Ignite

Pen in between teeth,

Legs under the sheet.

Dark thoughts swirling. 

To entertain? 

...Contemplating. 

Back, against the wall,

Eyes adrift. 

A pack of Pall Mall. 

Heart skips a beat. 

Ah forget it.

Give in. 

Light a stick. 

Words being sifted, 

tongue almost tasting them. 

Choke. 

A cough? 

No. 

Words being held back. 

One last hit, 

The glow slowly fades. 

Symbolic. 

Die just a little bit, 

with every cigarette stick. 

How melancholic.

Painting by YukiCryHikari

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WRITING PROMPT #1: The Scream

Writing Prompt:  You've been given a pencil, a sharpener, and a piece of paper. What are you gonna do with them?


Years ago, I would have sat down peacefully and wrote something. Anything. My writings bore me but they cleanse my soul.

Now?

I'm gonna sharpen that pencil, slowly, thoroughly. Then I'm gonna stab your eye with it, repeatedly. Over and over and over. Squish squish. Blood squirts all over, cheesy stuff drips all over your face, staining my pencil. You scream like you've never screamed before. In pure agony. Your annoying shrill voice drowns out my laughter. Squirt squirt, your eye socket fills with mush. I wanna tell you a funny joke about vitreous humour, but you're too busy crying tears and blood to get it, I'm sure.

So I sharpen my bloody pencil again while I stare at your pitiful face.

Table Manners Matters, Bon Appetit!

Lay her down - the bed or the floor,
or slam her body against the wall.
Brush her hair gently away from her face,
or grab a fistful of it -- Ahh, that sweet grimace.

Kiss her face, her lips, her earlobes.
Feathery, spine-tingling kisses all over.
Watch her expression's subtle change,
Feel her shiver under your gaze.

Caress her throat.
Bite her, mark her.
Down, down, she groans.
Worship her breasts.
Feed your urge to suckle.
Suck her nipples until her knees buckle.
Down, down.
Her skin is on fire.
Unrestrained desire floods her.
Watch her squirm.
Mindless mumbling.
Moaning obscenities.
Lower, lower.
Feel her legs tremble.

Watch her open up.
Unconsciously, involuntarily.
Touch her ever so lightly,
Feast your eyes as she spreads her legs widely.

Smell her.
Taste her.
Feel her.
Devour her.
Make her go crazy.

Look up.
Look in her eyes, tell her what you want.
Look in her eyes as she stares back,


That primal desire - animalistic, raw.
Ignite it with your greedy mouth,
Hear her moan.
Let her rub herself against your face. Violently.
Let her beg. She's at your mercy.
Let her lock your head in between her legs,
Your face buried deep.
Let her flood you with her sweetest nectar.
Drink, like you're in a desert and you're thirsty.
Lick. She's a popsicle dripping in a hot car.
You're a slave to her pussy.
Lick. Just lick.

Feel her succumbing,
feed on her.
Feel her submitting,
open her up.
Eat her.
C'mon, lick.

Violate her deliciously.
Intrude.
Enter.
Explore.

Fuck. Don't stop.

You still have your pants on.

It's gonna be a long night.

Thank you for reading! Like, Share, or Follow this madwoman's blog if you have enjoyed taking a peek inside her dark, cobwebby mind.

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movie/book blog: A Moot Point

Manalig Ka Lang.

Minsan, darating talaga sa buhay ng tao na iaalay mo na lahat ng meron ka sa kung sinong santo man ang pwede mong tawagin dahil nasa isang sitwasyon ka na sobrang hirap at di mo na alam ang gagawin mo. Yung feeling na atheista ka pero bigla ka mananalangin sa diyos na maykapal na sana.... sana....

Natigilan ako sa pagmumuni-muni dahil tagos sa eardrum  ang boses ni manong barker na nagtatawag ng pasaheros.

Iced Tea, Cigarettes, and Death

A gust of polluted wind blows in her direction, reminding her where she is, her soft black hair swaying gently across her face.

She looks around her without really looking, and her mind barely registers the people bustling past her. After several minutes of mindlessly staring at strangers, her eyes finally focus on her fingers – or what’s in between them— and she smiles bitterly. “My only companion in this world,” she mutters under her breath, “the best... and the worst.”

She puts her “companion” in between her moist lips and sucked in hungrily. She sighs inwardly as she feels the wonderful sensation only her menthol cigarette could ever give to her. She knows she should quit. Everyone tells her to. She chuckles darkly as she finds that amusing. Yeah, everyone. Well, where is everyone now? She is in the middle of a busy crowd and yet she has never felt more alone. But she’s used to it. That’s why she still hasn’t quit smoking. Because who the fuck cares? She doesn’t. That balding man in the wrinkled suit doesn’t. And that one picking at his nose obviously doesn’t too. She gazes at the approaching waiter whose only thing he probably cares about right now is refilling empty glasses. She feels a little envious – how simple life must be for this guy, no great expectations, and no one expecting him to do anything but refill glasses and not break anything. She stares at the waiter’s calloused hand as he puts iced tea into her glass.

"Thank you." Mr. Iced Tea Guy gave a tiny nod at her almost inaudible words. He left her immediately. There are napkins to be folded.