Skip to main content

Mas (Khristian Van Volkenburg - Lafayette, LA)

I remember your perfect porcelain skin being kissed by the gentle rays of the sun through the drawn blinds your tiny frame seeming so delicate and dainty compared to my massive blob of a figure you said you felt pretty i said you looked celestial you snickered as if you were smart enough to not believe a word that came from my mouth you should've and you shouldnt have Its just arbitrary banter but still some part of me believes i meant it i still had not came although we had been fucking mindlessly fucking like two cats in heat for hours and i seemed insatiable you laid satisfied and exhausted rubbing my oversized flabby body worshipping me but only for that moment it seemed that everything in that room was exactly as it should have been for that one moment as it had previously countless times felt but it was only in the room and the extension of the shower that we seemed compatible every where else you seemed dodgy and me invulnerable when we were apart it seemed you didnt exist but whenever we were together it was a maelstrom of coitus and compliments it started to run me thin pondering the true nature of our relationship or lack there of When i inquired as to why we didnt do anything except have sex it was revealed that youd been dating some talentless hack some poor fool who believed that the relationship that was shared was pure serendipity that as a unit the powers of love that held you two together this masquerade of being soul mates while in the meantime using some piece of shit to stuff the vast cavern that is your vagina to get your rocks off Repulsed and enticed me simatainiously on one hand the deceit seemed off-putting your unavailability seemed over whelmingley attractive so i guess we forgave and forgot

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

This Little White Boy Who Wanted Some Nigger In Him (James Leland Ludeau III - Lafayette, LA)

Grew up on a plantation
Removed
Secluded from the world
I knew classes but didn’t understand race
Because what raced through my veins wasn’t something of which I could ever speak
My father could fuck the slave girls
But I couldn’t touch the men
It filled me with resentment
Fueled my resentment with lust
Until it was too much to take
It was a small contained community
White as the cotton in the fields
Only dark around the edges where the black men lived
Ploughing the fields
I’d imagine them ploughing me
Sinewy
Glistening with sweat as the sun bathed their shoulders
The sweat running down until it pooled around the waistband of their thin cotton pants
Their skin
Black, almost indigo, like night
Some like coffee with milk in it
Cafe au lait
I could smell their musk
Watched as their muscly bodies worked
I yearned
Burned
This little white boy who wanted some nigger in him
To fall beneath the weight of one
As he heaved
As he forced his throbbing cock into my crevice
I longed for even the pa…

Poet's Cry for Mike Tidewell (Barry Sons - Berwick, LA)

I heard the Politician say in a hunter’s whisper, “There’s a poet in the marsh, I heard one today. He was crying about the marshland’s accelerated decay.”
“Mr. Politician, can you help us anyway? I refuse to think our marsh is so quickly Going away. If we can scan the galaxy And bring men back from the dead, Why can’t we save our marsh? I can’t Get that around my head.”
There’s a poet in the marsh, I heard one today. Whining and crying; Who needs them anyway?” “Mr. Politician, I’m here to make you feel. Try to wrap your heart around the things that Are real. Like love and friendship passion and Sorrow; the love of earth and concern for tomorrow.”
“There’s a poet in the marsh, I heard one today." Mr. Politician, I cry for America’s wetlands,

God Will Cry (Louis Toliver Jr - Swartz, LA)

This is your soul trying to connect to you for last the time. We have come to the final crossroad in our life. This is the end. These are our last earthly breaths.
From this abuse of yourself, we will both die. You will be a rotting corpse. I will fade away into Darkness. People may mourn your death, at first, but you will be forgotten, while I am left here molested by the hands of Hell.
God will cry, “My child didn’t fulfill her purpose.”
I’m begging you; don’t do this. It has been a slow ride, a slow descent to suicide.