poetry of the Dark, Erotic, Violent, Religious & Macabre

Magazine

Poem #36…(thank you Frankie Valli)

big girls don'c cry pic 1

.and big girls don’t cry.

 

 

whiskey

                  diamond

teardrops

plunge eternally

from my cunt ~

she weeps bittersweet

for you;

 

I’m 80% proof

                                             [20% denial]

that my clit

is capable

of moving heaven

without

the gentle fondles

of your tongue and

fingers ~

 

‘big girls don’t cry’, so you once said

when you left me

desperately

suckling your cum’s residue

off my heartbroken tits;

the twins miss the subtle

of your hands and

mouth;

 

and ‘big girls don’t cry’,

I dare to echo you ~

 

I wish you could see me           now,

 

how disappointed

you’d be

sinking me

to a level

of no shame.

 

 


.pale shade of misery.

a pale shade of miser pic 2

 

and the taste of you

                                remains

 

red raptors galloping across my tongue

sprout de-feathered wings

of salted sulfur

shedding barbed wire scales

w/ tooth and nail

off my flagrant skin;

you licked my cunt

then kissed my lips

so how deep

did my love go?

 

I want to make out

w/ your mouth

and have you scream

my name

 

                 in agony ~

 

it’s midnight

and my bedside

is empty

for I have a broken face

that I cannot piece

back together

but I can paint the thrashes

where ‘X’ marks my grave

the way leopards

paint the spots on their skin ~

tell me, Sir Demon within,

when we meet again,

will you stitch up my heart

so it’s no longer jagged

in two. . .missing wires?

And please,

don’t touch my face,

this pale shade of misery

is hard to find

in a drugstore.

 

 


~ SunWater

for you

 

I snorted ajax

through my veins

injected a sewing needle

through my nose

 

as your nudist orbit

crossed to me

in waves of tidal blood

I’m left cowering ~ alone

on an anthrax laced beach

 

no shirt, no shoes, no surfboard

just a broken plated body

washed ashore,

de~reefed

 

dead

   echo’s

      of love

         echo

 

beyond

the corrugated seashells

buoying on

vacant promises

where the sharkgulls

once sunbathed

 

 


Diva of Darkness: volumes I~III Promotion

 

Diva of Darkness:  Volumes I~III eChapbooks will be available for FREE from February 14th through February 19th, 2016 on Amazon.

(click on book covers to download)

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clinical depressant

 

 chainsaw. . .

the chainsaw tends to jam as

my wife’s head is stubborn at times,

but today I succeeded,

I tell the therapist behind an expression of regret,

and a cigarette I five fingered from the ashtray from the previous session.

and the coffee smells like day old coffee grinds

but taste freshly brewed though, lacking sugar, that caramel look.

the therapist asks why I would even dare put a chainsaw to my wife’s head?

I didn’t have bananas in my cornflakes, I admitted without being charged.

So it’s her fault?  The therapist assumes.

I tell him that the lady now sitting next to me,

who was sitting next to me earlier out in the lobby,

has been bumming a cigarette from me since day 37,

since it was my wife who suggested I see a therapist to help with my depression.

So it’s her fault, then?  The therapist redirects.

I shake my head, bite my lip, and toss the cigarette into my coffee cup;

the cigarette makes a fizzing sound

like the chainsaw now sitting beside my wife’s stubborn head.

I shiver, not because in the manner I killed her in,

but because of the bloody shit I got to go home and clean up!

the therapist scratches his shiny head before taking pity on me.

he refills my placebo pills in a new prescription.

Same time, next week?  He says.  I nod.

and nothing is resolved, as usual.