Black Humor Poems Novels & Stories

I let out a sarcastic smile, “have fun inhaling carbon dioxide there.” With that, they burst out laughing. “We really need to think ways to put some humor inside your brain!” Ave exclaimed, still laughing. I pursed my lips. “I don’t need that.” “As expected from you,” Rebel chuckled. I roll my eyes heavenwards. I don’t need some humor. A bitter smile placed against my lips. I only need someone who’ll save me from this hell. “How about this?” “Your showing too much skin.” “This one?” “Too short.”

I made a zipping motion across my lips, doing my best to look serious. Evans straightened in his chair, his expression growing intense as he began: “The moon whispers secrets the sun dares not tell, And shadows dance where quiet truths dwell...” I couldn’t help it—I burst into laughter. “I knew it!” he exclaimed, throwing his napkin at me. “I’m sorry!” I gasped between laughs, holding up my hands in surrender. “It’s just...you’re so serious about it!” “That’s because poetry is serious,” he said, his tone mock offended.

Garrison went very still. Then he started laughing. Deep, gut-wrenching laughter that filled the room and kept filling it, doubling him over, the whiskey bottle swinging loose from his fingers. He laughed until his eyes watered, until he had to brace himself against the windowsill to stay upright. "The Moon Goddess," he managed between breaths. "She really does have the sickest sense of humor." "It's not funny."

Food? Rum? Flowers? Cannibalism? Women? Torture? Poetry? I am an alchemist, not a poet. What am I even supposed to say? Gold is yellow, Silver is blue, Oh, my dear brother, You’ve lost all your screws. Instead of cheering him up, my poetry would torture him. And I didn’t want him to crave death even more. So, poetry was clearly a bad idea. I let out a sigh and even that echoed. Maybe I’ll just ask the obvious.

she quoted. Your voice is like a bird, but everyone’s ears are bleeding. From the inside, your house shines and shines, but from the outside, you can see it’s built from bones. From out here, it looks like a graveyard, and the garden’s all ash. And besides, your breath stinks. We’re through. She remembered a poem she read by Ross Gay years ago and burst out into laughter. " The last line always gets me." She laughed harder, almost falling off her bed.

For then both drop their masks and find togetherness, happiness, serenity. I ain't barking mad, ma and dad, neither am I barking sad, but would you bar a king, or ba ba a RAM, especially a newborn lamb? I'm playin' is all, play yin and yang for a ball, for a Cinderella sole, for a sash of ash after the fire is cold. Know, I ain't barking mad - I'm mad for a lamb king though, not a lame king, not the kind that's all ear 'e-go again, making a black hole, not a black whole, not a Santa sack goal, but a Santa sack coal - no matter who die - to gamble with lives, to roll the die, to spin the chamber at the poor, for the poor know hearts are are real at least. No, I ain't no saint, but I can see t

Mine comes in the form of a perfect hairstyle and eyes so deep I wanted to dive into them. A week passed and I couldn’t stand the cafeteria. Kids kept dashing in and out of those death doors with that awful killer grin on their lips. Innocent lives were murdered daily and something had to be done. I wrote this poem, thinking of them. My nostrils are constantly soured by the grotesque odor of the recently slain I try to fly away from the pain, But the smell follows me like a shadow Piglets crying again I couldn’t stop thinking about those poor piglets squealing as they munch down on their precious heads, crushing their brains. FYI pigs are more intelligent than dogs. I read it on Google, so i

“Though if you really wanna perform, try moaning and squealing and screaming like b*tches when they’re horny and getting f*cked by my rock-hard d*ck. I sure love me the chorus of women orgasming—now that’s f*cking poetry! Haha, ‘f*cking’ poetry, get it?!” Javier cast a glance at Herschel, who was standing next to him. “Would you look at that! Looks like we got ourselves a bad-f*cking-*ss, didn’t we? A bigshot who f*cks Lady Death while a nuclear bomb is strapped to his anus! Listening to his words will make hair grow on your chest! Jesus, thousands of years of human evolution have perfected this bad*ss specimen for us to marvel at him, Hersch. I’m so touched and awed that I’m about to cry! “

His booming voice filled the air with glee, As he entertained us, setting spirits free. "Let's say old time jokes, shall we?" Chants of 'yes' sounded around the room. "Did you hear about the vampire who opened a bakery? He got into a lot of trouble because his cakes were always too bloody." The room erupted with laughter, a joyful sound, As we all shared in the mirth that went around. Stephanie chimed in with a witty remark, Adding to the humor, making the atmosphere spark. "Alpha Darwin, have you heard the one about the talking dog?

Asher asks making Axel laugh heartily as I stared at the two psychopaths next to me. “Yeah like let’s go easy on them.” Axel jokes sarcastically making Asher laugh more. “Let’s forgive them.” “Let them off with a warning.” “Yeah, we will be the bigger person.” The sarcastic back and forth continues as they high-five each other, unable to contain their laughter as they held on their stomach. What is wrong with these men? “When you guys joke around, people have panic attacks. What kind of sick sense of humour is this? What kind of monster-“ I finally speak up, expressing my horror but they ignore me and continue laughing.