tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80064671572638524022024-03-05T19:11:04.308-08:00YOURS.DOGboybitch i'm a kill ya
you don't wanna fuck with medogboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15796803889032978343noreply@blogger.comBlogger80125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8006467157263852402.post-33075440179203222192012-03-16T11:40:00.000-07:002012-03-16T11:40:08.771-07:00personal adi don't want you to see me as a person.<br />
<br />
i don't want you to see me as a human being.<br />
<br />
ignore my face. ignore my stats. ignore my eyes. ignore my name.<br />
<br />
i don't want you to see me as a face.<br />
<br />
i don't want you to see me as a pair of eyes.<br />
<br />
i don't want you to search for my soul.<br />
<br />
i don't want you to look inside my heart.<br />
<br />
i just want you to see me as a cunt you can fuck into.<br />
<br />
i just want you to see me as an orifice that you can fill up.<br />
<br />
i just want you to see me as a hole that you can fist ram.<br />
<br />
i just want you to see me as skin that you can pierce carve stab through.<br />
<br />
i just want you to see me as your punching bag.dogboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15796803889032978343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8006467157263852402.post-63544099550582016042012-02-20T05:40:00.000-08:002012-02-20T05:40:03.800-08:00Materials Requesti don't know what the numbers were for.<br />
was it inventorial smugness.<br />
was it counting down to a psychotic break.<br />
was i being cute.<br />
was i falsely perceiving myself as being mysterious, cryptic, and obscure.<br />
<br />
<br />
was i being manipulative.<br />
<br />
<br />
let me say this: it has been a weird couple of years.<br />
yeah, weird. i guess.<br />
<br />
been reeled in like a fish from crazy pond and dumped into the dirty, smelly bucket of sanity. sorta.<br />
<br />
the place wasn't bad. i mean, the surrounding area of the place wasn't bad. up in some cold, white mountain of the country i live in. momma's money will never let you stay in some public institution for long, right.<br />
<br />
all those who were involved in my being reinstated as a sane and functional member of society told me i wasn't really crazy. like, i didn't hear any voices in my head. and well, if i did, i wouldn't tell anyone about them, so that kind of restrain from my part should be considered as sufficient proof of sanity.<br />
<br />
i was depressed and unmotivated.<br />
<br />
i could even say i was disappointed. disappointment is a bitch. it left me wanting, wanting bad for something nobody had the guts to give me.<br />
<br />
i spent all of my 'glorious' childhood, pre-adolescence and teenage years fucking around with men and older boys who seemed willing and enthusiastic but eventually proven too weak to live up to their promise of substantiating my one and final wish, my one and only request, need, desire -whatever - that was very simple to begin with: killing me.<br />
<br />
it was from the very start of every 'relationship' or 'liaison' that i stated: "look, you can buttfuck me all you want and i'm not gunna tell no-one, you can do whatever you want with me and i'm not telling, you can lock me up in a basement and rape me and have your friends and family and pets to rape me, whatever, i don't care- but, at some point, can you please make sure it all eventually leads to murdering me?"<br />
<br />
with some of the most daring, or most sexually sadistic guys, we had reached the stages of rape and even torture, but everyone would let me down at the most critical moment: knives would be plonked down on the floor, fingers would loosen around my trachea, guilt-ridden hands would grab at my hair thus forcefully extricating my nostrils and mouth from their watery deathbed the very moment i was starting to drift.<br />
<br />
i'd come around on floors, sometimes having hastily and anonymously been discarded on the pavement outside some ER room, gasping water, puking, bleeding, bruised, sore, my whole body one big puffy black eye.<br />
<br />
but always i'd come around, which inevitably thrust me into big-time depression.<br />
<br />
"there's nobody out there to love me enough to kill me." the mere frustration of such realization was killing me. dogboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15796803889032978343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8006467157263852402.post-50063650158817031032010-11-22T01:41:00.000-08:002010-11-22T01:41:40.971-08:0058.This...thing...between us...I don't know what it was...but it left me with a strange taste in my mouth. An indefinable yearning. It made me ache in weird, special places, especially the ones open to the world and raw and smarting. Like we should have met in another lifetime and now we're going to miss this chance again. I recognized your voice and had to...had to...cling.<br />
<br />
a growing doubt. a fear. a vague need.<br />
<br />
To be held by you and believe that you'd be the one to make it all end. To make this recurring journey stop. Make it stop.<br />
<br />
i don't know what you made me expect. i don't know if you're a ray of hope or a gun to my temple. oh, i know now. i want to be you. ngah. i really don't know what i'm talking about. i don't know you. but you're my hero. i don't even want to fuck you. what's this? like two white shafts of light colliding. yes right i wish, fucking is a smelly and dirty business.<br />
<br />
But for you...for you i'd take pills, handfuls of pills and you'd let me lie by your side on your bed and you'd let me curl against you and wrap my hair around you and maybe you'd cradle me or my head and caress my neck and back while i'd slowly and peacefully drift to death.<br />
<br />
i either wanted to be you -the boy with the beautiful words and erratic temper- or i wanted to die by your side wishing you'd find a way to keep me in your heart or bury me under your floor.<br />
<br />
My corpse would be more of a person than i am now. now i'm this vague blur this black hole you can fill with your need or anger or pain or abuse or lust or violence or affection or poison or sex or lies or hate. now i'm this vessel you can use to cum in, to piss in, to float in, to shit in, to puke in, to stomp in, to fuck in, to stab in, to bleed in. now i'm here this wound to infect with your imagination. now you don't know my smile or the colour of my eyes you don't know my birthmarks and freckles you don't know my sense of humour or if i have one you don't know what my face looks like when you make me cum you don't know my tears or laughter you don't know what books i like and what kind of music i listen to, and i know you wouldn't give a damn anyway or i'd make you bored after the fucking you'd see my ugliness you'd see my emptiness so i had to hide.<br />
<br />
as a corpse, maybe you'd let me be your lover. maybe you'd know me then.<br />
<br />
as a corpse, i'd wait for you under your bed. i'd smell and absorb the juices of your lovers. the boys and the men you fucked, the boys and men that fucked you. i'd be the awkward rancid smell that'd make them scrunch their noses, the dead smell that 'd permeat your bones, your skin, your dreams, your words. i'd be a warm nest of soft holes and inscets and pliant, decaying flesh to slip into after your big men and sugar daddies fukced you raw. i'd caress your insides with secret creatures born in my eyes and fermnted in my belly. I'd lay still and patient like the earth for you, around you, waiting. dogboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15796803889032978343noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8006467157263852402.post-22323437323125929942010-11-18T10:33:00.000-08:002010-11-18T10:38:16.914-08:0059.i'm losing my lovers to my hired friends<br />
i'm losing my friends to that boy that wants to be swathed in crispy white sheets<br />
wtf?<br />
people come near to see me but won't talk to me<br />
if they do, i just stare back cos i really don't know what to say that won't make me sound stupid or ridiculous<br />
it's like a mirror breaking<br />
and it's like a moon in the mirror<br />
a thousand splinters a thousand rays that pierce my groin<br />
and blood looks black in the night<br />
i don't know if i'm bleeding or if you're playing games<br />
i don't know know about no holes no hopes no hollows<br />
just the hollow of your cheek<br />
scary when i wrap myself around you i can feel you<br />
your body is thumping against my chest<br />
like a bird erratic being of tiny fast breath<br />
i'm afraid i will crush you <br />
your eyes bug out<br />
oops, i'm thinking and squeeze tighter<br />
i've lost my friends to my self's own enemy<br />
i just wish i could do something beautiful<br />
watching my friend being fucked by his boyfriend depresses me<br />
i wish i could shoot at words<br />
i wish i could shove a gun up their ass<br />
and pull the fucking trigger<br />
there's no reason i write this<br />
i'm no poet<br />
it's my way of saying, fuck off<br />
or fuck me?dogboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15796803889032978343noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8006467157263852402.post-59317809830737830942010-11-16T23:21:00.000-08:002010-11-16T23:21:47.590-08:0060. barbequeLying (here?there?) in a puddle of blood and of shit and of semen.<br />
Watching his combat boots move around the room.<br />
I want to lie here till the sunlight slivers into dark.<br />
Into disappearance.<br />
And then i will lie here some more. It's warm and sticky, here. <br />
Where?<br />
Until I disappear. <br />
Only an ear pressed against splintering floorboard. Muffled and thud-thudding human steps of human beings in the other human cells. Faint zoom and whizz of human traffic outside the rectangle of pale purple. <br />
His boots come and stand in front of me.<br />
Boot tapping shoulder.<br />
hey<br />
Boot digging at ribs.<br />
hey <br />
Boot screwing itself into stomach<br />
hey<br />
you alive<br />
haha<br />
Crouching. I smell him. It's the scent of war and hearth encasing me into thick white smoke.<br />
Hand on my shoulder shaking.<br />
hey<br />
speak now<br />
Diversion blown into wide open eyes and mouth and nostrils-it stings<br />
hey<br />
talk to me<br />
bitch you respond when i talk to ya<br />
And then it's snowing<br />
Flakes on my tongue which he holds out between index and thumb<br />
The taste of war and hearth and sand and salt and ash<br />
And then the bite of fire<br />
Biting at my tongue saliva sizzling<br />
Smoke rising<br />
(i'm) a human bomb<br />
not longer I but someone else something else<br />
smoked meat on the grill<br />
Charred flesh<br />
and tears of gunsmoke.dogboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15796803889032978343noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8006467157263852402.post-37956433935099383352010-11-16T01:43:00.000-08:002010-11-16T23:44:08.934-08:0061. hunger <em>sudden wave of nausea</em><br />
<br />
Eat something.<br />
<em> i'm gonna puke</em><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">Too much liquid. Your belly is so soft. It's making wierd squishy noises. Like a water mattress. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> <em>i don't know what's inside me</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Like putting a sea shell against your ear, I can hear the sea.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Though it's probably gas.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <em> it's all dead, rotten, rotting</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">We could have some fun.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <em>no, no, i don't want to go, please</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I wouldn't hurt you.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <em> please</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I rather like you. I want to make you feel good.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <em>please, no</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Sweet.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <em> no</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">One touch.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <em> please</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">One kiss. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"> ...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">One little kiss.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <em>no tongue</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">So sweet. Yum.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <em>you said...</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Why can't you be more enthusiastic?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <em>my mum keeps asking me</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><em>...</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><em> i think she wants to kill me tear me apart make me happy</em></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I want to make you happy. </div><div style="text-align: left;">Do you need to be dead to be happy?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"> <em>why ar you asking me these things i want to sleep</em></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Want me to shoot you up?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <em>it makes me sick to my stomach</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Give me your veins.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <em>mum's gonna kill me</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I will keep your blood forever in this </div><div style="text-align: left;">little vial with your name on.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><em>i carry a book with me always like a talisman </em></div><div style="text-align: right;"><em>something to keep me safe from the world</em></div><div style="text-align: right;"><em>my self</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I love you. You're special.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <em>i'm a stereotype and i want to go home and</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><em> sleep</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><em> i can't sleep i just stare dream</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><em> with my eyes open</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><em> sometimes of someone who would love me so much</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><em> he'd tear me to pieces</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><em> and make me forget</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">This is my favorite switchblade.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Lick it. </div><div style="text-align: left;">I will make you forget.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I will remember you always.</div>dogboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15796803889032978343noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8006467157263852402.post-46023893142820186772010-11-15T01:54:00.000-08:002010-11-15T01:54:54.730-08:0062. satanic ritualAll hail the divine mockery of words!<br />
All hail the sacrosanct act of thievery, blessed among poets and madmen, on a twisted path to erection!<br />
<br />
I'm not as good as they come. I'm not suffieciently good. I'm not good at all. <br />
<br />
I'm not even a person. I forgot how to be one. Who is a person, please stand up. Please, raise your hand.<br />
<br />
Am I a stereotype or a thief of identity? A liar and a sinner, i lied my way through rehabilitation and psychological evaluation, and sinned through the slow and painful process of therapy and healing.<br />
<br />
You know, the actual struggle begins now, child. You know, this is where it will get real tough.<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">gee, thanks for not putting any pressure on, doc.</div>You'll be fine. You're strong. <br />
<br />
I just nod because i want you to like me. I'd say and do and agree to anything for you to really like me. Maybe enough to pat my head or squeeze my shoulder. Just don't say you love me because that's a lie. Just don't touch me, not too much anyway.<br />
<br />
One step at a time, dear. One day at a time.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;"> the new morning is poison. it's damnation. one more day. (10-9-2010). sitting on the toilet and taking an insignificant shit. never has my surface been so clean, so immaculate, so clinically deterged. shit smelling of flowers and all. how am i gonna make it through one more fucking day. i think of god and how i'd love him to help me but it's not like i really believe in his existence so i'm just sitting here insides clenching, anus discharging manure. i mean, one more day. fuck.</div><div style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"> this is going to get all weird soon. i know it. i can feel it. it's like <span style="color: purple;">a</span> sickness in my bones. </div><div style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;">satanicritualize me. </div><div style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I want to slip down to my basic essence. I want to look in the mirror and see me. I want to strip layer after layer after layer -off! Even the bones wear a snicker, a wariness, impassiveness that drives you out of your mind. The strongest bleach and scrub won't reveal me. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"> i know you have tried to.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">It wasn't so much the need to be loved as it was the need to be known. To be translated. To be figured out. To be given a name and a meaning. To be given a narrative and a narration. To be given a circle of friends and comrades and a category. oh the blessedness of falling under categories. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"> i know you have tried to pry open that can of worms which is my stomach and my head. my mouth vomitted black pus because your incisions lacked the mastery and infected me. i lay in that bed for days screaming your name while you were out fucking some other gullible douchebag.</div><div style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I told you i wanted to die because i just couldn't stand waiting for the day i would die. The waiting was fucking killing me. Seriously. It was just a matter of getting over with it. Also, I would express my allegiance to you. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;">i heard you fuck and i swear it was the sound of love. then you held his head and bashed it against the corner of the nightstand. there was a slight cracking sound, like when you poke at an eggshell. i stood there shaking. it should have been me. blood ran down that side of the furniture. the boy's hair stuck with blood on his face. it was like a yellow strawberry turban. it was so long you could choke him with it.</div><div style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">In the hospital I grew my hair long for you. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"> degrade me into a hole in which you can shit in, piss in, cum in and throw your dead children in.</div><div style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">i'll digest everything. i'm strong.</div><div style="text-align: center;">i'm hallucinating.</div><div style="text-align: center;">take your pills. you'll be perfect tomorrow.</div><div style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div>dogboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15796803889032978343noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8006467157263852402.post-31660720386764090052010-11-12T08:24:00.000-08:002010-11-12T08:24:19.972-08:0063.You deserve the world,<br />
you said as you plucked a few stars from the sky and shoved them down my throat. Then you held my hair while i puked rainbows.<br />
<br />
i walked around with a silly smile on my swollen mouth and the smell of your intestines on my paws and snout. This is the closest thing to love i've known. <br />
<br />
Look; you unfolded your palm; my teeth were your blood diamonds.dogboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15796803889032978343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8006467157263852402.post-7159163142075458832010-11-11T01:53:00.000-08:002010-11-11T01:53:25.303-08:0064.First thing: the soft crumbly touch of earth. I can feel it around my fingertips and chunky grime gathers beneath my fingernails. Dig, dogboy, dig your way through and out. I would really like to stay here forever in the nourishing soil and let it caress my eyelids and hum against my ears and I would like the earthworms to liven up my mouth with their eggs and incessant elegant wriggling. Life beneath the ground is robust and protective like a cocoon. <br />
<br />
There's a call froma bove, a warning, a sign. A voice which commands me to revival. I never belonged up there with the air and the sun and the sounds of cars and drilling machines and laughter and the words coming out from people’s mouths and the light. No matter how dark it gets up there it’s never entirely and ultimately black. There’s no protective surrounding matter. There is no womb, no veil. The act of resurrection doesn't suit me.<br />
<br />
My fingertips dig into the softness, they claw like little blind tired insects. Dirt keeps falling into my open mouth. I breathe the last breaths of safety and fear. I rise slowly. My eyelids blink some crumbs of matted earth away and the orbs of my eyes meet not the sky but the ceiling. <br />
<br />
I don’t know who my parents are. What do they do for a living. What do they look like. Do they like me? Do they know I’m here? Do they know I sleep underground? Do they know my name? Do I know theirs? Do I know who I am? Do I know my name? Do I want to know?<br />
<br />
Do you?dogboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15796803889032978343noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8006467157263852402.post-16681267227229042282010-09-24T03:11:00.000-07:002010-09-24T03:11:47.183-07:0065.fear in here.<br />
fuck in here.<br />
shit in here.<br />
suck it out of me.<br />
kill in here.<br />
murder in here.<br />
help in here.<br />
tear it out of me.<br />
cut in here.<br />
pummel in here.<br />
stab in here.<br />
tongue it out of me.<br />
tongue of rusted nails, take it out, shove it in, lure the beating muscle which was once called a heart and hammer it against your wall.<br />
make me blind.<br />
make me deaf.<br />
make me still.<br />
make it quiet.dogboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15796803889032978343noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8006467157263852402.post-35680724080477340762010-09-24T00:59:00.001-07:002010-09-24T00:59:54.785-07:0064.give me another pill.give me another hit.hit hit hit me.take this away.dogboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15796803889032978343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8006467157263852402.post-30562946553923260412010-09-24T00:54:00.000-07:002010-09-24T00:54:21.218-07:0063.wrote this while asleepi used to live a life of leisure.a life of quality, i protested but i didn't want it so bad to end. then something happened to it, or it had been happening my entire life, forcing me, moving me, levitating me to this.<br />
<br />
an empty morning under the sick yellow light of a bulb, white marble that doesn't look so white, cold, shivers, a sour taste in mouth from too many pills that fuck you up and down and too little food, stomach digesting itself, liver disintegrating, something rotten or rotting, coming out of my mouth and my ass.<br />
<br />
i knelt.i obeyed. i submitted.the music was terrible.my life is a song now;cages of rats, walls, worms, breaking bottles, screams that no-one heard bc they were too drowned inside, descent self-annilhilation, slow collapse of inner self, i don't know who i am, who i was, i've changed 3 times and this last change has left me-<br />
<br />
a shell, if you put your ear against my chest you'll hear the wind in its void, if you push your tongue in my mouth you'll taste bitter death, and if you cum inside me i won't know a thing. i am a thing. i'm all cold surfaces. i cut and bruise the surface but it's like incising a dead man. no warm blood in here. i'm a necropsy.<br />
<br />
feel.trust.obey.<br />
obey obey obey.<br />
<br />
evil.sold.soul.beauty.what?another pill.eyes.closing.heavy.mind.racing.another pill.clock.present.time.always present.obey.obey.obey.sleep, and dream of a better place.sleep,and dream of nothing.<br />
<br />
ultimately.death.dogboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15796803889032978343noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8006467157263852402.post-14227695893697173172010-09-07T05:37:00.000-07:002010-09-07T05:37:31.831-07:0062.I tried very hard to be someone else. I tried to be someone you liked. Or somebody you hated. It had to be strong. I tried too hard to be this person or thing. In the process I forgot who I was (when i began). Did I carry inseide me something that was completely my own no matter how silly or inferior? Did I ever think my own thoughts? Did I ever speak my own words? I think so. Maybe i'm just getting older so it's part of maturing: changing, transforming, forsaking, transmuting. Did I ever dream my own dreams which i wasn't ashamed of painting with crude kids' crayons? I don't even remember if I believed I had a soul. If I did, where is it now? Do I want to see it again? Will it evr emerge for bad or for good? I wait with a net. My hands are empty. My mouth is empty but I do not dare silence. I was always afraid of the dark and slept with a light on. Betwwen waking and dreaming, I escaped. I became something else, not entirely human, more like a machine made of disproportionate parts:depression, addiction, illusion, delusion, disillusion.I just wanted to go out and play under the stars. I still do. I want to lie on thedogboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15796803889032978343noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8006467157263852402.post-50621016504337941972010-09-05T03:57:00.000-07:002010-09-05T03:57:07.683-07:0061.Moving out has been postponed for another year at least: all that seemed old and faded is now another reason for me to be grateful.<br />
<br />
Every lie now I love. I have to.<br />
<br />
Life is held together by duty and obligation. Sanity is held together.<br />
<br />
You can't tell the truth no more except if it's spoken behind a mask.<br />
<br />
The fantasy of escape is more potent than the escape itself.<br />
<br />
The roads of the world are open to every imbecile who thinks he can walk them. The roads of imagination are only open to few.<br />
<br />
The only way to get by and get through is to stick to the plan, get the job done, no complaints, no alarms. The only way to maintain sanity is to bow your head, no questions asked, no doubts laid out.<br />
<br />
The only way to be part of the human race is to bow down, pray to God and be thankful. The only sign is the sign of the cross.<br />
<br />
Life is nowt but a series of illusions, delusions and, for the unmasked ones, disillusions. It's nice to have illusions and delusions and think of them as charisma. The meek shall inherit the earth. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven -or, certainly, the kingdom of this world.<br />
<br />
Who am I? What am I? These are questions i have to erase if I want to survive. I don't need humbleness, I need subtlety.<br />
<br />
I want to write and need to write but this doesn't necessarrily mean that I'm going to write or that i possess the gift of writing. Not everything revolves around me and mine. I am not the center of the universe, I am not the world. I am a ghost, I am a no-one. I'm not presumptuous.<br />
<br />
I am not I, or shouldn't be, because what does I mean? <br />
<br />
Get the job done. No moaning. Adapt. Adjust. Do not open your mouth. Close your eyes, cover your ears. Take a big breath. You're diving deep now.dogboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15796803889032978343noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8006467157263852402.post-74810327144052877372010-08-27T01:10:00.000-07:002010-08-27T01:10:26.738-07:0060.He tastes like you only sweeter.<br />
hee heedogboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15796803889032978343noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8006467157263852402.post-68391202903465911992010-08-26T01:10:00.000-07:002010-08-26T01:10:04.458-07:0059.I've lost two days somewhere, maybe down the drain.<br />
where was I, whom with, what did i do?<br />
I remember i kept dreaming of dead people.<br />
They were sat up in the old bed where i used to lie on weekends when i was a kid.<br />
They said stuff but not about life after death.<br />
their eyes circled black and holding hands.<br />
Dead people speak to me more than the alive ones.<br />
maybe they said, don't worry.<br />
Maybe they didn't.maybe they were just looking at me, so i won't forget what's coming.<br />
My ghosts, vivid, sad, with huge black-rimmed eyes and a silence so huge it's like screaming.maybe that's how the dead scream; in silence.<br />
Two fucking days.dogboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15796803889032978343noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8006467157263852402.post-6440350545392953002010-08-19T05:24:00.001-07:002010-08-19T05:24:37.436-07:0058.My new crush is a genius and i knew it. I could tell by how tall and lean he is, and from the eyes. A bit crazy a bit visionary.dogboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15796803889032978343noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8006467157263852402.post-2301172024502342222010-08-19T00:33:00.000-07:002010-08-19T00:38:06.405-07:0057.Now I know what was wrong.<br />
<br />
You'd never scratch, you'd never screech, you'd never make a peep, you'd just stand there with your vinyl pants clinging to the back of your shanks trying to spread, to accomodate, and you'd lick the wall thinking:<br />
<br />
WTF?!!!?<br />
<br />
But humour me, poetic licence and all? Try to tell me to piss off little wanker, try to push me off ya.<br />
<br />
You were born helpless.dogboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15796803889032978343noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8006467157263852402.post-37286465238568599122010-08-18T02:07:00.000-07:002010-08-18T02:07:19.210-07:0056.pridePride:can you read between the lines? Can u read between my lines?can you find the hidden text?can you find the lost subtext? would you like a photo of my ass with that? I promise i will let you rim me for hours, i will make all your fantasies come true, just say you like me words, just say you like me.dogboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15796803889032978343noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8006467157263852402.post-82113892368842238232010-08-17T05:17:00.000-07:002010-08-17T05:17:35.595-07:0055.deathThis is not a cry for help, btw.<br />
When i was a teenager, when i was 14, 15 years old and even younger and then older, I never used to think about sex and fucking, i was too busy thinking about death. <br />
Love, i've never acknowledged it so when i hear some stereotype crap about love, i tend to snort even if i try to suppress it, people just see my inward sneer, fuck!<br />
anyway, yeah, death, i got a book THIS big where i worshipped death, i thought it was the only viable solution, or thing, or conclusion so why bother with anything.<br />
death also meant cutting, like seeing how close i could get, or if i got stoned, i felt like this, like closing in on death, touching it, kissing it, making love to it, childish fantasies really,the blood spilling with each cut was a sort of consummation, i thought death was the best lover i ever had.<br />
and maybe all the things i was doing started out like death, like the anonymous fucks in the park, or the onymous fucks behind the church or/and in my school's back yard where gangs of teenagers roamed and robbed rich kids of their shoes and cellphones, well, i was the second or maybe third wave of crime during the night.<br />
and maybe all these little gestures were not about identity at all, not about love, not about sex, not about seeking attention or getting a reaction, not about provoking or forgetting, it was all about death.<br />
but what was there for me at the end of each fuck, at the end of each ejaculation wasn't death but a lament, or maybe i was killing little things in me, but i was doing sth wrong, sex had nothing to do with Death, but maybe in those dark parks and those back of cars i was only killing what i loved. dogboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15796803889032978343noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8006467157263852402.post-90367463832847554212010-08-13T05:02:00.000-07:002010-08-13T05:02:27.092-07:0054.there is a fucking pattern here.<br />
this is getting fucking embarrassing.<br />
You know you can't trust even the closest to you.<br />
oh fuck, the disappointment in the lack of inflection.<br />
you know what? <br />
FUCK YOU ALL!<br />
why did i even...dogboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15796803889032978343noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8006467157263852402.post-85575533181485628412010-08-11T04:39:00.000-07:002010-08-11T04:39:26.975-07:0053.In the shadows you can see-<br />
<em>nothing</em>-<br />
but intentions, shady intentions and shadowed intentions, infections and erections, erections shady and erections shadowed, concealed-<br />
By shadows, by darkness, by night falling, by tears not falling, by lust blurring, by danger blaring, by drugs blearing. <br />
<br />
You prefer the dark, the absolute absence of light, you find it safe, kneeling in the absolute absence of light. You prefer it to the milkiness and murkiness of twilight, its thickness, its muted sadness.<br />
<br />
Because in the shadows, you can see <br />
-<em>nothing</em>- <br />
but a flash reflecting off smeared glasses, off dirty glances, off stares and nods-<br />
fat necks and fat bald heads, sweat glistening, eyes lurking.<br />
<br />
“Be right back,” you say to this kid you know, sneering at the potentiality of the situation. And you shuffle your feet just a few inches behind Him, hunching and humming to yourself-<br />
-a song,<br />
a song to keep you warm-<br />
hands shoved deep in deep pockets-<br />
fleeting twinkle bouncing off the vinyl of your boots-<br />
flash of filthy desire bouncing off His shoulder as he checks to see if you’re following, the Little Lost Lamb dressed in-<br />
<em>Wolf’s clothing</em>-<br />
thinking-<br />
nothing but-<br />
“Business as usual.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And in the darker shadows and in the darkest hours, go down the stairs behind Him, His fat neck and his fat bald head. You grab and you grope at Him, the little lost lamb in wolf’s clothing, whispering obscenities in his ear wet by your tongue and sore by your teeth, squeezing balls through fabric, rubbing cock through fabric, teasing hard-<br />
<br />
To bring upon you the loathing and desire you desire, His hate and his Lust, to make Him hate you and because of His hate to want you and because of His want to hate you even more, until-<br />
<br />
Little lost lamb in wolf’s clothing is pressed against dark damp wall- fat hands clawing at sweaty vinyl and sweaty skin - ass bitten and fat fingers roughly jabbing into bruised muscles and nerves and membranes, dry, then hardly wet with spit - arm pushing behind neck and forehead scratched against damp-smelling wall - you bite the wall, you taste blood and brick - <br />
<br />
<em>penetrated, </em>and you bite the wall, you taste brick and blood, you feel the hate and desire, your forehead raw, your ass fucked raw- <br />
<br />
And a fat arm pushing down around your trachea<br />
-<em>can’t breathe</em>-<br />
how can you be mad and helpless at the same time, how can you be furious and hopeless, dying and not knowing-<br />
which way you want the coin to turn:<br />
-<em>dead or alive</em>-<br />
-<em>what’s the difference</em>-<br />
and then you’re breathing again, the oxygen such a rush a sudden blow to your lungs -<em>a crash</em>- that you drop on your knees-<br />
-<em>you think so</em>-<br />
Gasping, coughing<br />
-<em>you think so</em>-<br />
Something’s running down the back of your thigh and there’s the metallic rattle of a belt buckle and there’s a fuzzy figure out of which, extending towards you-<br />
-<em>a hand</em>-<br />
And a whisper, tenuous:<br />
“…a-are you all right?”<br />
And you rage, trying to shove that hand away from your face, you rage-<br />
“Fuck off.”<br />
and the whisper-<br />
“…I’m sorry…”<br />
“Fuck off!”<br />
-flailing, dizzy, try to stand up, try to pull your clothes together and your pants back up, until you fall face down and feel the dirty sewage waters against your cheek, and the fuzzy figure fucks off indeed, a shadow and a ghost, shoe heels echoing on the steps and up, back up into the air-<br />
<br />
while I’m gasping for air, breathing dirty water, scorching, down here<br />
-<em>in hell</em>-<br />
not feeling sorry for myself but mad and helpless, hopeless and furious-<br />
dying but alive again-<br />
alive but dying again.dogboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15796803889032978343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8006467157263852402.post-5957020627089639452010-08-11T03:25:00.000-07:002010-08-11T03:25:12.554-07:0052.His toenails are too long so he scratches my legs <br />
when we fool around.<br />
His legs got no hairs. He's five years older<br />
than me.<br />
His eyes are full of dreams even<br />
when he's smashed.<br />
He's savvy and tough but I feel<br />
protective over him.<br />
His saliva tastes sweet but his armpits and butthole<br />
reek sharp.<br />
He's better than me at Wii but I let him<br />
win anyway.<br />
I've never been poor but he's always been poorer so everything in my place<br />
is 'lavish' to him.<br />
He's got holes in his socks and tears in his <br />
shoes.<br />
He sits on my couch, knees doubled to his chest, picking on his big toenail<br />
while I make us dinner, then kicks my ass at videogames.<br />
On my bed, he sprawls against the sheets making a mess<br />
out of them.<br />
His eyes are full of dreams when i <br />
suck him off.<br />
His vertebrae are like little balls floating up and down beneath <br />
his skin,<br />
while he pumps his ass into my face,<br />
and I breathe this strange sharp addictive smell, wanting to <br />
disappear.<br />
This made me happy for about five seconds or for as long it<br />
took me to write this.dogboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15796803889032978343noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8006467157263852402.post-19007473006739747222010-08-10T00:42:00.000-07:002010-08-10T00:42:09.828-07:0051.watching the guy on the rooftop.<br />
a shadow moving around behind rails.<br />
the kind wind keeps blowing my candle out every once in a while.<br />
i've never seen him up there before.<br />
but there are some pots of flower.<br />
so maybe that's what he does, watering the flowers.<br />
i'm just watching.<br />
waiting for him to take the plunge.<br />
<br />
and when i look around, i'm on a rooftop.<br />
a shadow moving around behind rails.<br />
the kind wind keeps ruffling my hair.<br />
there are no pots of flowers here.<br />
and across the street, on a rooftop, they are watching.<br />
wondering.<br />
waiting for me to take the plunge.dogboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15796803889032978343noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8006467157263852402.post-10822484704613858652010-08-09T05:42:00.000-07:002010-08-09T05:42:22.632-07:0050b."i won't disappoint you<br />
as you fall apart"<br />
<br />
that's a big burden.dogboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15796803889032978343noreply@blogger.com4