Posted in Love, Non-fiction, Personal, Poetry
Tagged doubt, fight, finish, heart, hurt, jealousy, joy, Love, pain, polyamory, race
Today being a new month, I shall be including a new experience: keeping a journal. If the content is not too risque, I shall post it publicly. If I deem it too private, it shall be password protected and possibly shareable upon request. Just ask me.
That said: here’s what happened today and yesterday thus far.
Posted in Non-fiction, Personal
Tagged bouncing, busking, DV Love Boutique, fight, journal, Las Vegas, life, poetry, public transit, sex toys, the Stratosphere Hotel
Backpfeifengesicht, more than a slap on the wrist,
That bastard’s face deserves a fist through it;
Legitimately, efficiently, he’s rubbed on a nerve
Until it was threadbare, treaded and worn.
Like ravens love corn, he’s revelled in squawking,
Digging a trench with all of his talking,
Dead walker has wandered well off of the trail,
Now a foot to his ass will render him paled.
Entrails could very well be brought to the surface,
Cut out for reroute by world’s worst brain surgeon,
Emerging from membrane profaned by the floor,
By warren of wardens wrestling woefully.
Posted in Opinion, Poetry, Slam
Tagged Backpfeifengesicht, cheek, composure, corn, face that deserves a fist through it, fight, fists, head, hole, nuisance, pavement, pest, poetry, punch, ravens, rubbed nerve, squawking, talking, threadbare treaded worn, trench, world's worst brain surgeon