Dead Poets



Safe poets who write their lives away never once getting to the source of what it means to be alive. We were made to suffer, and yet they act as if the poetry of our souls were second best to second rate stories involving characters with less flesh on them than some dumb fuck parading on a catwalk. Such a waste of words. Such a mess of misguided intentions. If you’re going to speak, speak because you want to fuck the brains out of all those reading what you say, not because you want to politely tickle their bits and put a smile on their face. Speak because you want to be their everything, not just some tepid teatime read. Open your mouth and let me sick my disease right down your throat. Succumb to my ill intentions and let me flourish when others wished only to see me stood in line waiting for the end. If you clench your teeth and thrust your hips against mine, we can taste pleasures the likes of which the rest can only dream of. If you say what you feel inside and don’t care if people will be offended, then your days of living in fear are over. So be someone, and do it the way it should be done. There’s no time for wasting time, so be a woman, be a man. Rush through the forest and fling your body into the waters of nature’s womb. Swim into the heart of what we are and flower until your greed for notoriety devours all. No more safe poets, and no more pleasantries, just bullets in the gun of God and enough devotion to strangle the life out of anyone that dares stand in your way.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

30 replies »

  1. And then there are those of us, who wear masks and slip quietly through shadows living dual lives with as many personalities as we can get away with! 😉

    This is the perfect kick-ass, pregame rally cry to remind us to not float our words, but to make waves with them! Thank you!

  2. Your pen is slashing today like a sharp knife leaving complacency in tatters. Rich red blood, the piercing pain of lived experience, the “Amen” yelled at the top of our lungs as we flooded with truth and scream fuck you to settling for mere contentment.

  3. HOLY SHIT I LOVE YOU!!! mother fuck there is no other possible explanation over how reading you makes me feel more alive than alive!! FUCK!!!

  4. Reblogged this on Sparkle and commented:
    Truly Madly Deeeeeply I am in love with this man’s writing, it is everything of him every single hair on his arm every single breath that he breathes holy fuck he is pure brilliance in my opinion!!! If you call yourself a writer this is a must read!!

  5. And THIS is what I’ve been advocating forever! That passion (everywhere not just in writing) because without it we are just empty shells surviving and merely existing. If we can’t feel on a grand scale and yes that includes pain and self-loathing even and every other dark emotion…then what is the point?
    Your writing breathes with LIFE and this is what gives it its unique edge 💜

    • Exactly. Far too many just exist and live out their lives with no real fire in their bellies. To be alive is to revel in our time- good, bad, ugly, beautiful, pain, pleasure. We should celebrate what we are in our entirety, not present ourselves as merely pleasant. Death to pleasant and all those who see it as a virtue! xo

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