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Epileptic sensualists“Hellfire awaits you” tiny naked women danced around her when she came back. And she laughed. As if the gods didn’t know that sensuality was part of her? She played around with her long hair still around her beautiful face.
She looked at herself in the mirror, putting kajol on, rolling her tongue over her lips, seeing her soft thin lips getting wet and shining; she looked at the shape of her body, the round bulges, the subtle curve till her torso and her slim legs. Delighted in her voluptuousness, she laughed as a crackling sound mingled with her laugh. Astonished, she turned around to see an old hag of a man laughing. He was more of a silhouette but from what she could see, the man was revoltingly hideous. “You belong to me now, my love!” The crackling sound tore her ear drums. “Who are you?” She moved away. He moved swiftly and overtook her. There was a sound of crackling of her bones, a convulsion and his laugh. There were shadows, som
United states of corrupted mindsThe sensualists, the sadists, the broken the corrupted of the lot. Vagaries of nature and its cruel jokes on human mind. The disoriented eyes, the shameless behavior, devoid of inhibitions you walk huddled together you vermins of the world. There you can see her exposed bosom and the dark pink disgusting lipstick on chapped lips. She has returned like a ruffled bitch which has been with tens of dogs. The bulge under whatever is left of her dress is either going to be reduced to blood after an abortion or will soon materialize into another of those dead bastards.
That man with disoriented eyes, touching himself in the middle of the road is another one of them. His kurta and shalwar have stains of mud and oil. His overgrown beard is entangled like a mesh of steel wires. He doesn’t care if that lady in the car is disgusted by his utterly inappropriate behavior. A man passing by spits at him and swears at him.
That pockmarked face boy has ran away from home. The peeping tom was
A womanSome women are only women by nature. Not wives, not mothers. Just women. And they delight in their womanhood.Reproduction to them is the death of their femininity.
Why is it so unnatural to imagine that a woman abhors her child. She gets stuck in the menstrual cycle while she is still in her frock and plays with dolls. The little bastard is ever ready to come out if some child molester decides to fuck the little girl. There is always a chance.
Now then when she turns into a beautiful teenager, she can't be promiscuous like her male counterpart. The small piece of crap straitjackets her sexuality. She has to suffer the intense pain of menstruation every month and gets sick and nauseous every time. She has to throw away lumps of clothes soaking with her own blood, she has to flush her blood. It is like she is flushing her dead baby, which she could give life to had she chosen to sleep with a man. The little mean th
Die my darlingDie, will you, please?
Can I kill you, please?
for us both it is not a bliss
but at least you will die
leaving me alone
craving for sun to scratch my ugly darkness
till it turns to red
the crimson red, the color of your blood on my knife
or on yours, whatever you wish.
But die, please. Pretty please with cherry on top.
Letter to the belovedDarling - thank you for all you have done. If ever in my bearing you encountered any bitterness, please know that it was all well-intentioned and out of my unchecked loving expectations of you. My dearest no day ever did or ever will fade away the tenderness and love that I feel towards you.
Sweetheart you may not comprehend my love fully but know that as long as I am alive I have the longing to be safe in your arms. See my love, its hard when one has experienced completeness and then one has to let go of it. I can not explain fully but I know dearest that you'll understand it for have you not always understood me?
My beloved, I have thought about what you said and I am in complete accord with you. Sometimes even though you love someone the most, you just can't be with them. And in that know that I have acquired meaning of love. Mortality of the beauty makes one love and I love you in all the brief spasm of completeness.
Not a day passes, not a place I go keeps me from remembering y
One eye cries One eye laughsQuietly does she ascend from the well with thousand snakes.. Naag devta follows her.. obsessed with her every move.. charmed by gaiety of her manners. She walks with her long brown hair trailing behind her on the coarse ground. She chuckles and her delicate voice chimes through the old deserted city. Femme fatale that she is, the people of the city told tales to young men of the countless unsuspecting victims of the enchantress, the snake-woman that resided in the well. She knew, she knew all, for those objects of immolation could not escape the Goddess. She knew and she laughed knowing nobody could combat the temptation. She didn't allure, that was beneath her, no, she was sin herself. Where could the man run from a rogue god unless some other god would save him, but don't we all know gods don't speak, they do not intrude on man's behalf. They are silent diabolical spectators laughing at the silliness of people heaving bundles of prayers, deriding the expectation of imbecile human tha
I know I'm damned Godoverpowering sorrow... makes me scream and cry at times.. while i'm crying i hear weird sounds of creaking coming from inside me.. shattering and creaking and sounds of metals thrown on ground with full force.. or complaints of the old women in a vague shaky language.. I scare my reflection
I am damned and I know
I smell of roses though
like a bride on the first night absorbs the smell of roses around her on the bed
or a dead body covered with itr('pure' perfume) and rose petals...
I scare my reflection..
I am damned and I know
I smell of roses though...
Fucking Bedtime storiesMy rapist told me the best bedtime stories. He told me tales of sadhus(mystics of India), their love for the supreme being, the spiritual journey that ends in salvation, the journey to discover impossible, to solve mysteries unknown. His hand would move down my spine and keep fidgeting on the hook of my bra and I'd innocently look at him thinking its to make me sleep. I'd put my head back on his shoulders lovingly and close my eyes. He'd kiss on my head slightly, and then my cheeks, my eyes, my nose(lol he called it nosy) and then my lips. He would keep telling me stories... He told me a story of a bookish stepdaughter of a sadistic army officer, Ofelia. Ofelia found out that she was a lost princess of the Underground Realm. According to the faun she meets, she was curious about the world above so escaped to the Earth, where she forgot her past. Ofelia's mother conceived a child and was severely ill. The faun tells Ofelia of a way to restore her mother's health: placing a mandrake root
naked raceSilently looking at the naked corpse beside the old sewage pit at the far end of the slums.. bruises at her rising-tomb like breasts.. the right breast has cigarette burn on the pink taut nipple ... once her bosoms must have been supple and beautiful... oh but they are still as beautiful... the charred patches just seem to adorn her private parts.. they add a teasing mystery to her otherwise bare brutally denuded body... she must have had put a lot of struggle... there still remain blood drained dregs of her clothes scattered around... she is around sixteen since the rest of her unscorched body is still supple with signs of youth that were yet not drained out of her even after the excruciating torment she must have had to put with... she is lying there as if she is still gestated in the mother's womb... its as if she is attempting to contain herself.. her beautiful bare disfigured legs all crawled up to her bosoms... she has a serene grace on her face though... she is drained in blood
AfterAs everyone knows, all good things must come to an end. It is the way of the unending circle of life. This life cycle was no different on this day than any other. On this crisp September morning, morning, a maple tree stood tall, silent, and sturdy, providing shade to anyone who happened to sit underneath. It was quiet in the park, the children had played their daily during the summer were away at school, learning multiplication, spelling, and other such things that one learns in the new school year.
Yes, the park was utterly quiet, aside from the conversing birds, the robin couple arguing with the wrens about who made which nest.
The only other considerable sound was the terrible screaming. Screaming of who, you ask? Not who, but what.
The maple tree-which we previously mentioned- being a deciduous tree, had suddenly lost its grip on one of its hundreds of energy factories—or leaves, if you prefer. This certain leave had known for weeks that its unavoidable death was comin
Tines for the studentsYou were in class when the teacher hands every one a human she said you can do what ever u want with the human but no killing them so what we'll you do with your human girl/boy
Mystery islandYou were on a airplane with one of your friends when they pan had to land on some island and once it landed every one got out. That's when every one realizes that's everything is huge. What we'll you do
1) find a place to hide
2) find a giant
3) switch your the giant
If your the giant
You were walking one day when you see a tiny airplane landing what we'll u do
1) go see it
2) find a mate
3) make them your slaves
18+ is allowed but no killing my oc
Shrunken at a gymYou got shrunk at a women's/ men's gym what we'll u do
Anything can happen 18+ is allowed if wanted
Taxi Grave yard the Horizons vistor
In the weak hours of dawn I faintly hear the annoying rasping of excitingly droning knocks on my taxis glass window. Being woken up on a constant basis by this shit really gives me abnormal hours of sleep equaling… these kids give me a headache. I get up out from the pile of books, and the crunched state I was sleeping in. In the back of my taxi I put my hand to my head to regain my senses looking over I crank down the window. Peering out I see a gaggle of teenage dracobuse’s I’m twenty-one man but these guys make it seem like I’m a grandpa! I ask em
“What” and one of them a young girl with long light pink hair, purple pleated mini skirt, and developing wings comes running close to the window
“Hey Logen! There’s a gang of incubuses across the fence!” She says gasping for air “Their playing bomb ball and kicking it into the fence and climbing on it they told us to buzz off ” I look up surprised
Winter WonderlandI disapprovingly look out over the desolate white expanse. The brutally cold winter had reduced it to almost nothing. The flowers, grass, and plants that used to flourish in the spring and summer had been reduced to dry, brown masses in the fall that are now fully concealed by a large blanket of snow.
I inhale the crisp breeze that plays with the short, chestnut locks of my hair. It seems to wake up my senses as I trudge through the powder. I take a second glance. This time, instead of whitewashed nothingness, I see magnificence. The sparkling, crystal beauty of the scene is awe-inspiring. The way the colorless light reflects off of the shining icicles is almost like prisms, casting long rainbows along the drifts. The tall pine trees in the glade are covered in minute icy formations that extend into breath-taking masterpieces of frost.
I continue to walk through, feeling somewhat guilty of spoiling the picture perfect site. I smile to myself as I think that just moments ago, if I had n
Shades of Yellow and WhiteBrush stroke down. Back up. Down to the left. Back up. Down to the right. Ten seconds to dry. Clear coat.
Most of the color in Jenny’s Nails is shades of pale. The polish itself ranges from crimson to azure - but in general, the customers come in one variety, save an occasional rich brown or overdone orange.
These women leave with gleaming, perfect crescents on their fingertips. Intricate designs shine at cocktail parties, gleam at PTA meetings, peep shyly out of soapy latex gloves.
Jenny leaves work with rough yellow hands and dull, square nails. They’re more practical.
Same, yet different (Dating Equality Poem)Same, Yet different in reception.
Now this is coming from a guy from the church.
Something of merit, something i should say is worth.
So I have a question for those of the same sex?
Do you guys like being hurt, being repressed?
No, well i feel yeah it can be a pain.
But not so much for those who think it's great for a dame to be a on a dame.
And yes you heard that right so please try to understand.
That i feel it's wrong to belittle a man who wishes to be with a man.
Now i say that on account that i am a guy
So please hear my opinion and don't let your minds go array.
Now i can understand that girls can be cute and pretty and such
But that is no excuse for the mind to go a muck
When two guys are doing what they like to do
The world wants to go into one big hullabaloo.
It's wrong, unfair, being okay with guys should ride
if you don't like it so much, why do lesbians get to slide?
Oh right, because it pleases man, where have i heard that before?
In some patriarchal empire from about 1564
BloodThe huge bugs crawled up on her ceiling. There were ugly grey hives all over her room. She'd repaint the hives bright yellow, she thought to herself while tiny droplets of slime kept falling upon her. She feared she'd get buried in the slime of those ugly bugs. She couldn't weep, couldn't move; this usually happens when you develop a certain level of queer intimacy with your tormentors. Her long hair spread around her, with her beautiful face particularly still and her eyes fixed on the bugs, she lied there. She wanted to blink, her eyes were paining and she did; the poor dear. It could have been a moment or infinity she didn't realize, as it gave so much relief to her eyes. Buzz.. She opened her eyes to see all the bugs flying towards her. Her eyes widened and came out of their sockets while blood poured out. Her blood followed a weird course; it spurted out of her eyes, made its way down the bed in streaks, crawled on the floor zig-zag like a red snake, hopped up the wall and a
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More