Noct

Looking at life through shit tinted shades. Clarke suffers from pretty much everything his doctor tells him to. But then he meets Lilith Humus. Who makes him dip his foot into the deep end.

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1. If I had a way with women i wouldn't...

If i had a way with women. I would not fuck whores. That is simple.

This is fact.

This is sad.

This is life.

 

I have several poems written for an occasion in which i just kinda wanna turn off the world and try and explain to someone how i feel. Often these poems center around a thinly veiled caricature of me, touching ground with the demons of my past, thinly veiled as people i know. Some of them i love, some of them i hate. Some of them love me. Some of them hate me.

This is ok.

This is normal.

This is life.

 

Did you know that if you don't cook kidney beans correctly that you can die? That means somewhere, enough dumb fucks were killed off by beans. Some people fuck themselves to death. Some people rupture their entrails on the tip of a gigantic horse cock. Some people end their lives because they don't have the guts to try the horse cock. And some people, some people are killed by the autistic brother of the baked bean. The kidney bean. What dumb cunt named it anyway?
 

So whores. Love them. They don't care that i have panic attacks before, during and after sex. They don't mention the scars on my arms. They don't point out how unhappy i look most of the time. Sometimes they don't even use a condom. This is called going Greek. I was disappointed by the lack of a toga. But i will live. 

 

So i meet this one. Asian. Massive tits. Dumb as fuck. I can tell this because she didn't ask for money up front. I am not saying  i am. But if i was a dishonest man. I would just not pay her. But you know. Business is what it is. I don't want my name tarnished. Whores love me. Of course they do. I pay them. I am the one getting them through college, university, day to day life, raising a child. I am the one furnishing their shitty 5x5 apartments. I am the one who finish inside of them and can't bare to look at them for a few hours. 
 

 

This is me.

This is regular.

This is loathing.

 

I once ordered a girl who reportedly fucked a sloth.

You could tell looking at her.

She looked somewhat.

Depraved.

All of them do. But some of them.

Only some. Have this look in their eyes. 

Like the only reason they aren't killing themselves is because they think they may be saved.

 

I know that look. I see a man every day with it. he gets up, goes to work. He slices his arm in stock cupboards. He drinks whiskey from a flask. He pukes into the shredder. For lunch he eats nothing because the pills he takes to get through the day kill his appetite. For dinner he eats whatever he finds. Sometimes he orders take out. The only reason he doesn't end it is because, well. He doesn't even know that much. 
 

He looks in the mirror every morning. And he sees me.

 

"You coming to bed sweetie?" I hate it when they call me sweetie. I turn to the hooker. 34D. Blonde hair. Bubble gum smell. Nice ass. 
 

"Spread them." I said. I light a cigarette. "And call me Hitler." I say. Last night i was Stalin. Before that i was Gordon Ramsey  Last week i was David Frost. 
 

She spreads. I enter. The old in out, in out. As they say. Well. No one says that. 

 

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