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Ugly Love Poems
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TITLE (EDIT)
Ugly Love Poems |
DESCRIPTION
exactly what the title say, my friend.
[914 words] |
TITLE KEYWORD
Drama |
AUTHOR
Tony Seljuk |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
I reside in Northern California. I wouldn't classify anything I've written as anything more than scraps of emotional outburst and occasional artistic inspiration scrawled on scraps of paper. I've been into some sort of artistic delusion since the age of 11 and it's drive won't quit. It's kind of a sickness. So I try to share it with the world. I have one collection so far, "Chaos Derangements Vol. 1", consisting of poems and stories. It's still being revised as always. Still looking for a publisher as usual, ha ha.
---9/30/00
[September 2000] |
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL ADDRESS
twilde_62@hotmail.com |
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (3)
Chaos Derangements Vol. 1 (Poetry) An excerpt. These are 3 poems from my first collection of poems and stories. [1,048 words] [Drama]
The Widower (Short Stories) An elderly man, bored with life so much to the point where his own filthy socks are intriguing, takes some pills he receives in the mail in hopes to spice his husk of a life up...an underage girl sex... [1,990 words] [Literary Fiction]
Wormshither (Short Stories) a story of a boy and his love interest. typical fodder [456 words] [Humor]
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Ugly Love Poems
Tony Seljuk
THE ONE
I've been alone forever
family always stares and asks 'what's wrong?'
i just stare back and smile
wander the streets for awhile.
When I met you, all was great.
It helped me forget about the ways I've lived before.
I was never so happy.
It was a feeling I never had,
for you are the one I needed all along.
I shall wither without you,
rotting amongst familial decay
doomed to a cursed tomb,
where festering I stay.
With you life's a peach, as they say.
I pray I die before you decide to go away.
Never leave me, never let go, darling,
your connection keeps me up like an incubator
for a stillborn.
My life has lost its spark.
I wish I never experienced birth.
I shouldn't really worry.
We'll see eachother again,
we'll see eachother again..
LOVE, LOVE, LOVE
I dreamt of smashing cars
your head bursting into meaty blood
the warmth of your body was more than enough
I kept you and had you
because you wouldn't be sickened
I dreamt of tortured girls,
selling their asses to the world,
screaming their wounds leaking at both ends,
endless moans, boundless degeneracy,
let it all end, let i all die.
I dreamt of nothing.
(peace in a drying land)
Free of a dirty head,
free of dirty hands,
bereft of harm,
you and I, hand in hand,
in the white.
the addict
Malarkinson stood at the Boardwalk, staring at everyone around him, vacant but aware. His eyes hung with despair, his loins frozen yet warmly anxious. He wondered if they would rot off someday from lack of use, but with his constant habit, they would be more than healthy. They would probably wear off, in blisters or from whatever venereal disease would someday infest them, but with his lack of a real sex life, that was improbable.
Malarkinson pulls out his ragged pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes. He fished out the little joke card that only came with the filtered packs but never the non-filtered ones...never understood why. He placed one flattened cancer stick between his lips and lit. First drag of the day, Malarkinson thought to himself.
Then a girl, perhaps attracted to the nicotine haze surrounding him, approached casually, smiling, showing slowly deteriorating dental work. She was perhaps 14 years of age. She wore a pair of slightly tinted lennon shades and a shirt which revealed her navel. Malarkinson could see that she wore no bra beneath the skimpy article.
"C'n I have a cigarette?" she asked in a too-innocent voice.
"Sure," Malarkinson replied. He fished out the last of his pack and handed it over. He threw away the empty box and offered to light, but the girl turned away, igniting hers with a Zippo.
Malarkinson eyeballed her behind, wondering how it would feel to be inside it...the slow rigid friction of the organs, sopping eachother in the sweet secretive nectars of Sexual Oblivion.
It's all in your mind, Malarkinson.
Give it up.
Malarkinson bummed a cigarette from a vendor who was on his break. He lit it with his cheap blue lighter, blowing a nicotine cloud into the air. The ember glowed in the collapsing daylight.
The restroom was nearby. He thought about going in there to tend to himself, but the the idea was too unpleasant, the thought of discarded cigarette filters in the urinals was enough, let alone men spewing their digestion loudly and shamelessly into the piss-drenched commodes. Malarkinson shunned the idea and walked away from the restroom.
Along came a skater. He was with his girlfriend. They both eyed Malarkinson as if he were an escaped mental patient.
Malarkinson spat a semi-thick one on the pavement. It landed like an egg slapping a frying pan on the hot cement.
A DEVIANT'S LOVE AFFAIR
The boys thought he was on drugs.
His voice was always filled with perverse excitement,
and it was often said that he was a crackhead,
that he hungered for sex like a rabbit.
He'd eyeball girls large and thin,
short or tall,
cute or ugly,
young or old.
But he never had numerous relationships.
He just held friendships with girls
but never bed them,
one was pretty bad,
not necessarily because she was ugly,
but he liked her anyway.
She wasn't the best person to be around. For one thing, she was witless, smoked too much grass, and hung around dangerous individuals. She was truly a disgusting, nasty, opportunistic whore but she still had a hint of charm in her. Bought him sodas, got him drunk a few times. She was nice. Or so he thought.
She was no Pamela Anderson
but she was available.
Her house was a dungheap. It seemed more like a storage room than anything else.
"You're sooo nice, Gus," she would say to him over the phone many a night. This was when his real girlfriend was visiting friends or working. He was never allowed to come along, and this other girl, who was unreliable and disgusting, was welcoming him into her arms.
They would go out together,
holding their chubby little hands,
kissing vainly,
hugging,
but they weren't in real love.
It was a simple little gig,
emotional dependency, lustful love.
They would fuck,
they would share their bummed cigarettes,
and talk of mundane things for hours,
just about anything,
lying on the grass,
watching the world go by.
They eventually drifted off.
ROSES IN WORDS
Fantasies drowning out
the dogeared world,
you stand there,
stiff as a rose
blooming,
bright,
alive.
Of all those pristine flowers which
I'd stared for endless hours,
you were the one
that singed into my mind's celluloid
you were the one who never wilted at my presence.
I am happy to make your acquaintence.
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"I just read "deviant love affair." it's fantastic, really...you're brutally honest, your work is so candid...i love it." -- Anon., Westport, CT, USA.
"Loved Roses In Words." -- Meg.
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2000 Tony Seljuk |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
October 2000 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
3136
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