A short, but very sweet poem by Sarah Doughty!
A crescent of lunacy
Falling in sparks
I ground the moon into dust
Praying you’d love me
A descent of lust
Falling like fireworks
Perhaps if I glowed, moon dusted
Maybe you’d love me
But you were like a nascent lover (innocent)
Digging under my shell
And you loved me anyways
Enjoyed this tempest of a poem by ‘theglitterysoul’. Hope you also enjoy it!
Everyday is war
We drink down our anger
Make love with ferocious guilt
Vow to fix each other
Only to break down all over again
We take warmth
From lighting each other on fire
Drag each other to hell
Slam vases across the wall
Only to douse the flames
In silky sheets and teary kisses
We wear love bites like battle scars
Long sleeves hide the bruises
Insanity is our refuge
We are poison together, baby
But we’re drinking it like nectar
“Packages are half off!” Miranda giggled uncontrollably, dropping her beer bottle. “Let’s go in!”
“It’s a black Friday sale on cocks, that’s hilarious.” Seth was trying very hard to zip his pants up after successfully watering a few bushes. “I’m not gay though.” His voice echoed across the parking lot, eliciting titters from a herd of sluts.
“But you can share me!” Miranda swung in the door like gravity was sucking her into a black hole, pulling Seth along. The men were gorgeous, but their cocks all looked tired and wilted, victim of one too many fondling, sucking whores. “Over there, he looks like he just started his shift!” She pointed at the one man with not only a full erection, but also underwear. Miranda fully intended to talk to him, but she ended up plowing into him instead. He flashed her an annoyed look. “Sorry,” her voice was muffled by his muscled chest. “Money?” she asked, digging a wad of hundreds out of her bra.
He looked more humored. “Both of you?”
“Right this way.”
His cock simultaneously disgusted Seth and impressed Miranda. “Wow, that feels big! Seth, put one in my ass!” Best. Black. Friday. Ever.
Like this little two hundred word tale? Read its companion Stuffing Day!
You’re pretending that I’m real.
I am too.
The gashes open.
Never deep enough.
I’m pretending the pain isn’t real.
So are you.
I sow them with needles.
But only pick the skin wider open.
We’re pretending we have choices.
So were the dead before us.
I silently hope the gashes flower,
So that I can crush the petals into blood.
Because I can only pretend for so long.
Miranda had stuffed the turkey, now Lester was stuffing her, right on the frigid marble counter. Miranda arched her back, flawless, Barbie-pink manicured fingers scratching his shoulders. Doll, that’s what I am, a fuck doll. She didn’t like the thought though. No, I’m a doll that’s so perfect, everyone wants to play with it, that’s all.
Why was she thinking about this anyways? Lester’s cock was ramming her sensationally. But she was bored with Lester. Lester, who’d reviewed every play of the game during the party. Boring Lester.
Miranda twisted, Lester’s cock popping out, all slick and hard. This was followed by grunting and an awkward attempt to get it back in, until he finally gathered that she was trying to escape.
“What’d I do?”
What didn’t you do? Miranda buttoned her blouse, padding through the cozy hall, almost knocking into a table littered with semi-filled wine glasses, abandoned and uneven. Once outside she couldn’t get her coat buttoned fast enough, nipples involuntarily peaking.
Seth was at the end of the walk, looking dazed. Here’s one I might enjoy. Miranda plucked his sleeve. “Wanna go drinking?”
He looked like he might hurl, nodding anyways.
Finally, something to be thankful for.
Like this two hundred word story? Check in tomorrow for its companion ‘Black Friday’!
Stirring, eliciting, provoking,
What is left inside.
Note: This poem is written in cinquain style, inspired by this blog post https://www.erotica-readers.com/blog/2017/09/06/writing-exercise-the-modern-cinquain/ Over at ERWA : )