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
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.
My Weight GainI was thin. It didn't feel right. It felt like I was too light. I didn't understand.I ate junk food from time to time. It did not help. I was still thin.I ate more junk foods. I still remained an average thin weight.I began to get angry. I ate nothing but junk food. I soon formed a belly.I purchased WG pills and shakes. Went to McDonalds. Every day.School, food, food, sleep, repeat.I soon began to get rather overweight. My friends and family noticed.None of my clothes fit, my belly was big, and my walk was heavy.And I was happy.
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
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
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
Notes on a Psychiatric WardJohn Forbes Nash, Jr., was one of the recipients of the 1994 Nobel Prize in Economics — but he nearly wasn't: the Nobel selection body had expressed concerns that he might embarrass them.Mr. Nash was a paranoid schizophrenic. His illness had led him to believe, among other things, that he had been charged with creating a new world government that would lead to his being crowned Emperor of Antarctica.Some people might call such a belief mad. Mr. Nash himself, acknowledging what he had been through, said: 'My quest has taken me through the physical, the metaphysical, the delusional — and back.'The same might be said of my own quest.After a long and interesting life, Mr. Nash, along with his wife, died suddenly and needlessly in an automobile accident. I was on a psychiatric ward at the time.The point of these brief, loosely-structured notes is to speak a little about some of my fellow patients, and to illuminate the often obscured truth that people with a mental illness
anorexia nervosa. _part two o.I lean back against the rim of my bed and dig my feet as far into the floor as the carpet will allow. The panic leaves me like an ocean wave, scraping up against the sand of my head and leaving me breathless. I want to hurt something. My arms settle neatly around the other, touching on my wrists, rubbing down my forearms, clenching my hands together.Someone should have shot me as soon as I made it out of the womb, I think, and my hands settle around my neck. p.Sometimes, I broke.There were two months where, every Saturday and Sunday, I had Poptarts for breakfast, which is about two hundred calories per individual Poptart. There was an entire month where I ate ice cream every night. The second month after I had started, late September-ish, I found that I couldn't take the hunger for very long, and I would eat a snack before dinner. This ended in mid-October, thankfully, and some of the shame subsided. I
anorexia nervosa. _part one a.There is something you should know about me, before we begin:I have anorexia nervosa. b.The denial was thick.Anorexics, I believed, were skinny girls with even skinnier bones, combing their falling-out hair against mirrors where they appear as a sliver of a profiled coin, dying as the air beats them and hating their folded-paper bodies. Anorexics, I thought, had to be girls who achieve your standard perfect grades and are incredibly athletically-gifted, all the while going on zero calories for days at a time. Anorexics were built of disgusted strength, sickened determination, and a muddied line between self-preservation and -sacrifice. Anorexics were withered girls on billboards, stealing the sun from the beads of the sky laid before them, pressing it into their arms, and yet somehow taking no pigment with them.I was notand am, I am not, I am not I am not I am notone of theseone of t
AliveI am a black canvasSmeared with gold and red.