Petite Circle Domme

Seven naked women left dark spots in my night vision,
the leader hangs her clit over the taut neon lizard skin,
drums respect the judgments, body, music and woman,
rules apply to all and after you break one pass the sin.

Advising time is fun and you’re allowed to scar away,
be yourself a silent ringer and then prepare to sway,
respect the process to the end be on time and stay,
crossing rhythms die before starting your own way.

Taut belly skin can borne any ancient ear shaking,
breasts only suggest knowledge of appreciating,
nipples know structure of painful climax pulling,
drumming to what you are hearing and seeing.

Ass stripping with pleasure marks from a demon,
standing in front with soul-searching bush season,
try to stay without inflection or smile is the reason,
healing life with death & sink or swim without seamen.

Women need a different rare phantom deadpan respect,
naked mountains between the legs with drums as a subject,
dare yourself never back out that’s treating death as a reject.
beat your demons with psychology in which you dance and reflect.

The whip-wielding dominatrix knows the secret to life is that it’s good pain,
awakening sensations of sexless experience in a private car on the terror train,
possibilities are endless when the joie de vivre lingers in a quivering spastic brain,
to a paroxysmal you there’s no difference between melted ice cream and a cum stain.

An expert and master near the highly charged nerves ending in a merciful equilibrium,
dive into the pool of pain just once more scratch and claw before releasing them,
not immune to the fear of failure with power to rescue from the edge of asylum,
reflections in a mirror transmit terror that crosses a fragile line with a stem.

The slap slides off from the oil and ooze with the tears and sweat delirious,
feeling the creative methods of inducing euphoric pain is mysterious,
naked skin is absent with a pure locus of new pain that is serious,
the ideal sadist offers a revolting experience that is imperious.

Voices of the brain torture the raw red exposed flesh,
sensations from the body soles and palms mesh,
repetition yields to stinging when they thresh,
another dimension of pain beyond a creche.

Slime and moist skin wet the black hair,
deter leather whip from being there,
breathing well beyond the stare,
pain and pleasure as vapid air.

Transmogrified from a short story by Beth Bransby

Strange Pain Angels

Strange love and familiar pain,
are some things that I have been used to.
Are what’s left in this brain.
all that feels too,

Angels with broken wings seem my specialty,
not before but because of me.
They leave in silence want no trace of we,
not even a fond memory.

They are sending a message,
through shared dance sorrows.
To give us the vestige,
to strive for tomorrows.

Do that and this,
mostly have bliss.
Beyond the black door,
no celebration to miss.

Ultravira X-mas Void

If you don’t believe me just ask marzia
the alligence to status has crippled you all
everything i own is tattered and on its last wow
no parties to attend at a nice big or small house
the ledge of a bridge or edge of a switchblade symphony
do this or do that and this may or may not be relunctently
it is the week before birthdeathday and i feel like such a louse
the opportunity cost of the other is missing the wow of the now
i killed myself a thousand times today and again nobody to call
years’ empty and meaninglessness is only eclipsed by pain ultravira.

Getting fucked in the ass again is my specialty and i’m not even gay
the way to feel love has been long lost and somewhat long forgotten
your truth is not the whole truth or anything resembling a neo-state
smile to my face and lie to me while unbuttoning your red blouse
patiently waiting for my reign of existence to unfold into ribbons
i am reading for the whole truth but only get bits and smidgens
useless advise and cautionary warnings that are insults to a mouse
in the book of lairs they choose a picture of something like a primate
you finger the truth just long enough to turn it into something re-rotten
future predicting is how they decide on whether or not to decide to stay.

living in the poetry capital of the world and even a passing rolling stone
tis the season to question life and the existence it brings before intuition
the pleasure you offer is nothing compared to the worst of my pain de jour
the Other is time spent projecting on the thoughts and actions then expire
nobody knows who i totally am and nor do they want to after close inspection
the knockings are about to begin and this i know because of legal introspection
showing weakness to the wrong woman is like showing fresh blood to a vampire
the role you play on the life stage is to enjoy pointing others in through the out door
saying and doing whatever you want because you think you can be everyone’s volition
it’s the time of the year of celebration for the united and reckoning for those of us alone.

i would jump off the golden gate bridge but with my black luck i would probably live
i feel as if there is something to offer society but there is none that really want me
they find my weak spots and grind them with cutting comments peppered with salt
nobody ever misses me except strangers and those seeking ideas and the sublime
time warps on one relative track and does not reverse or repeat on the absolute other
we would love to get involved but we’re to busy doing nothing with your long lost lover
there is only one reality for each of us and unfortunately for me she was part of mine
when something good falls in my lap there is effeminately someone like them to take it
it’s been such an unpleasure to to meet the real you and see all of my fears pleasantly
all thoughts are electro-chemical and have both an emotional and intellectual aethersive.

Just because you can read a clock does not mean you understand time or how it works
i want to open the veins in my wrists or dangle at the end of a rope or step onto the track
i’m way to nice and always give everything away till there is nothing left at the end for me
what if all your dreams were like mine and when they came true were nightmares instead
the quantum essence of our thoughts commingle within the circulating flow of the aether red
if you see through my eyes you will never again smile and all humans will become undead
a mouth full of cockroaches would be preferred than the feeling after being inside your head
why would we want them when there is joy without others that is easy for us to almost see
it’s as if i just finished swimming across the ocean and with one day rest have to swim back
we’re always in the state of inner panic and likely like something resembling the murky murks.

The rumor mill is grinding away at your bones the dust is used to build walls around your stay
crippled with no interest to live and when i sit down to write the list there is a little of a something
do you really want to live more than one life if the one you are living now completely fucking sucks
i never speak to strangers anymore and saying i love you only evokes a diminishing giggle with nod
one of the only reasons i don’t want to die is because i know how happy it will make some people
if our minds are turned into the correct frequency we will experience why we relatively are not people
if there ever was a woman who could light the fire of my mind and body i am sure she is a dark mod
there is no group who wants me around as i am incapable of conventional interaction or sucking fucks
the answer to the question is the same when asked of my plans and they are always the same nothing
thanks but no thanks now that we’ve used you we no longer need but thanks for all of your help anyway.

i am really not writing much right now because the tourchering of myself has been taken over by eminent death
haven not seen a starry night in years because i rarely leave a one mile radius of the big city lights of san francisco
this is the first part with part two being the first ten parts being rearranged and edited to rhyme hopefully andor eloquently
every week gets much worse and much worse it gets i assure you naturally without any interference from you or any spirit
belief fulfills expectations and the slowing of energy flow compounds inspiration and absence of self something compared
only the lonely could understand that lonely when you write your suicide note and there is nobody left whom to address it too
time experienced has two parts that are at rest over the square of one minus velocity divided by light speed both squared
light is a particle and wave that bends throught time and space at a very raped pace wit your each and every movement
then when you are alone with them you really care viciously with your gossip and upward social networking conspiracy
it’s the season to be alone and forgotten though there may be a roof over my head but i wouldn’t call home a disco
it’s 3am and sleep is distant as the real is coming back and lucky for me the doom and gloom are still ultramyth.

While millions are celebrating unreality with glee there are tens of thousands more who want to die like me
now sitting at my favorite cross corners of columbus and broadway watching the people with others go by
if you’ve ever placed a magnet near a cuompass you should understand the power of negative sophic blab
one could not mistaken my existence for living and when time is it anyway to say farewell to the stay
anything that should be said can be said in a a rhyming poem or phrases that make sense or sense
imagine having your hands tied behind your back being kicked repeatedly in the groin very intense
i lay in my wooden basket nightly petrified with fear expecting that any moment they will be at bay
the only people who are watching my back are those who picking out their favorite spot to stab
my shower runs only once in a while and there is no one around who cares about or sees why
because your gaze is painful i have learned to avoid eye contact at all the times that i see.

Our subconscious is steaming words on a steady flow but i’ve been paralyzed with real fear
sculpting with words my perfect counterpart only to have them edited with unclear reality
what you would do if you knew that every response you ever receive is translucent
look around and what do you see except nobody standing or sitting next to me
when the game is over and i’ve already lost is it too late to throw in the know
transubstantiation is how we connect to the collective cerebral under-tow
today’s the worst day of my life and tomorrow is expected much worse to be
the only surprise you will ever receive are those give with something reluctant
it’s rare for me to speak to anyone’s face for more than a few times specifically
what is in the space in between the pre and post synaptic nerve centers are clear.

December is always empty for me with nothing to do and no more big parties
how much time do you spend thinking about the future actions of the others
every meal is eaten as if it may be the last because it very well may be
family and friends are things of the past with our name on no guest lists
feeling like the elephant man with a highly contagious form of leprosy
running on empty and so lonely they feel terrible for the you that’s me
kind-of-makes sense is usually good enough for me and the one twist
downward spiral is all i know and it knows me back very eloquently
their bed is full of my truth while my pillow only cry’s and smothers
jealousy fills my emotionless void when i read all the obituaries.