20170420

Our First and Only Book Is Free

I Should Be Different.

A loser who can't get over anything decided his pent-up feelings should rhyme and have meter, because cramming a few decades' worth of mind-waste into an arbitrarily exact form will bring the closure that excess and therapy cannot.  "This bulging tin of expired stuff should be open, its contents inflicted on other people."  You might like it, though.  There's a glossary and some wordplay.

32 poems, 10,000 words.

An excerpt:

Artist: Revan Riendanitra


























HOW MOST ARE III

Perfection in flesh.  An ethereal vision.
The stratified light of her skin brings division,
A splitting of life.  There's your child's well-being,
And everything else.  As a parent, you're seeing
The rigor pay off in an athlete, a scholar.
A beautiful daughter transcending the squalor
The world has to offer.  She's able at studies,
And wise to the lie of the guise of "just buddies."
When guys are just budding the courage to spoil
A talk with I love you, her answer's a moyel
With tremors.  The pricks get beheaded--no suction.
Your daughter won't suffer a standard reduction!
The cocky, the nice, the aloof are rejected.
Those dicks will not triumph.  Her brains have selected
A family Friday with popcorn, pajamas,
And Boggle instead of the usual dramas
That populate trivial teenager dating.
The risk of disease or a baby stays waiting...

And now I am here to defile, to wallop
That dream with a dollop of cream as I ball-up
The sheets in my toes.  When your progeny blows me,
She gratefully shudders and moans like she owes me
For letting her take all the ropes I can give her.
She's hungry for stuff, and I strain to deliver
Enough.  There's a kink that she needs when I fuck her;
Performing a scene from Porphyria's Lover.
I'll bang from behind as I gather a tangle
Of natural red in a scarf.  Then I'll strangle
Your angel.  Her spasms devour my penis.
I've tongued out the sweat in her Dimples of Venus.
And one time she sobbed on my ballsack, and kissed it.
"A week is too long.  Oh my god, how I've missed it."


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About the writer of I Should Be Different:

Marv Volta is a bum, an idiot who would rather be right than keep a steady a job.  He's poor and he overeats and he couldn't think of more things.