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

Posts tagged “Underground Poetry

slave

scarlet rooster crows

     death S O L D

to the highest bidder;

 

barbiturate bitches

perched in slumber rows

emulate visual inhibitions

of Kama Sutras as the “I’s”

of the un~naked

grunt Ketamine dust

masturbating to hymns

of opportune wonderlust;

 

as the scent

of sandy musk(s)

transcend into   psalms

of rustic dusk

striations in the form of V’s ~ plead, tear jerked

to be stroked,

     provoked,

  invoked; 

bad hits from a bad fix

she pants, she digs

vaginal scorpions

from her shallow womb;

harems of virgin harlots

they ~whisper~ to her:

 

‘Curanderas

 

shattered witchy women

clothed from eye-to-toes

ageless tattoo’s of turquoise’d turtles

translate biblical kismets

at the rupture of her

                                hymen

she bleeds deflowered *Amen* ~

 

I want my maggots kissed

 


epidural.

 

I feel nothing.

 

skintiments

are like

a jigsaw puzzle;

I cannot interlock myself

<———————-back

—->to that copious landscape

where mad cows &

blind crows came to

graze and perch upon;

& once upon

I was that

unvarying pain

reflecting

off your tongue

where you spat

tears of saliva

’cause you refused

to irrigate my bushes;

you are numb inside,

so you say, then you say,

I’m a tokophobic

’cause e-v-e-r-y-thing

you deposit in me

there seems to always be

that jewel encrusted scalpel

assembling upon my virgin flesh

resembling

slut digging maggots;

burdens

terminated,

excavated,

disposed

in a doggy

bag;

 

then you say

you’re empty

inside,

then you

have a cigarette,

change the channel

on the HD

as if your fucking misery

is all my fucking fault.

 

but

& still

 

I feel nothing.

 

just like those

“in-labor” mothers

giving birth

to fucks

 

like you.

 

 

 

 


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.

 

 


.devil’s ‘lil plaything.

devils plaything pic 2

baby Bling

in a black thorned g-string

she’s the devil’s little plaything;

long raven black hair

her infamous

barbed wire nipple tassels

have their own marquee flair;

notorious in her stripper’s Hell

watch her venomous body

cast a barbarous spell   [on you]          

 

around

the devil’s blistering pitchfork

she twirls,

pre-levitating her fiendish body

up

post-levitating her nefarious body

down

while her blazing tongue

lap dances around

the famine

of her unholy mouth

yearning to delve south   [on you]

 

demonic little slut

watch this satanic little bitch

strut

her barbaric lust

as she thrusts herself       [upon you]

 

feel the degradation

of her internal heat’s

infliction

as she rapes herself

against your serpentine’s

erection

 

feel the vile

of her hellborn cunt

rapture’d in it’s daily hunt;

feel the hellish wrath

of her devil’d ass

invisibly

banging your body

into a cum of

black mass

 

she’s a diabolical

conviction

an erotic junkies chaos of

addiction

eternally bounded         [you will become]

in her infernal prison

of one

where the lust of her evil

dwells

in the devil’s dirty secret ~

 

for she’s every bit of

Heaven

just beyond the gates of

Hell

 

 

 


.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.

 

 


~ Cuervo Fire In My Blood

cuervo woman pic 1

                                     v e

semen throttle thrust o       rdose

white crotchless panty’s

hang on the [clothes]line

leaving the battered

of dildo zombies

preparing for the next flesh war

under a pink mushroom head sky;

~

I am a one woman,

        a~sexual

in my southern comfort

                                      cunt-try

no amount of Jack Daniel’s

can drink away

these bluegrass tears

while hooded gators

snap at my feet, and

cuervo fire burns in my blood;

~

he once reigned under my body

with his silver flask tongue

he said he’d take me to church

if he could put a ring

on my va~Gina

and not on my finger;

his cigarette ash lush

still lingers carnivorously

when my thighs part

and kiss the sky;

~

I swallowed

this shallow and dense grave of ours

after you castrated

the bull who sodomized my parched womb;

eventually

I grew our little piece of birdcage heaven

on my tongue

and we frenched kiss our wings

to Paris via a tourniquet

dipped in cuervo caliche

the color of rustic earp blood.

 

 

 

 

 


~ 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

 

 


ignorantic

I cracked open a walnut

beneath the canine of my tooth

and out spilled maggots

writhing in amnesiatic verse

vile-ing in insomniactic pain

while midnight in the evil of garden and lust prevailed.

Sir Serpentine Jesus said to take down my hair

and splay open my breasts to feed its poor

he said, eve is upon adam – I said, F.U.C.K.

you, for unlawful carnal knowledge

I banged my head, fell victim to the mosh

so sad is the sinner sinning

who tries to become holy holier-

I know nothing of this life

only how to crack a walnut

and avoid being fucked to death

 

 


the Devil, too, comes

his body quaked

and shuddered

as he watched

the distant inferno

melt the flesh

off her Angelic face;

he comes instantly

on his hand, spitting

fire demon semen

into the recesses

 

of Hell

 

death, in the Devil’s eyes,

had never looked

so deathly pornographic

 

 


morgue Monday

my mind

is on a chopping block ~

my thoughts

in a systematic gutter

of porn and religion ~

I can’t think straight

I can’t deviate

I can’t create

much less. . .post-levitate ~

sittin’ on the couch

watchin’ Spanish soaps

my mind feels

like it’s on Spanish dope ~

change channel

several times

only to find

that over the weekend

people got shot ~

some shot by cops

some shot for talkin’ crazy

some shot by enraged lovers

some shot by dudes ’cause other dudes were fuckin’ their ladies;

some shot ’cause deals have gone bad

some shot for wishing they had had

what had gone bad ~

it’s a mad, mad, world

a beautiful life in a big beautiful city

and it’s barely 7 in the morning

as I stir my black coffee brown thinkin’ today would be a good day

to buy me another gun

 

 


GUTLESS

I’m drowning

in an ocean

of filtered water

 

it is obvious that

I’m in to deep

 

in to deep because I’ve allowed

you to ingest me whole

to permeate the recesses

of what made me solitary once

 

I could very easily fend

systematically loathing you

unremorsefully begging you

to regurgitate the spent

of my flesh and frame

and make me sovereign again

 

like when you used to look at me –

with love

yet,

invoking an immense sensatory

of your lust I hungered for

 

but drowning, today, is the most

logical approach – this filtered water

pungent-ing my soul,

exterminating my sins,

exorcism-ing my spinal demons

 

like casting out the Archangel of Guts

from within a paradisonal hell –

sinless, spineless, demonless

 

I’m a fucking pathetic gutless waste

to what makes a soul humanely pure.

 

I guess

this is what it means

after one says, “I do”.

 

 


Dead Head Metal Banger Bitch

 

dead head metal banger bitch

and you slam danced

far beyond the crevices of my soul

turning my bright days, black

turning my blue nights, red

fucking my equilibrium, grey

leaving my body hollow

to wallow in self-cum whiskey

and Satanic crack

 

and I don’t see the end

only you coming back

and back coming back

like a sightless uroboros

de-fractured by the cheap

of your Devil’s blow

not knowing which way to go, except

scarring my re-birth from Christianity

as we in turn took turns

fucking our noses dizzy

until I had visions of Miss Lizzy

carrying a bouquet of crucifix axes

in an array of multi-blood-hued colors as

I leaned across the fleshed fields

of your fleshed lips and spliced your mouth open;

and you kissed me deep into an erotic sleep

and there you smiled clothless beneath

the orgasmic rain

of my communal blood

showering over you, with you

wearing only my foreskin as your hat

 

 

 


Bee

your venomous virgin honey

still reeks

devastation on my soul;

 

pinions that once flailed

so luminously

have lost their essence

to the dark of your blackened thrill

still embedded within my heart,

the same heart you wielded your

false love around and oppressed

to a bloodied pulp

still remains an open wound

where your treacherous stinger

impelled and splintered and died,

raping me of any hope. . .for love

 

for you

 

 


Hell Hath

 

I invoked

the inner of my clitoriam

from its slumber

in a soiree of black magic

instilling the use

of voodooism

fury and pins

that pierced deep

into your phallus;

your blood cum excrement

seeped gallantly onto my palm

and there I read within the towering eye

the dynamic of your curse,

and there my eyes wept

as I soiled your foul

over my distended lips

and inhaled the diabolic

of your vapor lust;

 

and hell hath no fury

like a mistress scorned

from the infidelities

of your connubial bed


Dracula in Love

 

 

 

London fog sunrise

bloodstains her pretty hair red;

I want her deathly

 

 

 


A.M. Coffee

 

 

Satan in my coffee

on a Tuesday morning

riding shotgun

to work with Bob

and his cat-Black,

in a white Chevy truck

black coffee

I need cream

to make it brown

and sugar,

lot’s of sugar

to kill the strength

to calm the storm

brewing earlier in my

roach infested coffee pot

‘they lay eggs, you know’

Bob says to me

the cat hisses

it despises roaches like dogs

particularly the one

crawling out from my thermos

 

 


~^.^~Black Cat~^.^~

 

 

Cat.

Black Cat.

Crossing the street, Cat.

 

Cat.

Black Cat hisses!

Tires screech.

Rubber burns.

Smoke clears.

I didn’t miss him by an inch.

 

Cat.

Black Cat.

Not just another

Dead in the street, Cat.

 

Cat.

Black Cat.

You should have never broken my heart, Cat.

 

 


Black Dandelions

 

 

Dandelion 2Dandelions,

                                                                           though you thought me beautifully evasive,

 

Dandelions

smother and choke

their counterparts;

 

Dandelions

know no boundaries

they only know they exist as I exist;

 

You hand her Dandelions

tied in your mother’s favorite silk ribbon;

 

I wilt

at the sight of your black blasphemy

because you loved me once

 

Who would’ve thought your blackheart charm

would soil seeds after you bled them

then buried them, dry?

 

 


——REVOLVER—–

 

the Revolver spins

6x’s before

i’m elected,

gunpowder coke

chokes my grasp,

as the chamber

clicks, my brain spits

matter to dust

and thus

creates the sunburst

on the wall

behind the man

in the crisp white suit;

beyond his soul

is my soul smeared

in colors of bluebloods

surrounding petals

on a white Gardenia

pinned in her bedroom hair;

and there she sits naked

on her boudoir chair,

her snatch the color

of the sunburst on the wall

behind the man

in the crisp white suit;

he smiles and hands me

a gold plated vile,

it’s been awhile

since the last i gripped her hair

and sunk her slugs to oblivion;

the red of her pained lips

seep blood into my mouth,

and her skin is soft white

like a light bulb,

her body delicate

like the vase once housing

the Gardenia;

her eyes having read Hitler

she speaks in tongues confessing

our sins upon holy Mary and Joseph

as they close and shrivel

in silence

around the Revolver

in his hand

 

 


Psycho Sluts Live In Heaven

 

 

Psycho sluts live in Heaven

branded in apple tattoos

that kiss the mouth of those unSatan

like those wogs slithering like their counterpart semen

trudging upstream to mate with my berries;

Angelina Jolie ordered herself

a Double-Scotch-On-The-Rocks Mastectomy

and I think ‘what’s the point’

you’re getting old anyways!

So embrace shriveling up

and eventually dying.

 

 


Deflower

 

 

 

I am a flower

I am beautiful in your eyes

I smell of everything you lust

above me, 

beneath me, 

behind me, 

you break me

like the stem

once holding the flower

 

 


Death Dealer #66

 

 

I woke up aggravatingly hornier than the night before

mislaid without the sense of prepaid gratification

from that stupid whore now stumbling out the apt. door

Beneath a vehement deluge I thought about that magnificent

Theatre of Incest, the fucking dog barking incessantly down the street

that barmaid with Jell-O for fake tits, that old man who acted like a bitch

all gone, all gone, all gone right where they belong

in that unholiest sanctuary they assume Dante’s Paradiso

I took a hit of the Devil’s blow, read my list, then took a hard piss

in that open cesspool of mouths coupled with the shameless and the breathing

feeding off Catholics who are misleading, Christians who live their lives by Jesus

“Jesus!” what a fucking mess, much less, it is for the best, I guess, if I blessed those

living in some post-idealistic place, not chased by the  demon lovers of regret,

ensnared by the demon haters of no mercy; his name is Percy, and he sits

one stool opposite from me, 66 years of pouring tears into his warm beer, then sighing and crying wishing he were dying, dead, gone from this disenchanted place

once called Eden, now called South of Eden, my place, the Death Dealers place,

I show Percy no mercy and he dies swift and just, back to that Eden of lust

where his ancestors thrived before the serpent apocalypse eclipsed with the light like tonight


Vomica

 

 

I dream

of gold lighted Christmas trees,

and non-flesh eating

Zombies

beating down my naked windows,

my hands fumble clumsily

with the blinds

trying to blind those

from blinding me

 

There’s a single light bulb

hanging

from its intestine

it sways back and forth

creating shadows

of demons on walls

as I sit poker-faced

in front

of God,

De Vinci, Beelzebub

and Methuselah

 

all dressed

in post-iconic Gangster get-up,

the scene alone

fascinates me, exorcises me,

that I start having

an out of body experience

when my Full House

collapses

retaining them to beckon me

on all fours, first

across the floor

reeking of misconception

until I find myself

viewing the misinterpretation

of the world

from upside down

 

Though I realize

I need glasses

I see everything fine

and when

I got lost

inside of her

I found

my way out

and

when I awake,

the room is eerily empty and

full of life-

I vomit


Fist Fuck

 

 

he shoved his fist

up her pre-oiled pussonian

and rearranged

her organs

to accommodate

his needs;

she stirred

when her tubes

sucked vacuumed

her eggs, broken shells

fleshy yolks, evoke

then vacate

when he pulls his fist;

her womb settles

like patina fragments

in a Monet landscape

portrait; occasionally

they liked to

paint their

macabre

just before the break

of sunrise when

the rooster crowed

its best