Our First Time With A Knife (Part Three)
Our First Time With A Knife (Part Two)
Our First Time With A Knife (Part One)
Stream of Consciousness by Keith Camp
Hahaha, I can’t believe she fell for it, stupid bitch, stupid girl, now look at you. I can’t take it anymore. Not today. Not now, not today not now WHY! What the fuck were you doing to me, you can’t just draw me in with your blood lust, show me what you got, put the knife in me you fucking whore, yes, of course I want our blood to slip in and out of us. My god it feels so fucking good, just like the song says, getting fucked with a knife. Oh the way she grabs my head, almost pleading to stop, but the eyes won’t leave mine, she can’t break the gaze, she slaps, you bitch, dig harder, dig harder, DIG HARDER. More blood, I want you all over me. A true bloody kiss, I’ll earn my own red wings thank you very much. They say you’re sick, they say I’m sick, you say I’m sick I say you’re fucked up. My beautiful one and only succubus, draw it out of me, open me up, let me open you up. I love your beautiful steel bracelets you have on, and the chains they are attached to match so eloquently. You can’t see me through your blindfold but the bloody smile on your face tells me I’m doing something right. Goddamn girl, goddamn girl, goddamn girls, goddamngirls, goddamn me. God damned me. I am your God, I damn you. Damn you to be my fucking slave. A willing participant. I think I’m in love.
The Calm
The sparkling of light reflects off the water drops of the constant down pouring of the rain.
The first sigh of relief, the first chance to breathe, at last the recoiling of the pain.
Which seemed to have no end, the reuniting of friends instead of their constant refrain.
Same car, same lane, same air, new plane, the almighty wonders of change. (more…)
The Escape
Our first f#*K
Bedroom Obituaries
Well there you go again, you’re digging a grave
But it’s not in the ground this time, its six inches below your waist.
Covers and Sheets are your weapons of choice to break boys down piece by piece,
At this pace you’re going the whole city will go up in flames to try and smoke you from your hiding place. (more…)
Making Use Of A Chilly Morning
Randy, like foals at play
we stumble
twisted in sheets of passion
twisted, just as you like it
bent, spindled, mutilated
spent
burning flesh in the folds of desire
undulating
incubating
fierce
molded together like clay and wire
images formed which would make folks blush
rose from the seascape of sweat
delving deep in the frenzy of waves
tossed mane
shaken woes
euphoria.
Podcast: Play in new window | Download
