I’M WRITING ABOUT MY DEAD FRIEND BECAUSE THERAPY IS FUCKING EXPENSIVE published by DREAM BOY BOOK CLUBMe and Benjamin had a lot in common
One of them was our desire to suck Louis
Big round cheeks
Dark brown hair
Luscious pink lips
we wanted to suck Louis so badly
that we were ready to forget that we had no attraction for each other
to suck him together
I'm sure Louis' dick
Is small but good licking
smells like rose soapand is pink like his lips
Louis didn’t know we both fantasized about his dick
In fact we both never really spoke to him
It was our thing, our sharing dream, not his
now that Benjamin is dead
I don't want to suck Louis's dick so much anymore
I would stop sucking dicks to bring him back to life
I would suck the ugliest dick on earth to bring him back to life
- Cuties of Contemporary Literature
- The Collected Dream Boy Book Club Vol. 1
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Hey! I’m part of the longlisted poets of National Poetry Competition 2023
MORE POEMS BELOW/ PLUS DE POÈMES EN DESSOUS
Pulished by The Burning Palace
His fourth love My first love Our anal life was a good representation of our relationship The first time we did anal together was magical I felt so close to him It felt special He was saying I had a beautiful pink anus When we had to transfer money to each other Our bank security question was always the word anus And the answer was pink Like MDMA it was never as good as the first time More we did it More it hurt More I didn't want to do it More he felt rejected More he felt scared of losing me
More he was putting pressure to do it More I was hurt More he hated me to be hurt More I was not in love More I didn't want to do this anymore
He proposed to pay me to have anal with me I think I accepted two times, maybe more They were the last times we did it together I was his fourth love He was my first love
When I was a kid I wanted to kill myself
I looked online and found an article on google explaining the best 10 way to kill yourself. I tried some of them. Poem published at The New York City Poetry Festival (2023)
I cut myself
But I stopped because it was too hurtful
I tied a scarf around my neck
to suffocate to death during my sleep
but I woke up still alive, unhappy, with a beautiful pashima
I tried to drown in the bath
but I couldn't breathe so I stopped
I swallowed a lot of pills at once before going to bed.
I don't remember anything. My father told me that I jumped on my brother's bed
and went downstair to sleep on the couch
I threw up the next day and was sick for a week
I tried to make a second attempt but I couldn't swallow pills anymore. My body wanted to vomit just looking at them
So I took them to school and at dinner time I hid in a park.
I crushed my pills and mixed them in the SPAGHETTI from my thermos
Don’t do this option if you want to kill yourself
It’s disgusting
I went back to the first option, cutting myself
but this time in the bath
My father might not be a good father
but he makes fucking good spaghetti
and I disrespected him that day
It was like a good cuisine fusion
every time I wanted to kill myself, I went into the bath with a knife in my hand,
It was like a good cuisine fusion
but this time in the bath
but I wasn’t cutting myself
there was something so powerful about holding a knife but not cutting it's like holding a cigarette all day but never smoking it
tonight I felt nostalgic
nostalgic for that time when my life was dedicated to dying
So I wrote this poem with my computer in one hand and a knife in the other