ghost fucker bow wows

this no good for nothing
scum sucking greed
slave psycho creep
can't get it up
at the same time that thing
is controlling his thoughts.
mid life brought a
crisis wife---
one of those trophies
the losers get for showing up.
she's 17 years younger
and trashy as hell.
with an end stage chunk of
DNA for a whip and a chain,
that he stuck up her cunt
11 years ago, proving the man.
still, she throws him out
after sticking it up his
with child support and
car payments.
the next day, without so much as
changing the sheets,
she's got something
younger, stronger, richer,
and a lot better looking
rolling around in that
vegas marriage bed,
and who knows how many
fuck buddies since.
making up for lost time,
pretending not to have
an orgasm, so they will
fuck her harder.

the kids can hear it all
through the sleazy cheesy wall
of the rental house
she kicked him out of.

but, sigh, it's all about him.
he's helpless in his egoparalysis
to change a thing.
he enjoys the betrayal.
he caresses his lies.
his heart is broken.

the kids are just some
ego inspired add on.
one day melts into the next,
while he fiddles with his
handicap, his club, his balls.
he sits around,
dreaming of doing it doggy style
with a whimpering blonde,
and for a minute,
it almost works.

he calls me
when they tell him
he has cancer
and I have to go.
I have to be all
goody good good
and watch him go
someplace no amount
of television and avoidance
can deny.
I'm not too crazy
about living in this
run down trailer court
making little meals
and tucking in
a half dead asshole...
but somebody has to do it.

by Anonymous

OCTOPUS

Man has become octopus,
entangled in his own clutches,
fallen from sky to earth,
new foundation was made,
of rituals, customs and manners,
tried to come out of the clutches,
but not
waiting for doom`s day

by Dr. Ram Sharma

Heroic gallantry in ages bereft
now anachronism, a shame of the deft
Whence come this perception, this theft?
of its context there is nothing left

Who shall mourn this aching loss
whose feelings do we gloss
Why does it persist in this modern age
it ought to remain hidden in its deep grave

Yet the written word keeps it alive
a phylactery that will not hide
An awful horcrux, a mugwump that won't die
a terrible idea, and I don't know why

by Jacob Germain

Open

Apart from how you want me to
It's not so hard to be like you

I am 12 years old again
My brain under the microscope

And I am not the girl without a voice
The one you listen to by choice
The Unreal,
so much more appealing

She can touch and feel nothing
She can swallow but not taste
She can shapeshift into anything
til you forget her face

Everyone is perfect
Everyone is perfect
Everyone is perfect
Just not me

And she can't hurt you

I am afraid to lose my mind
But I refuse to be sane
I am afraid to be me
But I refuse to be you

I am a liar
A child
A mother
And I am sorry

I love you more everyday
when you love me like I want you to

I can only lie in this life
I promise
Because my eyes know who I am

by Aneka Brunssen

Pondered

Joseph, Joseph, rejoice!
This sheet tells me that last night
Jesus had his first wet dream!

by Louie Crew

tongue ring

a hole in an organ
I wish I could put holes in words that organ made
like I didn't even say it
it tickles to kiss
and people say it makes sex better
or maybe I never said that

a hole in a burnt organ
a chunk is gone
the chunk that is missing is sad
so write a song about it
and put it on YouTube

kiss a girl
you're a girl that kissed a girl
and you didn't tell anyone
and you're still broke
and jobless
stupid tongue ring
it was supposed to be spontaneous
and now everyone thinks you're a slut
not edgy at all
it doesn't even matter if you like keeping the lights on
when . . . 'y know

I take it out
the stud is gone and there is still a hole
there was a hole there
I don't think you really understand

by Rachel Milan Richards

Discarded Leggings

So I care not,
And I think not
On these words,
Can we go there?
Can we be?
Could the world
Forget about time?
Slowly laughing
Broke the silence
The spoken word
is not a crime,
So I dare not
Start to remember-
All of things from
Way back then.
They're talking,
Have you heard?
I lost another one,
I lost another one,
Slightly full from
The lacerations-
All filled with it,
Here there is less
Than, the rest of
the world sold for-
He sold it in ounces,
A sudden knock
On your front door
Leads you to me,
Leads you past me,
Leads you away,
Again, this mess,
They're talking,
Have you heard?
I lost another one,
I lost another one,
I lost another one,
I didn't try this time,
Dare not loose one
more, one last time,
Squares and circles,
Must mean nothing,
The world is moving,
Now I'm walking
Away from the ground,
If you loved me,
If you noticed,
Slightly full from
The lacerations
They are healing
I grow new skin,
White as paper
Nearing the door,

by LM Sage

At the Time

Ironic it was,
The cruel drug which made him feel so good,
He thought it was a good idea,
As on the corner smoking he stood,
But things changed when he was caught,
Dragged to a cell,
He stood there lonely,
In that forgotten hell,
There in the dark he grew cold,
The dark closing around him,
Thinking about his past,
Realizing now his future looked so dim,
Behind those sturdy bars,
Slowly losing his grip,
He rocked back and forth,
As if on a stormy ship,
He was let out quite soon,
But the prison air would never leave him,
He would have to reform,
Though chances of that were ever so slim.

by Honolulu Joe

Monster

About that photo in your wallet
of yer so called girlfriend. It’s easy to see
you made that up in Photoshop
from a selection of boobs, arses,
legs, and blonde looks
from a one stop
body shop porn site. She’s a sight!
If you saw her coming in real life
you’d run a mile.

I had no idea
that Dr Frankenstein had made
a bride, who then had Quasimodo’s
love child. Then again your taste
in women always was a little strange.

Do you remember
that immensely fat fat bird? I’m sure
you do, you raved that getting laid
was cluck-tastic what with her making
all them chicken noises, and pounds
and pounds of tit, so much you didn’t
know what to do with it, but I bet
in the morning your face
was a right flash bang photograph.

Then there was the bald-headed bird
who took off her wig
then took out her teeth:
you had her Mondays, Wednesdays, and
Sunday lunchtimes, said there was something
about the blow jobs you couldn’t resist.

There was also girl with no legs,
you cruelly joked
that after you’d done the business
she move around the bedroom
like a snail.
And, sad to say, let’s not forget
the poor girl with elephantiasis,
doggie style with yer eyes closed
solved a multitude of uncomfortable
prospects. Oh yeah,
there was also the incredibly ugly
fifty five year old tranny
with hairy arms and stubble chin;
you have no shame, you even had him!

But, and this is what I don’t understand,
it’s always you that gets the elbow
the old heave-ho.
I don’t think you’re quite as good,
in-out speaking,
as you like to make out.
Let’s face it, your nothing to shout about,
so when it comes
to cut and paste Photoshop creations
yer all mouth and trousers
and a cunt of a dick head twat.

by P.A. Levy

Burning Bridges

Deep dark circles
Yours is the stigma of my eye
He watched for too long
Perhaps you should leave
The tinted glass
And yellow bleached stains
Leave and never come back
But always take me with you
Take me were I can see you
Take me to a place I wish I could feel you
The windows of a bus
You could take me to all the stops
And it still would not be enough
Take us to a lift were we could rise
We want to go there
Why wont you go?
We asked you a question
Why don’t you answer?
You don’t see me anymore
When will we next meet?
The seat of a truck
The wave of an ocean
Take the long walk
But I will be here
Yours truly.

by Robert Atherton

Nothing more to say

About handbags snatched from old women's shoulders,
lies said to his Mother:
"It wasn't me, I never took the money,"
tablets ripped off from friends in the clinic,
20 Roach 'Dottsie' owes him on Friday,
the nice touch that he got in Stephen's Green this morning,
Tommy's lovely gear ,"It's bleeding rocket fuel."

Nothing more to say
about the beatings in school by Mr. O' Brian,
the ribs broken at home by his drunk of a father,
how he had been held down and kicked in the street by the hardmen of the flats,
and had his face slashed from cheek to chin in a dirty prison cell.

He scored today,
cooked up,
put the works
in his arm,
and shot the heroin into his vein.

Nothing to say to the Garda who told him he was a scumbag,
nothing to say to Father Joyce who rapped him in the community center
when he was a seven year old child,
nothing to say to a God he stopped believing in after he made confirmation,
'cause he scored today,
"I love you Tracy"
cooked up,
"And the twins, Stacy and Stephen"
shot the heroin,
"And little Amy"
turned blue
and took a trip down the river,
with two Q's for the boatman
and nothing
mo
r
e.

by Karl Parkinson

Prozac Positivitly (Affex's our Lives)

My six days of Prozac positiviy
well it started with an empty me.
Numbing our problems & surroundings
we can only taint our being.
& cry out for pain to cut through our melancholies.
A pound of flesh for hurt,
for reality,
for a fresh perspective in detecting a somber mentality,
to bi polar neutrality.
In contrast to a well oiled machine, functioning with efficient spark plug electricity.
So I’ll arise and go now, and go to Lowercore. (Laracor)
Where a secret garden will such our souls dry some more.
Nourished by living corpses,
beautifully rotting, blossoming and flourishing, in a world gone mad and addicted to weed killer.
Where a neural uptake has resulted in suicide.
So have you set a date to collide with your maker?
Or some demon heart breaker?
If I flew over the coo coo’s nest would you shoot me down, or set me free?
I’m not here to judge, what’s right for you may not be right for me.
But I know now, the importance of being Ernest.
It’s taken me 24 years to have learnt this.
It’s a lesson, a fable, a parable, for happiness.
And I thought I’d messed it up,
but it’s only when you hit your lowest low,
that you can set your sights high on a new goal.
So please follow your intuition,
listen to those voices from within
follow feelings to freedom.
I understand.
I know it’s hard.
I know you hurt yourself.
I know the demons by name. (say hello to them from me)
But please don’t fear them,
‘cause I know that we can clear
them from your nightmares.
I’m here.
I’m near.
&
You.
You make me real.
You.
You make me real.
A real reality is better than a
medicated mentality,
moving to mediocrity,
meditating to purity.
Prescribe yourself some Happiness!
Prescribe Joy!
There ain't no good thing ever dies!
So where are you going?
Do you know where you’ve been?
Do you know you have beautiful eyes?
Look in the mirror.
Look at yourself.
I can tell you’re beautiful.
Can you?

by Stephen James Smith

Online Purpose

She’s the type of girl
that always comments on her status
but has nothing to say about yours.

The type that will happily
post heavily-cleavaged photos of herself online
and then complains when she gets
dirty messages from strangers.

Types shorthand in cellphone speak
so you hardly know what she’s going on about,
but it looks like she’s having a good time
and you feel ashamed of using
complete words and proper syntax
when communicating with her,
embarrassed of every , and .

But you still want
to fuck her anyway.

by Colin Dardis

Defined please

I
Defined please
Just love the smell
Of Mississippi cow manure
Burning in the field
Muddy and fully swollen
Creek reeking of decay
Floating side up the
Turtles
Nibble
The rotting meat
I
Suffer no breath
Of matter mindful
Of being an attached
Thing
I ring round the ribbon
On the May Day pole
I blow and have
Been blown
In return when all that
Mattered of matter is to
Shed some seeds
Like white milky weeping
To repopulate the streets.

by David Patton