Archive for the Erotic Poetry Category

Favorites #10

Posted in Erotic Poetry, Mature Theme, Much Too Good For Children, Poetry, this thing we do with words on May 14, 2016 by dreamlanddancing
When I Read Your Words I Feel So Naked
(He is history, she is the source of all creation)
Breathlessly,
In my mind
I imagine you are there beside me
naked too,
and on my right
sitting behind me
whispering each word
into my ear as I read you
silently.
I hear each sibilance
as it passes your teeth
each plosive syllable
as it pops from between
your moistened lips,
every affricative
formed between tooth and lip,
the F’s escaping
like some intoxicating vapor,
the V’s and Z’s buzzing
and waving their stingers.
I feel you breathing in my ear.
I feel your hair
against my neck and shoulders
as your nipples brush
against my arms and back.
You turn a phrase as if each word
is your own tongue
licking and flicking
inside my ear.
A tongue so long it slithers and slides
all the way
inside my brain,
and coils up like a snake,
(if only snakes could wink
and smile)…
A soft metaphor
lays a gentle hand
upon my thigh
as similes
slowly drag
their nails upwards
while you tickle
my fancy
with innuendos
that hint at promises
unspoken
almost too good
to be true
anywhere but here.
This thing we do with words…
And yet I do not even know
the color of your hair,
be it blonde
or brown,
chestnut,
red,
or even black
as raven’s wing.
I try to picture you in my mind.
Full of figure,
slender,
tall
or short,
dark
or pale
or
something in between…
It matters not,
I realize,
just now
because it
is not
the way you look
that seduces me
so boldly
and provocatively
with subtlety
and grace
as you coyly undress my mind
with words
that conjure
feelings,
passion,
and desire
as yet untasted,
so rigid
and yet so flexible
and willing to be led,
or rather
pulled
the way the moon
will raise the tides
time after time.
Forever.
Now.
You draw me
to a bed
of words
both soft and firm
and lay me down
to wallow in your
imagery,
impaled upon
my imagination…
This thing we do with words…
I wonder how your voice will sound
if ever you should speak to me.
Will it be soft?
or
with an edge
as keen
as the arrows
of a huntress
who shoots straight through the heart,
but only takes what she consumes?
Perhaps a husky whiskey voice
deep,
yet darkly feminine,
or maybe
high and clear
like a fairy’s song
as wood nymph
or siren
might use to call
and conjure
spells
like those that you have cast
on me.
These things we do with words,
my friend
and lover
of confidences
together,
implied
as well as
inferred.
A union of souls and spirits
incapable of jealousies
or possessiveness,
giving freely and taking gratefully
in this world we’ve made
of our own
where writer and reader
alike
slake our cravings, lusts
and passions…
to be heard and understood.
To lead each other
to a place beyond mere words alone,
where there is only knowing.
This thing we do with words….
Like a reciprocated Kiss,
…the only kind of Snowball
that has a chance in Hell,
we pass our words
and images
and idea(l)s
back and forth
between us now,
The Union of the Woman and the Man.
The Union of the Writer and the Reader.
The Union of Truth and Wisdom.
The Union of the Word and the Idea.
The Union of the Idea and the Understanding.
The Union of the Understanding and the Enlightenment.
The Union of Giving and Receiving
freely without conditions or reservation.
What is Love?
You already know…
This is Love.
Pass it on
wherever you go.
The more you give
The more you will have.
Wear it like Sunshine
on your face
so I will know you
instantly
if we should ever meet,
even
if it takes a thousand lifetimes.

Favorites #6

Posted in Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Erotic Poetry, Mature Theme, Much Too Good For Children, Poetry on May 14, 2016 by dreamlanddancing
Casa Nostra
I died in your arms that night,
and buried myself deeply
between your thighs
as we fucked
like it was our last night on earth
even though I’ve lived like
I thought
I would never die.
Our life together
has been a moveable feast
I call
Casa Nostra.
In a lifetime of searching
I’ve found
Meaning in Love
and Purpose
in knowing
and sharing
whatever
I can experience,
learn,
and feel,
wherever
it all shall lead me.
And when it is finished,
scatter my ashes
over
The Villa Chez Dreamland
but keep Love alive en Casa Nostra.
(Our House).
As we hang together
suspended in time and space
(to-get-her)
in that one thin moment
as we dance upon the razor’s edge
our mortality suddenly seems so much less tragic
as
our infinite intimate synchronicity
washes over us
reminding us once again
of all that which is eternal in each of us
as well as both of us.
In My Perfect World…
Casa Nostra.
En Casa Nostra
we give without regard to what we get
but we take
to serve as vessels
for the giving
from those we love
as well as those
who cannot give back
so as to give to
the Universe,
that place where
even miracles are mundane.
En Casa Nostra
we are protected
by our fearlessness
because
We may feel pain.
We may share pain,
but we do not fear
being hurt
because we trust
and we believe
that this too will
give us the strength
we need
to follow our hearts
to the Palace of Wisodm
and be prepared
to receive
Enlightenment,
Epiphany,
and boundless Joy.
En Casa Nostra
we are protected.
Our enemies may hurt us
but they probably
can’t kill us,
but if they kill us
they probably
won’t eat us
but if they eat us
they make us one with
those who would
because
they cannot destroy us.
En Casa Nostra
we take no prisoners,
preferring instead
to accept the surrender
of willing hostages
as extended family.
Casa Nostra;
a mansion with no walls
large enough to hold
a universe
in a house as intimate
as two bodies
attempting to occupy
one space
or
to become as
one beating heart.
One Mind.
No Mind.
Mu Shin.
A place where
you can see yourself
reflected in the eyes
of your eternal beloved
as we Bow to the Divine
in each other
and as adults,
nurture the eternal child
in each of us
as our children teach us
the importance
of all the things we forgot
as we grew up
en Casa Nostra.
It all starts and ends with our
Gang of Three.

Favorites #5

Posted in Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Erotic Poetry, Mature Theme, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Poetry, Polyamory, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone on May 14, 2016 by dreamlanddancing
Our Seventy-Two Hour Honeymoon
Elope with me for a weekend
together at my villa
in Dreamland,
built on the grounds
of an abandoned test range
for nuclear sex toys,
dangerous dildos,
poison plastic peckers from China,
toxic-waste jellies
and flammable lube.
(…don’t worry, it’s safe now…
the Night Porter told me so….)
Besides,
who wants to live forever?
We can consort in feigned anonymity
like secret agents
in a room so dank with the scent
of our co-minglings
that if it could rain indoors
we’d be drenched
in a spooge monsoon.
Be my bride on Friday,
my lover on Saturday,
my Slave-girl Sunday morning
my Mistress in the afternoon.
I’ll sit on a footstool
at the end of a giant bed
as you sit there naked
on a great silver tray,
like a glorious helping of wedding cake
in a banquet hall
while I stick my tongue
between the layers
to lick out the icing
‘til my face is covered
in frosting
and you are but a puddle
of satisfaction
reflecting the Moon.
Run away with me for the weekend.
We can visit historic Key West
as seen from the inside
of a forty-dollar room.
We’ll drink rum and tequila
straight from the bottle
like smugglers
and pose for each other,
taking
pornographic pictures,
brandishing guns and knives,
wearing bandoleers
(maybe even take a hostage or two…)
We can howl like coyotes
in love with the Moon,
then blame it all on the peyote,
or maybe the ‘shrooms….
Where we will be going,
there is no room service,
leaving us
to service each other
at will.
Anything is possible at Hotel Dreamland.
I have a suite of rooms
reserved there always
and the doorman
already knows your face,
but not your name.
We can paint on the walls
like primitives
sharing stories and visions
and Satsang
and the smoke shall carry our words
straight to Heaven,
so that there shall be no lies between us.
Cum with me to Dreamland
for our honeymoon weekend.
Marry me for one weekend,
Three days of one body
one mind,
no guilt, no shame, no sin,
and no fear.
No expectations,
no disappointments.
We’ll divorce on Monday
(‘til next time.)
The Villa at Dreamland
is always right here.
It shall be my honor
to serve at your pleasure.
I’ll leave the light on
to await your return.

It’s Your Turn

Posted in Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Dominance and Submission, Erotic Poetry, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Love, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW on June 23, 2015 by dreamlanddancing

In mutual

loving servitude

of each other

we are exalted

by our own reflections

as seen

in each other’s eyes.

When Master meets Mistress,

as one directs

the other serves.

This time…

at least for now….

within our malleable union.

As Yin encircles Yang,

and bottom

supplants top,

it is certain that

each time

according to its season,

one will plow

to sow

what the other shall receive.

Every top needs a bottom.

Every bottom loves its top.

The wheel of eighty-eight

forever turning,

each will be

according to its season

and what you give

will

be revisited

before the cock

crows twice.

Who better than she knows

his innermost desires?

When he responds,

to be

a Top Dog

or her really Dirty Dog

he does it for her

as she does for him.

And when she holds the leash

he gratefully accepts the collar.

No need for whipping-post

nor whip

within our willing servitude.

And as she frees herself

of will and ego

she becomes the chalice

of all

energies,

a gathering place

for channeling

human lightning.

She is exalted,

the alter of the temple

of the Holy of Holies.

As rogue wave swells

take on

heaving rhythms

more frequent

with each set

She rides

from bottom to the top,

balanced

on the crest

of her wave,

now a powerful

Goddess

to be worshipped

until it becomes her time

to serve.

Once Again.

When he falls in love,

She becomes his greatest weakness.

When She falls in Love,

He becomes

her greatest strength.

And when again we recognize

that old familiar me

in me

I have no doubt

you’ll welcome

back

our binary love affair.

All things return unto The One

and I am Zero.

When You are Zero

I am One.

But always in Love

We are One.

And We are Also Zero.

(a slight aside…)

The bee goes from flower to flower

while the flower remains

to be visited by

all the other bees.

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

06/23/2015

Jacob’s Ladder

Posted in Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Erotic Poetry, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Letting Go, Love, Polyamory on June 18, 2015 by dreamlanddancing

Know this…

You will regret

the things you didn’t do

at least as much

as you will regret

the things you did

you wish you hadn’t done.

Each rung must be stepped upon

as we climb higher

and when you reach the top

You realize you are back

at the beginning.

Indeterminacy.

There is no up.

No down.

Only just this.

All life is in motion.

In motion we confirm

that we are still alive

within the Drama

of our Dharma.

Just never look away.

It is not allowed,

and so it is

that even this must be allowed,

for it is only forbidden

to forbid

In My Perfect World…

And in that one thin moment

when I loose you

as you look away

still determined not to allow

yourself this unbridled bliss

even then

we both know

I will still be here

when next our eyes should meet.

This is our loving

challenge

of truth or dare.

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

06/17/2015

What kind of God Would Block my Entrance into Heaven?

Posted in Appreciation, Bardo Thordol, Crossing the Abyss, Dancing in Dreamland, Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Erotic Poetry, Escape Velocity, Mature Theme, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Poetry, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Primate Romance/Adventure, Sentience, Sex, The Knowledge of Good and Evil, The Talking Monkeys with tags , , , , , , , , , , on April 1, 2015 by dreamlanddancing

What kind of God Would Block my Entrance into Heaven?

What kind of God would do this thing?

An angry, lonely God perhaps,

but

I think it must be one quite small,

(that Heaven or that God)

where neither animals nor disbelievers

are allowed to go.

Do you think

you are only being tested

here on Earth

to decide if you should go

to Heaven?

or to Hell?

Heaven is right here.

Right now.

Because there’s no place I’d rather be,

between Gratitude and Acceptance

at the crossroads of

Life and Sex

in rural

Ecstasy,

deep into

Love County….

Call Her what you want,

I am but God’s Reflection

on the surface

of a pond so still

you can

pick it up

with the

antlers of a mouse,

(…if only you know how…)

to carry with you

in your heart.

No matter where you go.

 

My Muses

Posted in Acknowledgement, Appreciation, Collaboration, Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Erotic Poetry, Goddess, gratitutde, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Liason, Liason Between Parties, Love, Mature Theme, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Poetry, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Sentience, Share The Love, Sorcery, The Knowledge of Good and Evil, The Wisdom, Theater of the Mind, Tsukimono-suji, What You Have Conjured Up, Zen with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 20, 2015 by dreamlanddancing

My Muses

Our souls breathe the same air

somewhere

outside of time and space

resonating

as we breathe out

we inspire each other

as we breathe in

provocative exhalations

evoking visions and dreams,

wonderment and admirations

that just seem to fit so well.

As each pronouncement

of the ideal

of the other

mirrors our own aspirations.

If you can imagine it

you can make it happen.

To hear you describe it

is to desire to be that man

who inspires you

to be that woman.

To read your thoughts

is to feel

your soul

breathing your words into my ear.

Each of you

nurture, heal and inspire

the very best of me,

inspiring me

to do the same for you.

Indulgences

of spirit and flesh

are exchanged

as fluently

as

passing from one hand to the other.

Breathless humours and vapors

of our common consciousness

in mutual resusitation.

 

I Stare into the Fire

Posted in A Dirty Mind is A Terrible Thing To Waste, Appreciation, Bardo Thordol, Celebration, Crossing the Abyss, Dancing in Dreamland, Erotic Poetry, Escape Velocity, First Amendment Rights, gratitutde, Imp Of The Perverse, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Just For Fun, Keep Coming Back, Knowledge, Love, Poetry, The Id, The Rain Dance, the willing suspension of disbelief, The Wisdom, Theater of the Mind, Vision Quest, What You Have Conjured Up, Zen with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 6, 2015 by dreamlanddancing

Late January

In a place where

Winter is Perpetual spring

a tender shoulder

 makes my

mouth

wet

As I stare into the fire.

It is enough to be here now.

Casa Nostra

Posted in Erotic Poetry, Explicit Sexual Language, gratitutde, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Knowledge, Liason, Love, Mature Theme, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Philosophical Sexuality, Poetry, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Synchronicity, the willing suspension of disbelief, The Wisdom, Theater of the Mind, Vision Quest with tags , , , , , , , , , , on November 29, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

Casa Nostra

I died in your arms that night,

and buried myself deeply

between your thighs

as

we fucked like it was our last night on earth

even though I’ve lived like

I thought

I would never die.

Our life together

has been a moveable feast

I call

Casa Nostra.

In a lifetime of searching

I’ve found

Meaning in Love

and Purpose

in knowing

and sharing

whatever

I can experience,

learn,

and feel,

wherever

it all shall lead me.

And when it is finished,

scatter my ashes

over

The Villa Chez Dreamland

but keep Love alive en Casa Nostra.

(Our House).

As we hang suspended in time and space

(to-get-her)

in that one thin moment

as we dance upon the razor’s edge

our mortality suddenly seems so much less tragic

as

our infinite intimate synchronicity

washes over us

reminding us once again

of all that which is eternal in each of us

as well as both of us.

In My Perfect World.

Casa Nostra.

En Casa Nostra

we give without regard to what we get

but we take

to serve as vessels

for the giving

from those we love

as well as those

who cannot give back

so as to give to

the Universe,

that place where

even miracles are mundane.

En Casa Nostra

we are protected

by our fearlessness

because

We may feel pain.

We may share pain,

but we do not fear

being hurt

because we trust

and we believe

that this too will

give us the strength

we need

to follow our hearts

to the Palace of Wisodm

and be prepared

to receive

Enlightenment,

Epiphany,

and boundless Joy.

En Casa Nostra

we are protected.

Our enemies may hurt us

but they probably

can’t kill us,

but if they kill us

they probably

won’t eat us

but if they eat us

they make us one with

those who would

because

they cannot destroy us.

En Casa Nostra

we take no prisoners,

preferring instead

to accept the surrender

of willing hostages

as extended family.

Casa Nostra;

a mansion with no walls

large enough to hold

a universe

in a house as intimate

as two bodies

attempting to occupy

one space

or

to become as

one beating heart.

One Mind.

A place where

you can see yourself

reflected in the eyes

of your eternal beloved

as we Bow to the Divine

in each other

and as adults,

nurture the eternal child

in each of us

as our children teach us

the importance

of all the things we forgot

as we grew up

en Casa Nostra.

It starts and ends with our

Gang of Three.

Apologia Revisited

Posted in Acknowledgement, Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Dirty, Drug Experience, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Erotic Poetry, Explicit Sexual Language, Fornicating, Fun, gratitutde, Imp Of The Perverse, Keep Coming Back, Liason Between Parties, longreads, Love, Mature Theme, Memoires of a Post-Neo Dharma Bum, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Philosophical Sexuality, Poetry, Polyamory, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Primate Romance/Adventure, Sex, Sexual Action/Adventure, The Id, Thorn Tree in the Garden with tags , , , , , , , , , , on October 25, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

Even if you aren’t reading this,

…this moment,…these words…this testament

is for all of you, as well as for each of you…

the heroines of all my never-ending torch songs.

My heroines, my heroin…

Perhaps I wasn’t your best friend after all,

but not for nothing…you can’t say I didn’t try.

I’m a weaver of dreams, a conjuror of spells,

but I fear the realities I brought you 

did not live up to the Great Expectations I inspired

until I disappointed the Dickens out of you.

“I’m sorry” I say

“Is there nothing I can do?” I ask

as you sadly shake your head (“no”).

as a small part of me dies inside.

This is what I do time and again.

‘til you’d think I’d grow weary of it,

but no, I just grow so very,…very weary

of letting you down again.

I didn’t want to be that guy…after all…

I was the guy who taught you Grand Theft Auto

(not the video game…)

The guy who took you

camping, or fishing, or diving or hunting

smuggling guns or contraband and stolen

works of art over state lines,

screwing like cats in heat at turnpike rest stops,

driving too many hours with too little sleep

were it not for ‘better living through chemistry’

You were the first to jump right in with me, wherever

whatever magic helped raise the ante

back when it was still fun

to live dangerously and without fear…

walking past chalk lines to do the Devil’s bidding

like it was a game of (hip-) hop-scotch.

Whether copping a feel or a few stolen kisses

still took our breath away.

I was the guy your parents warned you about

even after they found me charming, witty and bright,

because they didn’t know I was also that other guy…

 wasn’t that a part of the appeal….?

I was the Serpent in the Garden and you were my Primordial Eve.

You became my co-conspirator.

You followed me into

sleazy clubs in basements underground;

in practice houses, and lived in industrial neighborhoods,

a haunted house way out in the country

next to a cemetery where no one else would live

or warehouse districts, or wherever I found a place,

playing guitar so loud you thought your eyeballs would bleed

and your ears would ring for weeks on end,

where we would hold out like outlaws day and night.

You went with me to rifle and pistol ranges, and dojos,

living in houses filled with guns and ammo

(not the magazine….),

the walls of entire rooms lined with amplifiers to the ceiling,

guarded by dangerous dogs who loved you

almost as much as me

and would have killed for you as you would for me

or I for you,

when it seemed like that moment

was just around the next turn in the story.

There was a knife and a gun in every drawer

and under each pillow each night.

We slept in tents, on floors, in cars and trucks,

or high-rise apartments overlooking the bay

that we could never afford,

if not for the generous benefactors

we chose to entertain.

We watched porn together. We made porn together,

Hell, we were porn together

and everything we ever did was either Art or Music.

We painted everything in sight.

We sketched and photographed each other

while we played and sang with such conviction

I don’t know how our hearts didn’t burst.

We learned to dance the Apocalypso

on the razor’s edge ‘til dawn

and got up and did it all over again.

We drove way too fast through downtown traffic

any time of day, whichever way we were going,

or late at night along the beach with the lights out

or up on the Interstate, illuminated by

flamingo-pink sodium vapor lights;

stopping on the causeways over Biscayne Bay

just long enough to remind each other of who we were

and just where we were just then.

When every moment alive together was a miracle.

We fucked on the perimeter road around MIA,

(Em-Eye-Eh)

with the planes maybe a hundred feet

over our heads, engines screaming

and one eye looking out for cops

with nothing better to do

than to wish they could have been us.

No matter where we went or what we did

it seemed like I could talk my way

into or out of anything or anywhere

and charm the birds from right out of the trees,

particularly if it meant staying out of jail…or worse

(but most especially if I thought it might impress you.)

But most of all, I let every one of you down

one way or another.

…so many memories of that defining moment

when you knew it was over,

leaving me to figure it out later….

I played grasshopper to your ant

well into our winter of discontent.

It didn’t turn out happily ever after…

it never has and probably never will,

for me or for you….

Maybe it never does.

Maybe it’s not supposed to…

I just hope you can look back and remember

those few golden moments we shared, the same fondness,

with the same lack of reservations we shared back then

before we gave a thought to how it all might end,

because it was the beginnings and everything in between

that made it all worthwhile for me…

and each ending too beautifully, poignantly sad to just be forgotten

back when I was just me and you were just you

before we ever thought about tomorrow….

If I had the chance to do it all over again

I’d do it all over you.

It just took me too long to realize

that not being a bad person

didn’t make me a good person.

(…but not for nothing)

You can’t say I didn’t try.

Who can say they did all of it,

and gave their all with all of me?

(You know who you are, n’est-ce pas?)

Just you…

Because before there was you and me, Darlin’

each one of the others saw something special

to show me about myself that took me higher,

‘tho some cut me low before they were thru.

But I cannot deny

each one of them didn’t teach me a thing or two

I hadn’t yet learned

so that maybe it wouldn’t happen

the same way to me and you.

So here we are now just you and just me

and those wantonly willing hostages

whomever we take as we continue together

until

The End.

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

copyright  ©  a March 9th, 2021  

Fish swim with the tides, into and out of the lagoon as it empties itself, receives from, and flows back into the sea.

*ALL REFERENCES TO ANY PERSONS CONFIRMED STILL LIVING IS PURELY CO-INCIDENTAL…AND THE DEAD ARE TOO BUSY LAUGHING AT US TO CARE.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Delusional Bubble

Your travel guide to the fantastic unknown places around the world.

My Little Notebook

❧ Giving Words To Our Subconcious Thoughts

Marina Kanavaki

Art Towards a Happy Day

cocinaitaly

comida italiana

Rivella49's Blog

DAL TICINO/SVIZZERA

Buddha Within

The Teachings of Lama Shenpen Hookham

The Tai Chi Notebook

Reflections on Tai Chi, Xing Yi, Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, and martial arts studies

A Boy and Her Dog

Traversing the Border between Butch and Transgender

A Primal Little submissive Slave

(Giggle) The title says it all really

Podcast 42

The World's Most Popular Pop Culture Radio Comedy

the hut owner blog

~ heart and mind expressed. . .

JackCollier7

how to be a better me.

alexankarrbooks

licensed to cunt

ShabadPrahar

ShabadPrahar

nita0216blog

NITA'S WORLD OF INSPIRATION

$o Close But Yet So Far Away

Passion,Dreams,Singing,Love

simple Ula

I want to be rich. Rich in love, rich in health, rich in laughter, rich in adventure and rich in knowledge. You?

NSP's Tales

~ Poems,Novels and Life Events..

❣Emotional Queen👑

🎭दो चेहरें हैं,दो लहज़े हैं मेरे...और हर सवाल के दो जवाब "एक मैं जो लिखती हूँ दूजा तुम जो जानते हो"!! 👑Queen Of My Own Thought❣ #MyBlogMyFeeling

Analbarbie.

Meine Lust am Leben!

Death, The Life Story

Tracing a life through stories of death. Sometimes funny, sometimes not.

Chaotic Shapes

Art and Lifestyle by Brandon Knoll

Masturbation Monday

Where getting off is half the fun...

Lyfes Poetry

BLog Hard Or Go Home

stormy musings

Whatever, whenever

Nature Art

Photography, Creative Writing & Art by SAJIA AFRIN

Broken roads of Destiny

“Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope.” — Maya Angelou