Also hot stories and poetry
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
I needed to unlearn everything,
the English teacher crammed in my head
to be playful with language
unfilled needs one to be get.
It’s easier if you forget the rules,
creativity needs little boundaries,
the freedom one of its pleasantries.
The mask I wear,
it hides frustration
desire
and also, the hellish fire
of a wrath unquenched.
On our way still,
the stately feeling
caused by the walking
feet after feet,
behind the coffin.
Women with their handkerchiefs,
against mouth and nose.
Death is contagious,
keep it at bay.
Once dreamed up
the big, final word
shoes are to small of a sudden,
armpits sweaty
clothes drop to the floor.
We are all naked in the final hour.
The trees wave,
tears on his face
flowers on the departed his body
maggots waiting to hatch.
Poetry and flashfiction 