In the name of the King!
Open this door or
Bleed
as the axe swing
back or forth
You whore!
Filthy scum a snake
of two
Those lips of yours
will soon be
parted
Scorned – Tattered – Bereaved
Serpent rising
Hammer pounding
Your last desire
My morning glory
Our flesh their own
Story
Weakest of the thirteen
Not even the crash bungs
Could keep him safe
Forcing the knee down
Scratching the pad
Until the rubber let go
He flew
Before gravity took hold
and mother’s embrace
became
final
Before BFF & ROFL and
Electronic Mail,
Messaging through
Apps aplenty
I had friends
…
How quickly; a glass of wine
become a bottle; drunk
Red lips
turning white
as autumn leaves
arrive
The exact nature of the binding was unknown to him but it was likely to involve time shifting and image distortion. He would never have agreed to be born into such a mess voluntarily
Master of P*ssy
Unchained; clean
The 8; black as black
The tounge; circles
finding your deepest
desire.
Master of P*ssy
I do not claim
I do not desire – titles
only your sex induced
eyes of fire
I am also one of them
sorry; but not apologetic
tearful; but no saying goodbye
smiling; without the face showing
crying; sans tears and the
betterment of feelings
I’m experimenting
with life, or rather,
with being alive.
Not quite sure which
part will stick and
which witch will
light the candles.
The bonfire night
a long way away
yet I long for fire
the burning of
desire; inside
