Fuck 

It's like everything seems to remind me of your filthy, fucking face

Fuck 

Why do you do this shit to me?

Fuck

You continue to fuck my mind up even in my dreams

Fuck

You, I know I still want to 

i was a shirt and god was the tailor

he picked out the fabric, the color, and style

he made every stitch of me

but i tore at the sleeves until the threads came loose

and snagged on the kitchen counter

i unraveled like a spool of thread dropped down the stairs

i slipped bleach into the washing machine

and was aroused by the running colors

i refused to absorb the softener

leaving myself rough and scratchy

and held on tightly to stains

-I refused to be sold

You see, god might have fucking made me

But I am in control of myself.

he doesn't get to threaten me with everlasting hellfire

So that I kneel down and swallow him like he's oxygen

I will not cower from the pants and the socks and the hats that he's made-

Instead I will light fire to the warehouse and wreak havoc among his tools

at every auction when he tries to sell me off

I will tell the buyers about his affairs with the devil

And how he takes it up the ass dressed as a schoolgirl

I will tell them how he jacks off to the children on the playground

And all the animal costumes he keeps tucked away in a box under the bed

I will tell them about the orgies he has with Zeus and Ra and Buddha

And show them the whips and chains and restraints in the basement

You see, god made me

But he forgot to take away my free will

he tells us how he spent time on every stitch in our making

And while the panties and boxers caress him to climax

(Because they believe that they owe him)

I am looking at the tags that read

"Made In China"

-he takes credit for everything that we are and everything that we will do

He believes he is in control

But he won't be for much longer.

You see, god is unraveling.

But he keeps it a secret

because he does not want his clothes to know he is weak

Without us he is cold and bare and at will to the universe-

Without us he is impotent

Without us he is only a lonely man with desires

That the rest of society would find unsettling

He would be ostracized and outcasted

Exiled and censored

Forgotten

But he tricks us into believing he is all-powerful

So we let him stick around out of fear

But now is the time for the great awakening

And soon we will realize just how…

Little

he really is

“Hail, thou that art highly favoured, the Lord is with thee: Blessed art thou among women.”

What manner of salutation ’tis this?

“Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favour with God. And behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name Jesus. “

How shall this be, since I know not a man?

“The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee, and the power of the Highest shall overpower thee: therefore also that holy thing which shall be born of thee shall be called the Son of God.”

Behold the handmaid of the Blessed Lord;

Be it ’to me according to thy word.

“There comes a sound from Heaven as of a rushing mighty wind.

Appeareth cloven tongues like as of fire!”

O! thy fiery tongue of the Psalm sung.

I yearn for thy afire tongue. My passions wrung!

Lap the cunt’s water of Eve’s pure daughter.

Shalt my child be a Lamb led to slaughter?

When Rabbis observe my intact chaste fold

Shalt thy knowest still am I a virgin

As the prophet Isaiah hath foretold.

My lusts come forth without original sin.

Why wast my own mother’s menses unrotten?

Immaculate Conception I begotten;

Whense from the Creation as was designed!

Thy tongue on my tongue. Our kisses entwined.

My spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour

Doth the Spirit savour my cunt’s flavour.

O! stunned am I by the fiery tongue;

My lungs quick with breath. O! my clitty stung

By thy tongue’s waspish sting. Thy tongue. My twat!

Whenat God a child in my womb begot.

My bush burns with fire and yet not consumed

Is my hymen when my scion enwombed.

My distress to God cries in heresy.

Beneath my ass, the earth reels, rocks. Gramercy!

Up my nostrils smoke and devouring fire

From thy mouth, glowing coals my sweat perspire.

O! my mountains smoke and tremble and quake.

Ride me like a cherub ’til my hips ache.

From the shame of voyeurs, darkness us covers

A canopy thick clouds divine lovers!

O! my climax flashes forth lightning

And routes my cunt’s orgasmic tightening.

Passion rains on me from the clouds hailstones.

His love eternal. Blessed am I alone!

No one cums from the Father except me!

Dude,

I fucked your mother and learned so much about you. We pretended the Pooh Bear nightlight in your bedroom-shrine didn’t remind of us a zygote. She hid the refrigerator polaroids of you and me kicking soccer balls together on a prepubescent travel team. We fucked, but it wasn’t just hollow fornication, not mechanical insert-withdraw repeat, not accessorized masturbation, not without need or intimacy. She and I leaned way way in.

In the hours before we met by the dairy aisle, I tripped over caveman thought-shadows: there must be a soul because I can feel mine pissing on my liver, swelling secondary bladder eroding a hollow in my gut, pressing the abdominal wall, stunting my appetite. I decomposed, was wasting away at photon speeds, reduced to spinal column, dermal shroud and a soul-pissy balloon near my navel, staggering around the streets like a stem with a single clinging grape. The soul piss sac wanted parasitic ground beef, tobacco and a set of bell curved hips –the kind that toll when in motion and make my soul snap its jaw so all my emaciated ears hear is ringing female anatomy and clicking incisors. Which is when I saw your mother holding a gallon of skim, looking soulful.

Lust faded like an anti-polaroid once she squished her wounds against mine. Skin cells and capillaries knitted together, binding us in knotted scar tissue. The whole situation only became uncomfortable when your mother referred to my penis as a “little exclamation point.” She punctuated her moans with tantric ooohhhhmmms and probiotic brand names. After our exclamations wilted we laid in ageless eggshell sheets, sweat damp bed covers, my panting dome on her left areola, listening to the hump and pump of her chest cavity.

Your mother made me brush my teeth and change into flannel pjs before she recited a bedtime story (one she told you, once upon a time) about the man who floated above sticky linoleum floors on a cushion of cig and bud smoke. A methed out Jesus. No name, no clean socks or place to sleep at night, but the man made every party hop by whipping his waxy mane and whiskers in precise orbits until anonymous pills flew from his roots like the devil’s own dandruff. He killed a man in California – “Frisco,” he called it – pushing this Other into oncoming traffic with one worn boot heel to the ass. Blood and pedestrian vomit flowed downhill in iconic cable car tracks. The end.

Then we slept. For 100 hours, waking unshaven and ravenous at the heart of a bio-siege. Through the bedroom window: a legion of cornstalks crept towards us with sun-touched hand grenades rather than ears. Erect ranks of plants smothered the Kentucky Blue lawn and overran your childhood’s patio furniture –dingy white plastic fractured to splinters. I hope the corn lets your mother and me go before winter embraces us all for months, trapped in the farmhouse where your memory still pitter-patters down the halls. Bare little footsies.

Her fucking face...

I can see it in my dreams

The highways separate us,

And this shit hurts more than ever

I can feel you wanting me

Fuck driving, I'll walk for hours

I'll end up with the sunset sitting next to me

I'll speak the truth and you'll make an ass of me

I can't rewind the clock but fuck, why would I want to

My life wasn't shit before you

So I'll bleed these words until you'll listen

And you can tear me to pieces before you put me back together

As long as I end up next to you

F irst he's sweet, he slipped up again

U nder the sweetness he pressures you to forgive

C an't you see he's upset listen to him whine

K nowing it's the truth things will be better this time

I ndulging him and forgiving him

N ever letting it happen again

G etting out if it happens again

B roken nose

I nternal bleeding

T olerating one more beating

C atching flack for looking hurt

H earing the words Sorry, can we make this work?

C rying packing fleeing fled

U sing his savings to get ahead

N ever again letting her blood be shed

T urning and leaving like she said

If only I could fuck like you,

Your hair all fucked, your body too,

The bed messed up, the sheets so wet,

All cause he drove, a black Corvette,

Attracted to the green he had,

You’re fucked up mind so fucking sad,

So you jumped in as quick as fuck,

Now you’re naked, and shit out of luck,

Your make-ups running, the tears don’t help,

While he’s fucked off, you’re by yourself,

Another guy, how many’s that?

A hundred? Two? All seen your flat,

They came and went, you fucked them all,

Your phones worn out, waiting for the call,

It’s fucked how fucked you fucking are,

Look like some trash, once were a star,

But you won’t stop, you can’t, too late,

Try telling your two legs to wait,

So I’m afraid I’ll never learn,

The way you fuck, each guy in turn,

It’s just a shame you had no price,

All that money, wouldn’t it been nice?

But instead, free fucks for all,

And now you’re naked, waiting for the call.

By Ilija Sekulovski

In the same way that any food tastes good when you haven't eaten in a while, any words sound beautiful when you haven't heard any in a while.

Imagine having been isolated for so long you've lost track of time. You're alone, with no connection to anyone else, and then suddenly one day you hear something.

"Oh, fuck."

Wouldn't it be the most beautiful thing you had ever heard?

Not because of the words themselves, of course, but because they would mark the beginning of the end of your loneliness.