get photographers to come out and shoot for us and stuff. He was like, Yeah. My son's a musician. It kinda stuck with me.When Sonny Moore was two years old, he move
Yanking her panties at the playground It was a few days after we wedgied Lacie on the bus, and I still wanted to get Breanna. Breanna and I were hanging around together by ourselves, without Roxanne. We basically just rode our bikes around and found a playground on the outskirts of the small town we both lived nearby. It wasn't a big one, a few stairs, bars to climb on, slides, swings, and a merry-go-round. Naturally we both got on the merry-go-round first and began to spin. When that got boring, we went over to the slides. The slides were bright yellow and unusually steep for a children's park. Breanna wanted to go down the slide first, and I obliged. The tall girl came and sat down on the slide, ready to go down. I noticed a blue waistband sticking out of her pants. I saw my chance, and I went for it. Breanna opened her mouth in a joyous scream as she shoved herself down the slide. I lunged, and missed. Breanna didn't get a wedgie this time. Unfortunately, I had lea
Ursa MinorIn a life that feels so lacking in concrete identity, the one thing that answers the age-old question “Who am I?” is the knowledge that Colorado is the land that gave birth to me. Pride swells in my heart when I see a bald eagle flying so close to the surface of Blue Mesa that its glossy feathers touch the water and make gentle ripples in the lake. There is equal awe when herds of elk and deer walk by me unafraid, and there is laughter when a wild turkey gobbles as he flees from me through a thick evergreen forest. Back east where the foothills give way to the Great Plains, I am humbled by the angry tornadoes that roar across the prairie in the scorching, summer heat. In the fall, I am entranced as pale golden aspens blush in the morning sun, gradually becoming orange and then red, heralding the return of Old Man Winter. I have seen nothing more majestic than the snowpack melting off the fourteeners in roaring waterfalls, and nothing more powerful than a mountaintop blizzar
School Bus Wedgies This story happened back when I rode the bus with my friend Breanna and our mutual friend Lacie. Breanna and I were sitting together in one seat while Lacie sat in the seat in front of us. Breanna was (and still is) bigger than I was, so she was taking up a lot of the seat while I sat against the window. Somehow, there still managed to be enough room for both of us and our backpacks. Lacie was sitting in the seat in front of us with her backpack. A bit of description here before I go on: we were alone in the back of the bus because most people were gone (our stops were near the end). Our bus driver never really cared what happened as long as we didn't go in the aisle (anyone notice that seems to be every bus driver's pet peeve?), so we usually got away with doing whatever. It didn't matter how loud we were or what we talked about, she just did not care. Lacie seemed a bit tall, yet I was still a bit taller than she was. She was a
Metastasis98.00Autumn is the season when everything dies.The leaves shrivel up and your lungs go with them, tiny dejected organs drying out inside your sternum, crinkling under our footsteps. The doctors pronounce their diagnosis as the leaves fall, listing medical terms and percentages and something about medication options.The disease is metastatic: it has bored its way out of your lungs and into your bones. Dissatisfied, it's going for your organs, your liver, your heart. The prognosis says Christmas is a pipe dream, likely as the sun ceasing to set.You promise it anyway.94.00November comes and I am a fish, breathing through makeshift gills carved into my hips, lopsided and crude.I make fresh ones twice a day, slice myself open once in the morning and once at night in hopes the air will come a little easier each time. I make three and count them off:one,two,three,and hope my heart stops.92.00The leaves have been carted away, pummeled into dust, and blown away in the wind.Your lu
The Wedgie Game Again, I found myself at my friend Breanna's house while her friend Roxanne was over. Breanna's father wasn't home, and we were just sitting around outside talking. Breanna's house was small, and kind of empty outside except for a few bushes and trees. We sat in a few plastic chairs by the house, next to a huge oak tree with strong, curling branches. "Hey..." Breanna said, "You know how we've all gotten wedgies lately? Both of you, me, and even Lacie?" "Yeah," I said, "You had cute panties." "Well," Breanna continued, getting a devilish gleam in her piercing blue eyes, "How about we play... the wedgie game?" Roxanne and I were confused, of course. We asked her how to play. Breanna explained the rules. She pointed to the oak tree, and said that if we wedgied someone, we had to hang them by their undies on the tree. She picked up one of the plastic chairs, and brought it over to the tree, placing it under a part
AliveI am a black canvasSmeared with gold and red.