Variations On Emotional Suicide, the new release from wurdz.click on the book to buy it today!

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CEO and founder of Wurdzpoet, Inc. 

Sunday, September 29, 2013

riding the wave of throttled insanity



her music plays...
silky smooth,
spontaneous rips
over syncopated riffs
and shadows
that move in time,
as muddled reminders
in my mind.
i beg release
from the essence
of what draws me closer
to the borrowed
death,
which heckles
relentlessly,
any attempts
to purge my desirous
addiction
to her.
remy and blacks,
she scaled back,
i fear not her evil,
even though
the needle tracks
race up her arm
in droves.
but it's an improvement
over wire tapped lobes.
her music sways...
the skin,
the loco motion
is all i crave.
sweaty loins
and heaving thrusts,
at any given moment,
it's only in her i trust.
my decency has long gone
astray.
her lipstick,
red as the lust
of our indecent
liaison,
leaves wet trails
which ignite
spontaneous eruptions
that feed the corruption
we embrace so true.
emotionless smiles,
powered by her pity
for the creature
she has spawned.
but each body obeys
the rhapsody,
found in heightened
fine tuning,
and soars
in majestic triumph.
her music frays...
yet it will play
again.

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

the request




she asked me
what i did 
and i told her
that my words 
were the essence
of things to come.
she smiled...
"you're a writer?"
i smirked,
returned a slow nod
and sat on the edge
of the bed.
"show me..."
she clicked
the switch
for some
boney james,
lit a candle
and dared me
to go insane,
on the supple sensuality
she bared for my pleasure.
threw my hat 
and leaned back,
with the stealth
of a lioness
she attacked
my ego.
shirt ripped,
neck nipped,
sweat sipped...
then she was flipped.
because she wanted me
to show her.
piston dances
while slow grinding
advances
us towards the peak
she so eagerly seeked
when challenging 
my physical muse.
legs wrapped in carnal
delight
as moans drenched
in ecstasy 
play a sinister game
of tag with her lips.
we feel the drip, drip
of her upon me
and prepare 
for the glory
she wanted to see.
scratched back,
rhythmic headboard.
a push back,
she was on board.
...and the fire died.
embers,
burning at the end 
of a filter-tip,
as she remembers
i'm a writer.

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