Thursday, November 17, 2016

Anarchy -- Souls for Sale

A man died in the riot yesterday
The rioters picked his body
They took it away

The tore up his sternum with their bare hands
To dig into his meat, flesh, and body parts
They wanted more than his heart

They found it, it was nestled like a tiny egg
At the base of his neck
Where his spine touched his skull

His soul was a broken, black thing
But they wanted all the credits it'd bring
On the Bay of Souls

When no one took a bite on the price they sought
The soul stealers weren't a bit distraught
They lowered the price

There are souls for sale
Out there in the night
You can buy one too
If you bid just right
Just right

Anarchy - 2. Too many of soul less people shambling around among us these days. Maybe we all can use some.

Wednesday, November 16, 2016

Anarchy -- I, Riot Man

(Not that anyone cares, it's all fantasy poetry and 18+. If you're younger, fuck off and don't read. If you're butt hurt, leave a comment, I'll give you my phone number and tear you a new asshole. Otherwise, enjoy the anarchy)

I've always wanted to be

Part of a riot

But on the other side

Beating helpless protestors

With my dick shaped baton

I've always wanted to mace

A girl's pretty face

Spray it right in her mouth 

As her friends try to shield her

I'd spray them with my scaling mace too

There are nights when I fantasise 

(Makes my dick go supersize)

Oh, how I'd love to 

Man a water canon

Like the dick of a riot god

At the anarchyorgy

Death bukkake

Spraying spraying spraying

Cold water that rips off clothes

And skin and flesh

Shoots joints off bones 

Pops out eyeballs like rotten fruit

Pressure washes their empty skulls

For they dared 

To fuck with me

I, riot man


Anarchy Series of Poems

Tuesday, November 15, 2016

2:02 AM

Someone is laughing
The sound like breaking glass
A drop of blood
Echoing in the silent pool of the night
As clocks talk to each other
Ticks of tocks
So on and so forth
A perfect volley
Of seconds piled on each other
Maybe they're building a tower
To the heavens
And here comes the laughter again
Makes me so jealous
It causes me physical pain
To hear someone else's happiness

Monday, November 14, 2016

The Village -- Mayor

He is a sad and broken man
With a bottle on his table
And a knife in his hand
He knows no one understands

The mayor looks out of the window
And his village is in flames
He sees the people burning up
He knows all of their names

He takes another shot of whiskey
There is nothing left to do
The village will be ash by morning
The sky will still be blue

He pours some whiskey on his table
Throws a match, igniting it
Drunk, the mayor sits in his burning house
Feeling guilty for all this shit

This ends the Village series. Thank you for reading. Regular bitchfest poems will resume from tomorrow.

Saturday, November 12, 2016

The Village -- Magician

The magician strolled into the village
His top hat black and tall
He called the kids, the women, the men
Come one, he said, come all

I'm here to show you magic, fuckers
You better prepare to be amazed
I'll leave you freaked out, bamboozled
You'll be confused and dazed

Then Tommy said, Mr. Magicman
What kinds of magic do you do?
If it's rabbits/hats, sawing babes in half
Well, sir, in that case, fuck you

Oh no, little Tommy, you're so wrong
My magic's strong and weird
I pull hot babes out of my hats
And pull hats out of my beards

So, let's have it then!
Bamboozle us!
Tommy stuck out his chest and declared
Then he was just standing alone, no one else was there

A darkness descended on his head
Like the soft touch of doom
He cried and yelled and yelled and cried
In the ever increasing gloom

Now this is magic, you little fuck
You'll stay here till you die
So save your tears and shush your voice
Or the demons will hear you cry

They never found Tommy in the village
Forever the boy was lost
Some say they here him crying still
Some say it's just his ghost

This is a poem for a special someone who reminded me that I'd missed writing about the magician.

Wednesday, November 2, 2016

The Village -- Messenger

don't shoot the messenger, he cried
but they held arrows fast at him
their questions were sharp and difficult
so obviously, he lied

i've come from beyond the mountains
where the sorcerer's opened a gate
there are demons pouring in our world
their heads are filled with hate

our time is running out, good sirs
i must talk to the mayor
for the diabolical demons
might just be headed here

the guards were slightly sceptical
but they knew something was off
this messenger wanted to enter the city
but he looked like such a doff

the senior guard then took a decision
to take the messenger to the mayor
they opened the gate and took him in
but then the fucker disappeared

they looked for him in the city
every dark corner, every shade
but everyone missed the messenger
who was busy milking the village milkmaid