Thread Rating:
  • 1 Vote(s) - 3 Average
  • 1
  • 2
  • 3
  • 4
  • 5
At the peak of despair my rucksack contains
some glistening keepsakes.
Though burdened by sadness and hate
I cannot deny these trifling pleasures.

I take pleasure in art which convinces me,
if only for a while, that human designs have worth,
and hope and love are real as bones.
Like Oriental lamps it floats to the roof of my skull,
a thousand fragile lighthouses.

I take pleasure in the buttocks of men
when they're firm as a deity's fist, high as roofbeams
and tight as a highwayman's heart.
When I see ones I like I want to bury myself inside them,
cock and balls entirely, until my gender disappears.

I take pleasure in battered chicken.
Even the greasy paper bag and polysterene cup of sauce
resurrects my joyousness, lost since childhood.

I take pleasure in nihilism and atheism.
Humility is beautiful, and the buttocks of men taste that bit more divine
when one doesn't have to thank Yahweh for them.
after reading that i might change in my old ageTongue

consistency is the hobdob
of small minds[

Thanks for the kind comment, SJSmile

Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)