Grown-up

I asked my daughter,

What dya want to be,

When you are a big girl?

Her answer made me

Want to dig my own grave,

On a stolen plot somewhere,

And jump in, without a tank

Of Oxygen or Oxycodone.

What an oxymoron!

I didn’t even want the grave marked,

For she said she wants to be a “socialite”.

Unleash

Fuuuuuuccccckkkkk you!

Fuck me.

Fuck everyone.

Fuck arsonists.

Fuck firemen.

Fuck doctors

Fuck diseased.

Fuck lifeguards.

Fuck drowning.

Fuck pilots.

Fuck planes.

Fuck water.

Fuck boatmen.

Can I just get a wrecking ball,

Or a baseball bat,

And smash everything?

Or should I just walk in deep waters,

And attend my own sea burial?

**No offence to any professions. Respect. Just rants of a fucked up woman

Once again, I hit refresh,

A million times a minute.

Once again, I check the dial tone,

A million times a minute.

Once again, I hope against hope,

A million times, I cry.

Once again, I pray,

A million times, to make it right.

Once again, my heart breaks,

A million little pieces scattered.

What is it called,

When the left side of the body,

Feels heavier and hurting,

Like someone smashed it with hammer?

What is it called,

When catatonia takes over,

A perfectly healthy body,

Like all the blood is drained out?

What is it called,

When the eyes go dry,

But there’s loud sobs,

Like a whale separated from it’s calf?

What is it called,

When you are in a crowd,

But are left alone crying,

Like a war torn border?

What is it called,

When the shoulders are slumped,

Walking in the rain

Like a wet pup looking for a home?

Cells

On a rainy, dark night,

A grave was dug.

The wet soil, fret with worms.

Worms waiting to feast on one.

The trees dripped with cold drops,

The empty hole in the ground, soft.

Not a sound, except the scythe,

The corpse turned from red to blue,

Waiting for it’s last avenue.

The bats chittered, smelling the death.

Rain poured, like the sky was torn.

The mud, the dust, the coffin,

Lay in wait to be put in place.

No people gathered, no tears shed.

Images and water, rose like a stench,

From the already deceased and unclaimed.

Hustle

Mad dogging,

Tea bagging,

Sleepy child

In the waiting.

Pills like Nurse Jackie,

Chicken and rosemary,

Munching, crunching,

Silver tooth glittering.

Shot glasses, lime wedges,

Shite music blaring.

Anxious and loving,

Caring and soothing,

Tossed out without thinking.

Anger and frustration,

Midnight masturbation,

Raging bitch manifestation.

Sleep now, little one.

Mama’s gotta be strong,

For you and them bones.

Breathe in, breathe out,

If it wasn’t for that drought,

There’d be water in the well,

And we’d kill the mademoiselle.

Weekend

Weekend rang in,

Offices close at five.

Empty parking lots,

The old cigarette stench,

The pop of the bottle of wine.

Stage a protest at home,

Drive your Jeep, solicit in the dump.

“Late night meetings”, hahaha,

Dya think I was born without a brain?

GPS trackers and dropping pins,

Are for pathetic losers.

“Jackass, I can run you over”,

That’s not a threat,

It’s just your way of saying,

Fuck off, bitch.

Yes! This just in,

Don’t need to see your pin.

I know the skivvy bunch,

Even when it deals me a punch.

Why?

Hey old man,

When you hit yourself,

With that iron rod,

Because they didn’t listen,

Because they refused to grow up,

Because they dissed you,

Because they didn’t procreate;

You saw the evil in her heart,

You heard the vroom of the broom,

You felt the satan living within,

You tasted the poison she oozed.

Why didn’t you split her head in two?

Instead of getting eighteen stitches,

On your twisted but wise noggin?

Had you done that,

I wouldn’t have wanted to

Drink bleach and cut myself with glass.

Chemicals

Takes one chemical,

To run from here to there,

To fuck up a lifetime,

Of nestled love.

Takes one swig,

To wear pink glasses,

And look at a witch,

Like she’s a goddess.

Takes one minute,

To pack the bags,

Slam the door

And say fuck off.

Takes a breath,

To cool the head,

And open the eyes,

To see the water’s gone.

Takes one child,

To make things right,

And the children;

They don’t deserve bad mama.

Takes one word,

To pierce the heart,

And let the blood spill

All over the floor.

Takes one beat,

To sway like grass,

In a meadow,

Browned by fire.

Takes one smile,

To forget your shit,

And that very smile,

Can bring tears to the eye.

Takes one prayer,

To hate the world,

And to bury someone,

Six feet underground.

Takes one smoke ring,

To blow out another one;

Call your wife and say,

Fuck you, bitch.

Takes one whore,

To destroy three lives;

But I’m made of bricks

And you will go in the kiln

Bones and hair and all.

Bye!

I got one way tickets,

To a place I don’t want to go.

I have no home,

But here I am, not being slow.

I am asked to leave,

Because I fought,

For the love of my life,

And for being a bad wife.

I did nothing wrong,

Or so I think.

When I was shown my flaws,

I began to sink.

With a heavy heart,

I kissed my child,

Told him to go to school,

And not be a tool.

A decade of happiness,

Was deciphered as unhappiness.

I had no idea I was living a lie,

I thought everything was,

As sweet as a pie.

My two best men,

They let me go;

To face the world,

With a broken mould.

I want to go back,

And give them a hug.

But I know, before long,

I will be a rug.

My tears mean nothing,

My heart is still longing,

For that one person to say,

You belong here darling.

Turban troubles: A not so metaphorical true story.

PG18

*All the characters are real, the names haven’t been changed*

Once upon a time, a young whore was born out of, probably a wedlock. The young whore was braindead at birth. Her eyes looked North and she saw South. Her teeth grew like a heavily fertilised cornfield, too many to line up in the jaw. She went to school and did not pay attention to the teachers, but instead kept admiring her fingernails.

As the young whore grew, her grassy hair grew and she learnt a thing or two about tying them into a whorilicious way. She learned about co-ordinating skirts with blouses and hot pants with tank tops. She attended a “fashion school” to learn this. As she reached her 20s, her hemline went higher and higher and the neckline went deeper and deeper. Despite this, the little whore was not able to walk, talk and act like a whore because she was trapped in a family who lived by the book.

One day, as the whore was juggling jobs as a showgirl juggling her boobs, a young, lost soul caught her eyes. She spread her legs wide open and immediately the lost soul decided to marry her to be the sole owner of those legs and that body. The lost soul started out humble but worked hard and reached places in life which the whore had never heard of.

Being free from the shackles of her family, she started her Babylonian epic whore journey, spreading her unfertilised eggs, from one man to another. In the meantime, the lost soul was clueless about his little whore’s business and loved her dearly and showered her with the latest gadgets. iPhone, myphone, a lot of phones were given to her to communicate with her.

But alas! the lost soul failed to see that the little whore was guzzling wine and beer like a parched whale and making other lost souls fall from heaven like Lucifer. The elixir of alcohol went to her braindead head and she looked in the mirror and saw a demigoddess. She levitated with a delusional delight and her feet never touched the ground. Of course, her knees did a lot of groundwork, performing fellatio on any male genitals that came her way. At one point there was also an equally braindead whore who decided to facilitate each other’s deviant desires while the lost soul looked on.

A decade passed by and the whore decided that she needed to mess around with more genitals. She moved to another country seeking cheaper wine and cigarettes and gullible middle-aged men. Her eyes had gone puffy, her voice had grown hoarser, and she was still grotesquely attractive to men. Another dumbass lost soul came her way and they fornicated each other’s brains out, not that there was much to lose to begin with. The dumbass had a star by his side who guided him back to his heaven. The whore kept on luring him back in, and the guardian angels stopped him many a times.

The star that stood by the lost soul’s side while he vomited the germs passed on by the whore, was mangled up, smashed and left at the curb side, begging for help from a child. At last the lost soul opened his eyes and saw the light. He gave his star his American Express Platinum card and the star transformed into Superwoman overnight. Superwoman shouted a lot, because she was dealing with dumbasses and the dumbasses paid no heed to the words and registered the noise as abuse. (*eye roll)

After much deliberation and debates between his brain and phallus, the lost soul decided that the star was indeed right and decided to follow her path. There were slip-ups, mind you, but the star stood her ground. One day, the whore lured the lost soul into a seedy watering hole and filled him to the brim with alcohol. Then, the little whore produced a pack of cigarettes that were hidden in her ass crack and they both smoked like an industrial chimney. They rolled home in their carriage, drunk as skunk and slapped the star across her face.

Now the star got very very angry and decided to bulldoze the whore once and for all. Collected but uncalm within, the star hatched a plan to demolish the harlot. After multiple attempts, she succeeded; first crushing her sunglasses, next crushing her head which was quite easy as there was nothing within and finally, crushing the whore entirely with a speeding truck. The star smiled with a deep sigh of relief and told the lost souls, both of them, “And that’s how you kill a whore.”

The End

Bugs and Fishes

Broken, bleeding, slumbering.

It sat at the end of the pew.

In an empty church, the altar awaited.

A hapless soul with arms crossed,

Dressed in best, in case there was a ball.

Tears and prayers, down on the knees;

Begging for alms that were never received.

It was shrouded in pink, wanting to blink;

Dead within, dead without, breathing was a sin.

Stained glass windows, and an invisible choir,

Take me, it said, I have no fear.

Red

On choppy waters,

Rain came down.

The sea gargled,

The boat broke down.

Swam to the coast,

Sandy and rocky.

The shipwreck floated,

Away with the bloated.

Deserted fort, tall and grand,

Shelter and sustenance,

Were hunted and found.

A pinch of magic,

And a feast laid out.

Warm candles and smiles,

And blankets went around.

The wind blew hard,

The sea turned red.

A boatload of folks,

Walked in with a shard.

Share, they said,

We are ravaged too.

The water was so murky,

Everything turned blue.

Breaking bread together,

The young and the old.

Watched through the window,

As the ghosts turned cold.