AJAY9979
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CotW #65: Write a story about infidelity. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by AJAY9979

Ancient History

This is the last straw. I have put up with his foul words, his past abuses, his scandalous flings with beings who are supposed to worship us, but this is the last straw. Even as I sit here crafting my vengeance, he stands out there flirting with some girl who could easily be his granddaughter. But, it is not that. None of this is caused by any of that. It isn't even the children... his children that fill up every inch of our home. Everywhere I look, there is another bastard child sucking up milk, torturing the pets, and getting away with murder.

These things don't surprise me. None of it does. After all, we're a crime to begin with. He lured me with his valiance and vigor and strife despite our blood. He pursued me until I let him fill my chambers. He made me love my chains. Inevitably, we set the tone for our siblings who wed their sister's daughters and brother's fathers. Convinced our love was worth the deformed beings that sleep in out house, we set the tone. Physically, they are immaculate, but within, they are as monstrous as their foes. Within our home, betwixt their sheets, there is an uneraseable stain that permeates our family tree. Like him, they take who they want and teach their victims to bow and be thankful for their plundering. Their marriage beds always smell of someone else, just as their spouses do.

I still remember the first time. Her name was... Oh, I can't remember. It was so long ago, after we escaped our father. In a valiant move, my husband defeated him, and I'd fallen instantly. Our marriage was as swift as the consummation, which indeed consumed me. I awoke free from my father's toxic ways and instead in the warmth of my beloved. My world was complete. A day later, my heart and shoulder were both cold. No sooner had I awaken when he bolted out, claiming work. He returned smelling of her, and I went berserk. he was quick to avoid my blows, and even quicker to retaliate. We were both bruised and panting soon; he was a bloody pulp and I was a sobbing mess. For three hours, not a word between us passed. But we made up in bed (after I paid her a visit of course), and our fate was sealed.

It is not to say I had no blame. I found young suitors to pleasure me and drive him insane. Every blow he delivered, I tried to strike harder. Soon, we were at war. The only place where the playing field was level was within our room. What started as make up sex soon became rage fucking which soon became hate sex which soon became s...

s...

s...

Stop...

I can't stop him; I don't want to stop him when he's mad. We fight and fuck until every inch of us is either black or blue. Scratches trace his spine. Palm prints decorate my face. His thighs. My wrists. His chest. My hips. His throat. We are a tango of death. Together, we shower hail. We quake the earth. We swirl the ocean and churn the air. Everything he does, I have equal part in. But, no one sees that. They just see a strong Herculean man and his woman. His woman who isn't even his.

The funny thing is that there is no pleasure anymore. We're just a machine nowadays. He presses my buttons; I pull his levers. We argue like a clanking machine and choke on our words and spew vileness. Sometimes, our gears realign and we are in holy matrimony. Other times, our gears crash and scrape against each other until we are so tired of our fucking ordeal that we just can't stop. Neither is rewarded with even a smirk. Yet, somehow, even this isn't where I drew my line.

The line came when he ravished a young woman, as he does many a time. I look the other way, punish the woman, scold him only to be connived out of the contract. But this time, the woman was young. She was fifteen and he pillaged her as if she were just a piece of land. I did nothing to help, though this girl cried for someone to help her. My conscience still muddles when the memory enters it, and I find myself questioning my morals. Often, I wonder how all of Olympus somehow doesn't look up and see the bottom of the underworld. We overlook the worst and praise the best. Maybe things would be better if I had just stayed in Cronus' stomach...

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CotW #65: Write a story about infidelity. The most eloquent, elegant, entertaining entry, ascertained by Prose, earns $100 and stays atop the Spotlight shelf for six straight days. Feel free to invite friends, distant family, even strange acquaintances to play this challenge with you anonymously. Please use #ProseChallenge #itslit for sharing online.
Written by AJAY9979
Ancient History
This is the last straw. I have put up with his foul words, his past abuses, his scandalous flings with beings who are supposed to worship us, but this is the last straw. Even as I sit here crafting my vengeance, he stands out there flirting with some girl who could easily be his granddaughter. But, it is not that. None of this is caused by any of that. It isn't even the children... his children that fill up every inch of our home. Everywhere I look, there is another bastard child sucking up milk, torturing the pets, and getting away with murder.
These things don't surprise me. None of it does. After all, we're a crime to begin with. He lured me with his valiance and vigor and strife despite our blood. He pursued me until I let him fill my chambers. He made me love my chains. Inevitably, we set the tone for our siblings who wed their sister's daughters and brother's fathers. Convinced our love was worth the deformed beings that sleep in out house, we set the tone. Physically, they are immaculate, but within, they are as monstrous as their foes. Within our home, betwixt their sheets, there is an uneraseable stain that permeates our family tree. Like him, they take who they want and teach their victims to bow and be thankful for their plundering. Their marriage beds always smell of someone else, just as their spouses do.
I still remember the first time. Her name was... Oh, I can't remember. It was so long ago, after we escaped our father. In a valiant move, my husband defeated him, and I'd fallen instantly. Our marriage was as swift as the consummation, which indeed consumed me. I awoke free from my father's toxic ways and instead in the warmth of my beloved. My world was complete. A day later, my heart and shoulder were both cold. No sooner had I awaken when he bolted out, claiming work. He returned smelling of her, and I went berserk. he was quick to avoid my blows, and even quicker to retaliate. We were both bruised and panting soon; he was a bloody pulp and I was a sobbing mess. For three hours, not a word between us passed. But we made up in bed (after I paid her a visit of course), and our fate was sealed.
It is not to say I had no blame. I found young suitors to pleasure me and drive him insane. Every blow he delivered, I tried to strike harder. Soon, we were at war. The only place where the playing field was level was within our room. What started as make up sex soon became rage fucking which soon became hate sex which soon became s...
s...
s...
Stop...
I can't stop him; I don't want to stop him when he's mad. We fight and fuck until every inch of us is either black or blue. Scratches trace his spine. Palm prints decorate my face. His thighs. My wrists. His chest. My hips. His throat. We are a tango of death. Together, we shower hail. We quake the earth. We swirl the ocean and churn the air. Everything he does, I have equal part in. But, no one sees that. They just see a strong Herculean man and his woman. His woman who isn't even his.
The funny thing is that there is no pleasure anymore. We're just a machine nowadays. He presses my buttons; I pull his levers. We argue like a clanking machine and choke on our words and spew vileness. Sometimes, our gears realign and we are in holy matrimony. Other times, our gears crash and scrape against each other until we are so tired of our fucking ordeal that we just can't stop. Neither is rewarded with even a smirk. Yet, somehow, even this isn't where I drew my line.
The line came when he ravished a young woman, as he does many a time. I look the other way, punish the woman, scold him only to be connived out of the contract. But this time, the woman was young. She was fifteen and he pillaged her as if she were just a piece of land. I did nothing to help, though this girl cried for someone to help her. My conscience still muddles when the memory enters it, and I find myself questioning my morals. Often, I wonder how all of Olympus somehow doesn't look up and see the bottom of the underworld. We overlook the worst and praise the best. Maybe things would be better if I had just stayed in Cronus' stomach...

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Write the funniest insult you can think of.
Written by AJAY9979 in portal Comedy

I'd compare you to Toto, Quasimodo, or Frodo but you're so dumb you can't even tell those last three rhymed.

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Write the funniest insult you can think of.
Written by AJAY9979 in portal Comedy
I'd compare you to Toto, Quasimodo, or Frodo but you're so dumb you can't even tell those last three rhymed.
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In 15 words tell me why you write
Written by AJAY9979

Hate Mail

Anger and bitterness eat you alive

If you can't quite release all the hate inside.

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In 15 words tell me why you write
Written by AJAY9979
Hate Mail
Anger and bitterness eat you alive
If you can't quite release all the hate inside.
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Can you write a story only using dialogue?
Written by AJAY9979

That's Not Me

Maybe it's better this way.

What are you saying?

I'm saying it's better you found out this way.

Are you guys about done? I want dessert.

Shut up, bitch.

Stop it, Darryl. It's better this way.

How is this better? How is any of this better?

Sweetie, please, I wanted to tell you. Actually, I came to break up with her, but it's better that you know now.

You were going to what? I thought you loved me, Allison.

I don't know who I love. I mean, Darryl makes me extremely happy and he is... well, was my best friend. Shannon, you're beautiful and I love hanging out with you. I mean I love both of you but not in that way. I tried and tried. I even started hitting myself with a rubber band every time I couldn't. I just... can't.

Don't cry, sweetie.

I swear I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt. I didn't mean to cheat on you. She just kissed me, and I didn't want to lose my friend.

You could've stopped me.

That would hurt you. We both know it. I hadn't even told you about Darryl.

How serious is it?

We live together.

Oh... Ally, you know you can tell me anything.

The last time I told someone this happened...

Oh my gosh! They burned you?

Why didn't you show me this before, Ally?

So you can laugh and say this is what I get? No thank you. That's the last time I've ever trusted someone with my secret.

So you knew?

Well yeah! There's only so many times I can have someone's tongue down my pants and feel nothing.

Is it like fear?

No. It's just uncomfortable. Like, when we get into it, I just want it to stop.

That's why you don't want to.

I didn't know people could do that. Sex is so wonderful.

Not for me. It's just not my thing.

So do you not want to be with me anymore too?

Of course I want you, Darryl. I still love being with you and being kissed and stuff. I just don't really want sex ever. I know that isn't what you want. I doubt you even want to be here right now.

Well you were holding hands with some random chick. I love you Allison. We can make this work.

I can't deal with this...

What?

You just dumped me for this ugly ass dude?And you can't even have sex? Listen, I'm sorry you got burned or whatever but I just can't do this. Don't call me anymore.

I can't believe she just...

Don't worry, sweetie. I'm still here. You deserve better than that anyway.

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Can you write a story only using dialogue?
Written by AJAY9979
That's Not Me
Maybe it's better this way.

What are you saying?

I'm saying it's better you found out this way.

Are you guys about done? I want dessert.

Shut up, bitch.

Stop it, Darryl. It's better this way.

How is this better? How is any of this better?

Sweetie, please, I wanted to tell you. Actually, I came to break up with her, but it's better that you know now.

You were going to what? I thought you loved me, Allison.

I don't know who I love. I mean, Darryl makes me extremely happy and he is... well, was my best friend. Shannon, you're beautiful and I love hanging out with you. I mean I love both of you but not in that way. I tried and tried. I even started hitting myself with a rubber band every time I couldn't. I just... can't.

Don't cry, sweetie.

I swear I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt. I didn't mean to cheat on you. She just kissed me, and I didn't want to lose my friend.

You could've stopped me.

That would hurt you. We both know it. I hadn't even told you about Darryl.

How serious is it?

We live together.

Oh... Ally, you know you can tell me anything.

The last time I told someone this happened...

Oh my gosh! They burned you?

Why didn't you show me this before, Ally?

So you can laugh and say this is what I get? No thank you. That's the last time I've ever trusted someone with my secret.

So you knew?

Well yeah! There's only so many times I can have someone's tongue down my pants and feel nothing.

Is it like fear?

No. It's just uncomfortable. Like, when we get into it, I just want it to stop.

That's why you don't want to.

I didn't know people could do that. Sex is so wonderful.

Not for me. It's just not my thing.

So do you not want to be with me anymore too?

Of course I want you, Darryl. I still love being with you and being kissed and stuff. I just don't really want sex ever. I know that isn't what you want. I doubt you even want to be here right now.

Well you were holding hands with some random chick. I love you Allison. We can make this work.

I can't deal with this...

What?

You just dumped me for this ugly ass dude?And you can't even have sex? Listen, I'm sorry you got burned or whatever but I just can't do this. Don't call me anymore.

I can't believe she just...

Don't worry, sweetie. I'm still here. You deserve better than that anyway.
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Write a story in SECOND PERSON, which is using second case pronouns ( you, your) to write a story. 50 coins to the best written story!
Written by AJAY9979

Wrong Message

You read the last text for the seventh time with a sigh. You said it finally. You were finished being hurt. You didn't want that relationship anymore. You'd hoped a reply would come quickly, but it doesn't, so you threw your phone down and turned on TV. An infomercial was on and the remote was somewhere between Timbuktu and Atlantis. You sighed and watched a blonde lady demonstrate how non-stick the copper pan is and talk about the chemical make up of it. Somewhere in between, you fall asleep, oblivious to your phone ringing.

Dead is the first word you notice on the text. Your ex's mother has been texting you non-stop trying to get you to go see them before everything was said and done. But, by the time you awoke, your ex's last breath had been taken. The white bag was already sealed by the time you pull your jacket on and grab your keys. Driving, you could barely control your emotions. Everything that had hurt you felt so trivial compared to death. The death of someone you still had feelings for. Yes, the bad feelings were probably overshadowed by the guilt that loomed over you. You were the last text they'd seen. This was your fault.

At the hospital, the mother said they were trying to get to you when their car was stuck by another. It caused a pile-up and eight people had actually died. Your ex had been texting you, well trying to, while driving. You peered at your phone and gasped. Ten messages, the latter half misspelled and jumbled, were blinking on your phone. Baby, I miss you. I love you. I'll be better. I'll do anything to be with you. I was so stupid. please aswer. I ned yu. I catn lvie wiouy uo. you al iw gpt. You closed your eyes, tears rushing into them.  The words of a ghost will forever haunt you. 

"It wasn't your fault," your ex's mother said, pulling you into her arms. You could tell she didn't even believe her own words.

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Write a story in SECOND PERSON, which is using second case pronouns ( you, your) to write a story. 50 coins to the best written story!
Written by AJAY9979
Wrong Message
You read the last text for the seventh time with a sigh. You said it finally. You were finished being hurt. You didn't want that relationship anymore. You'd hoped a reply would come quickly, but it doesn't, so you threw your phone down and turned on TV. An infomercial was on and the remote was somewhere between Timbuktu and Atlantis. You sighed and watched a blonde lady demonstrate how non-stick the copper pan is and talk about the chemical make up of it. Somewhere in between, you fall asleep, oblivious to your phone ringing.
Dead is the first word you notice on the text. Your ex's mother has been texting you non-stop trying to get you to go see them before everything was said and done. But, by the time you awoke, your ex's last breath had been taken. The white bag was already sealed by the time you pull your jacket on and grab your keys. Driving, you could barely control your emotions. Everything that had hurt you felt so trivial compared to death. The death of someone you still had feelings for. Yes, the bad feelings were probably overshadowed by the guilt that loomed over you. You were the last text they'd seen. This was your fault.
At the hospital, the mother said they were trying to get to you when their car was stuck by another. It caused a pile-up and eight people had actually died. Your ex had been texting you, well trying to, while driving. You peered at your phone and gasped. Ten messages, the latter half misspelled and jumbled, were blinking on your phone. Baby, I miss you. I love you. I'll be better. I'll do anything to be with you. I was so stupid. please aswer. I ned yu. I catn lvie wiouy uo. you al iw gpt. You closed your eyes, tears rushing into them.  The words of a ghost will forever haunt you. 
"It wasn't your fault," your ex's mother said, pulling you into her arms. You could tell she didn't even believe her own words.
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Day 2: Define the word fartlek without looking it up.
Written by AJAY9979

Please Don't Ask My Name

His mother had to have hated him. So the name meant valiant warrior in Irish. Who hates their kid enough to name him Fartlek?

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Day 2: Define the word fartlek without looking it up.
Written by AJAY9979
Please Don't Ask My Name
His mother had to have hated him. So the name meant valiant warrior in Irish. Who hates their kid enough to name him Fartlek?
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I want you wonderful prosers to write a ghost story in rhyme (or prose), but it should start with the following line: "A house stands upon a shady hill..." let's see who can run a chill down my spine! Please tag me (@fortbruce) in your story/poem so I can know you entered into the challenge. Good Luck!!
Written by AJAY9979 in portal Paranormal

The Greatest Gift

A house stands upon a shady hill

Owned by a lass addicted to a pill.

Day and night, hell or high water,

After saying goodnight to her daughter,

The woman would go, and she'd sit

And she'd pop until she had fits.

Thrashing about on the kitchen floor,

Dear mother wasn't okay anymore.

It started out with dear old Pa,

With his loud hees and thunderous has.

He would sit with Heather on his lap,

And laugh til you had to give his back a slap.

Mother, sober, would stand and admire

Her husband in his sailor's attire.

He'd laugh until he coughed up phlegm.

No wonder that laugh is what killed him.

Heather was there on that old man's knee

When he was laughing about the three

Who went out at dawn to catch herring

Unaware of the clothes they weren't wearing.

And right across from the young girls' nunnery!

The men were filled with such shunnery!

He laughed so hard his heart couldn't bear it.

So now Pa watches over Heather as a spirit.

Those spirits are what compelled her to get out of bed,

A butcher knife raised high above her head.

Dear mother, poor mother, sprawled and asleep,

She would've been saved if her slumber wasn't so deep.

Little Heather had suffered so much abuse,

Since her mother often told her she had no use.

A worthless doll that moves and talks,

Who finally decided to show Mother who's boss.

Knife raised, intent burning, 

Heather brought the knife down with such yearning. 

Yearning to spill her blood on the floor,

She brought the knife down right before

Mother's fluttering eyes had time to open.

She brought the same fate as the boatman.

Yes, Heather brought her father's demise

Despite having innocent baby doll eyes.

Now, Heather has been at it for years,

Cutting people between the ears,

Lacing gin and rum and whiskey,

Doing things a bit too risky.

Making herself scarce when people come,

Always living on the run.

Heather knows her time is close

And often thinks back to those she loved most.

The father who used to chortle with glee

Didn't notice the arsenic in his tea.

Her mother, so stricken with grief

Should've held her liquor but fell asleep.

The grandmother who took her in after

Probably didn't deserve to be battered.

The aunt, the uncle, the cousin, the friend

All met some unfortunate, untimely end.

Years have passed, and Heather is twenty-four,

Clutching her head, she lies on the floor.

The daughter she had much to young

Has decided to end this life on the run.

Beaten and batted, Heather lies

Holding onto hope that this isn't how she dies.

Above her, she sees in the mirror,

Her daughter's image getting closer, clearer.

At six, she had followed in Mommy's tracks

After they killed her boyfriend, Jax.

He hurt her, though it might've been a dream,

Oh well, Jax had always been mean.

Melanie clutches the knife, grinning,

Now that she knew of her mommy's sinning,

These thoughts, these emotions, so right all along.

Only one of them left the room at dawn.

She walks along, hiding her wounds

In a soft wool coat-like cocoon

The sun has come up now

And she already knows how

The police are questioning neighbors and friends

To find how a five year old met her end.

Aboard another train, Heather grins.

Just another mistake to add to a box of sins.

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I want you wonderful prosers to write a ghost story in rhyme (or prose), but it should start with the following line: "A house stands upon a shady hill..." let's see who can run a chill down my spine! Please tag me (@fortbruce) in your story/poem so I can know you entered into the challenge. Good Luck!!
Written by AJAY9979 in portal Paranormal
The Greatest Gift
A house stands upon a shady hill
Owned by a lass addicted to a pill.
Day and night, hell or high water,
After saying goodnight to her daughter,
The woman would go, and she'd sit
And she'd pop until she had fits.
Thrashing about on the kitchen floor,
Dear mother wasn't okay anymore.

It started out with dear old Pa,
With his loud hees and thunderous has.
He would sit with Heather on his lap,
And laugh til you had to give his back a slap.
Mother, sober, would stand and admire
Her husband in his sailor's attire.
He'd laugh until he coughed up phlegm.
No wonder that laugh is what killed him.

Heather was there on that old man's knee
When he was laughing about the three
Who went out at dawn to catch herring
Unaware of the clothes they weren't wearing.
And right across from the young girls' nunnery!
The men were filled with such shunnery!
He laughed so hard his heart couldn't bear it.
So now Pa watches over Heather as a spirit.

Those spirits are what compelled her to get out of bed,
A butcher knife raised high above her head.
Dear mother, poor mother, sprawled and asleep,
She would've been saved if her slumber wasn't so deep.
Little Heather had suffered so much abuse,
Since her mother often told her she had no use.
A worthless doll that moves and talks,
Who finally decided to show Mother who's boss.

Knife raised, intent burning, 
Heather brought the knife down with such yearning. 
Yearning to spill her blood on the floor,
She brought the knife down right before
Mother's fluttering eyes had time to open.
She brought the same fate as the boatman.
Yes, Heather brought her father's demise
Despite having innocent baby doll eyes.

Now, Heather has been at it for years,
Cutting people between the ears,
Lacing gin and rum and whiskey,
Doing things a bit too risky.
Making herself scarce when people come,
Always living on the run.
Heather knows her time is close
And often thinks back to those she loved most.

The father who used to chortle with glee
Didn't notice the arsenic in his tea.
Her mother, so stricken with grief
Should've held her liquor but fell asleep.
The grandmother who took her in after
Probably didn't deserve to be battered.
The aunt, the uncle, the cousin, the friend
All met some unfortunate, untimely end.

Years have passed, and Heather is twenty-four,
Clutching her head, she lies on the floor.
The daughter she had much to young
Has decided to end this life on the run.
Beaten and batted, Heather lies
Holding onto hope that this isn't how she dies.
Above her, she sees in the mirror,
Her daughter's image getting closer, clearer.

At six, she had followed in Mommy's tracks
After they killed her boyfriend, Jax.
He hurt her, though it might've been a dream,
Oh well, Jax had always been mean.
Melanie clutches the knife, grinning,
Now that she knew of her mommy's sinning,
These thoughts, these emotions, so right all along.
Only one of them left the room at dawn.

She walks along, hiding her wounds
In a soft wool coat-like cocoon
The sun has come up now
And she already knows how
The police are questioning neighbors and friends
To find how a five year old met her end.
Aboard another train, Heather grins.
Just another mistake to add to a box of sins.
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Give us a little piece of your wisdom. Create your own proverb or quote. This is the quote you'll be remembered by, the quote that will go on fortune cookies and quote books, so make it a good one. 50 coins for the winner. Happy quoting!
Written by AJAY9979

I lay in a casket, people surrounding me, wondering why there's a veil over my face. My grandkid places a hand on their sobbing sibling. They say, "you know what granny used to say. Never shit in a geyser" and the kid starts to laugh.

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Give us a little piece of your wisdom. Create your own proverb or quote. This is the quote you'll be remembered by, the quote that will go on fortune cookies and quote books, so make it a good one. 50 coins for the winner. Happy quoting!
Written by AJAY9979
I lay in a casket, people surrounding me, wondering why there's a veil over my face. My grandkid places a hand on their sobbing sibling. They say, "you know what granny used to say. Never shit in a geyser" and the kid starts to laugh.
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Micropoem challenge. In 10 lines, 50 words, show your adoration for a particularly juicy, well-turned, artfully, sculpted, astonishing part of the anatomy. There are legs, bums, and lovely downy breasts, folks, but there are also yummy surprises, say, upon the clavicle, or along the bridge of the nose. Delight me. Tag me. #davidaintgotnothinonyou
Written by AJAY9979 in portal Micropoetry

Skin

Fingers caress swollen bones,

Sliding over suave flesh.

He hates lotion,

And it honestly doesn't taste good.

We both pull the fat,

Stretching out rolls of it.

He looks at me,

Peeling skin hanging from his lips

Like a chandelier hangs from a ceiling.

Delicious.

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Micropoem challenge. In 10 lines, 50 words, show your adoration for a particularly juicy, well-turned, artfully, sculpted, astonishing part of the anatomy. There are legs, bums, and lovely downy breasts, folks, but there are also yummy surprises, say, upon the clavicle, or along the bridge of the nose. Delight me. Tag me. #davidaintgotnothinonyou
Written by AJAY9979 in portal Micropoetry
Skin
Fingers caress swollen bones,
Sliding over suave flesh.
He hates lotion,
And it honestly doesn't taste good.
We both pull the fat,
Stretching out rolls of it.
He looks at me,
Peeling skin hanging from his lips
Like a chandelier hangs from a ceiling.
Delicious.
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Juice
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Juice
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Day 1: Without looking up the definition define Brobdingnagian.
Written by AJAY9979

Ex-Husband

He was talking to my best friend while we were married. Though he claims it was just talking, somehow he got her pregnant. He claims I'm the bad guy, but he's the one who slept around and got my best friend pregnant with her Brobdingnagian.

6
3
1
Juice
29 reads
Donate coins to AJAY9979.
Juice
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Day 1: Without looking up the definition define Brobdingnagian.
Written by AJAY9979
Ex-Husband
He was talking to my best friend while we were married. Though he claims it was just talking, somehow he got her pregnant. He claims I'm the bad guy, but he's the one who slept around and got my best friend pregnant with her Brobdingnagian.
6
3
1
Juice
29 reads
Load 1 Comment
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