Also hot stories and poetry
She is called Bambi now. After the successful hypnosis session by my girlfriend, we committed my brother for surgery. Also, we bought him the sluttiest clothes he could afford himself with his tiny salary as a Mac Donald’s employee. Afterwards we rented him out to a nasty looking pimp that wanted to taste the merchandise before paying us 5000 dollars for it.
Scully from the X-files was always one of my favorites. I got to meet her in the dressing room of the set were I used my hypno gem to enslave her. We went to my place where she put on a Mistress outfit, she would entertain me the whole evening.
What has become of that happy girl,
smiling at life.
She is so pale and looks tired,
the needle her only friend.
The drugs running trough her veins,
a poison numbing her brain.
No more feelings,
as the sweet heroine intoxicates the junk.
It’s the path to a slow suicide by overdose.
Don’t gaze at me when I am
removed from the sun
reflecting only a part of my beauty.
Don’t aim for the crescent,
only for the full moon.
Sappho the Greek poet,
lonely person in a man’s world.
She yearned for the tantalizing kiss,
caress of soft skin,
hot kisses in the moonlight.
Oh, how she despaired looking at the stars,
dreaming of her forbidden lover.
Get your shit together.
There is no light, I can’t seem to see
there is no one left to catch me.
Sent me too the marsh,
let me drown.
I am tired,
master of misery,
have pity
release me,
let me drown in quicksand.
I don’t want to get here out alive.
I am going to spend my last night here,
I think I finally see clear.
When you won’t comply,
I’ll make them hang me,
neck snapping,
time will tell,
it shall fly
drenched in the rain of angel’s eyes
humans die.
Memories of all those blissful years together,
some wither,
kiss me darling, before I forget.
When I am yet a husk of a man,
drooling
pooping in his diaper.
Returning to an infant’s state.
Promise me you will put an end to my misery.
For to vegetate,
is no life worth living.
I wear what I like,
my body is not to be scrutinized,
nor reproached.
It is mine,
and I can do with it as I see fit.
Get it in your thick skull,
you are not the boss of me.
My tears water the flowers,
in a weak sun.
Unconvinced by nature’s splendor,
I just survive.
Moving along,
I keep looking back.
Remembering the things we got,
wishing I forgot
Some debts,
the tasty ones
need to be paid
in blood.
To drink from them,
is to feel vibrant
mighty
and alive.
Poetry and flashfiction 