Blood and Fucking


Now that I have caught your eye with the provocative title, here are two more brand new pieces all fresh and dripping with afterbirth from the diseased womb of my mind.  The first one is more of a fragment really, and is far more honest than people will be comfortable with, but hey, the title alone should frighten away the squeamish.  I have often felt some need to censor myself to a certain degree in my work, leaving some of the pieces I wanted to be visceral far more sterile than I would have liked.  I think in large part this is because while writing it down is one thing, speaking it is entirely another and in the back of my mind I am reading aloud to an audience somewhere and getting horribly embarrassed.  These are a bit of an exercise in abandon, hopefully leading to shedding some of my own imposed prudishness.  With the first poem, I am being perfectly honest in having entertained these thoughts, just the feeling of being moments away from perpetrating horrible acts of violence.  I often feel this impotent rage that desires nothing more than the complete suffering at my hands of another.  This may make me a rather disturbed individual, but by getting it out and onto paper, it may prevent several felonies, so that can’t be all bad.

   

Given half a chance, less than half, maybe just a heartbeat

I would kill and write songs about it,

Rend flesh to ribbons, blood under my nails

Grind bones to powder,

Make a perfect hymn of slaughter

Chorused by wails, whole harmonies of supllication

Exalted by the pleas for mercy

Sanctified in my pitilessness, cleansed of remorse, pure

Hip deep in gore and hard as hell

I would kill you all

Laughing and cursing you week, pathetic sheep under my blade

Glutting myself

If I were given a heartbeat

Even half a chance

Do not doubt it

Not for one fucking second

It might be your last.

This next poem I feel is more complete, yet rougher in some aspects than the first.  It is yet another poem about sex, again, hopefully one that despite its many crudities will inspire something like arousal in the reader.  I have one other note about it and that is that I am a heterosexual male and all of the images reflect that point of origin.  I have tried in the past to write from a more universal standpoint, so that man or woman, straight or gay, whoever the reader is will be able to find identity within the work.  This may in fact be possible, but not by me.  I am writing from what turns me on, and that is me and a woman copulating.  I don’t mean to imply that this is the only or correct way of doing things, just that when I think of sex these are the images that are most potent to me and what comes out onto the page.  If your tastes run different, feel free to imagine the body of your choice and just gloss over the anatomical or mechanical bits with those appropriate to your own sense of the erotic.  Here we go…

I’m going to be perfectly honest here

I like to fuck

There, I said it

Don’t get me wrong, lovemaking has its place,

All sighs and chaste throbbings

But given the choice of satin sheets strewn with rosepetals

I’ll take a back alley and a rough brick wall any time.

So much of my life is civility

Sterile, flat, white, bland

So the one animal thing left to me

I want as just that, animal

Raw, immediate and pure.

There should be abandon

Gasps, sobs, moans, grunting

Clutching, tearing of clothes and flesh

Salt, blood, tears, ragged edged breaths

Throats raw, hoarse,

Twisted, sweaty limbs tied in know mazes of lust

When I fuck I want Bacchus himself

To take one look, turn away blushing

Crying out “too much, nay that be-eth fucked up!!!”

No soundtrack of symphonies or tender pop ballads,

Seriously if my fucking were music

It would be KMFDM raping Rammstien

Getting a rimjob from Trent Reznor

With Tool behind the camera masturbating

Industrial clang throb machine dripping fluids,

Pistons grind, scrape, gear teeth nash

In billows of steam scalding oil slick skin

Dirty, hot, biomechanics penetration friction guzzling hunger.

I want need, desperate, pleading

Fucking should be a prayer of two bodies

Thrusting against the barriers of flesh, aching to break through

Consummation by total and complete consumption

White hot fusion core meltdown

Her in me, me in her

Nothing but burnt flesh alters

Bright as a thousand suns in a dark room,

For one aching forever instant.

In that moment

Spasms, death throes

Having spent so much

All life sped from a shell of meat

Now corpse and bleeding its last

In that thunderous, echoing silence

Falling forward, head coming to rest

Between pale, gleaming breasts

That crash of heartbeat against its cage

It is right there, all that I ever needed.

And that is why I like to fuck.

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4 Responses to “Blood and Fucking”

  1. alley?

    The second poem is just a sex purge and will likely have more useful meaning to you than to others, which is always a good thing to have happen time to time.The first poem is of course dark and a little scarey, but a better poem overall. A lot of people go through spurts of murder fantasy, especially when things are dark in their lives, though most store it inside somewhere. Those who don’t realize it is now not in you because it is OUT of you may be creeped out a bit.

    • Yes, alley, god damn. I hate it when I do that. I do hope people will take that first one as a catharsis thing, rather than being like, you know, a plan or anything. The second one definitely does need refinement, but there was some nice language I liked in it. We shall see if it can be resurrected into something maybe more universal.

  2. I like to fuck too. When I think of fucking, every image you created comes to mind. Perhaps a few different details in tastes, but you nailed it for me.

    • I am always glad when I can speak to someone in some way, so thank you for your kind words. I don’t know if you meant to or not, but I also love the fact that you ended a comment about my describing fucking perfectly for you by saying that I nailed it for you, lol. Please keep reading, and I will keep trying to write something that is worth the effort to read.

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