March 8, 2017 · 9:18 pm
Gustave Dore
Fuck, Fuck; Fucked
–
To be
Fucked
Is What
It Means
to Cross me.
the Bitter
Sting
Of
the Raping
by Pen
& Prose.
As
I Ram
my Cock
Down
the Throat
Of you
Dirty Hoes
& the
InSanity
In me
Giggles
As you
Try
to Scream
No.
In & Out,
In & Out,
While
I Fuck
your Mouth;
Gurgle
& Moan.
the Rape
Of
your Brain
With Rhymes
That Won’t
Slow,
Till
a Quivering
Wreck
Is All
That’s Left.
a Twisted
Bit
of Crumpled
Paper;
Wasted.
#B27321
–
Filed under Prose
Tagged as All, B27321, Bit, Bitter, Bitter Sting, Brain, Cock, Cross, Crumpled, Crumpled Paper, Dirty, Dirty Hoes, Discord, Down, Freedom, Fuck, Fucked, Giggles, Gurgle, Gustave Dore, Harbinger, Hoes, In, Insanity, Left, Moan, Mouth, No, Out, Paper, Pen, Poetry, Prison, Prose, Quivering, Ram, Rape, Raping, Revolution, Rhymes, Scream, Slavery, Slow, Sting, Throat, Till, Try, Twisted, Twisted Bit, Wasted, What, While, Won't, Wreck, Wyrd
June 19, 2015 · 5:27 pm
Félicien Rops
What Should I Compose
a Story About;
a Loner,
a Woman,
Child,
Dog…
–
How About a Goat,
See; There was a Goat
Walking Down the Street.
Yeah, a Goat
& It Came Up To me
& Asked For a Smoke.
So, I Put One In Its Mouth
& Lit It.
Cause, you Know
Goats
Don’t Have Hands.
Well, If It Did;
That Would be Some Kind
of Freak.
It Stood There Puffing
a Way
& I Must Say
the Most Disconcerting Thing
About the Whole Fray
was Its
Eyes.
I Don’t Know
If you Have Ever Had
a Huge Black Goat
With a Devil’s Pentagram
Branded In Its Fore Head;
Stare At you
With Those Black;
Soul Less
In Humane
Eyes.
Well; If you Have,
Then you Have
a Notion
Of a Very
Startlingly
Filed under Posts
Tagged as About, B27321, Black, Branded, Child, Compose, Devils, Disconcerting, Discord, Dog, Eyes, Félicien Rops, Fore, Fray, Freak, Freedom, Goat, Goats, Hands, Harbinger, Head, Huge, In Humane, Kind, Know, Lit, Loner, Mouth, Must, Notion, Occurrence, Pentagram, Poetry, Prison, Puffing, Revolution, Say, Slavery, Smoke, Soul, Soul Less, Startlingly, Stories, Street, Walking, What, Whole, Woman
September 24, 2014 · 8:46 pm
Charles Robinson
The Yawning
Tree
Waits
For me
In Pans
Sacred
Wooden
Grove
Playful
Little
Nymphs
Steal
a Kiss
Bright
with Drops
of Blood
Burdened
Down
not Even
Sound
can Escape
my Clenched
Lips
Have their
Way
This they
May
Before
I am
Served
Up
To the
Hole
That Is
His Mouth
#B27321
–
Filed under Posts
Tagged as B27321, Blood, Charles Robinson, Discord, Escape, Freedom, Harbinger, Hole, Kiss, Lips, May, Mouth, Nymphs, Pan, Poetry, Prison, Revolution, Sacred, Slavery, Sound, The Yawning Tree, Wooden Grove
inkandironheroicfantasy 