Naughty Poetry Novels & Stories

I still don’t get it, if the poem Keeping his demons tamed, Annihilating every form of stain Redeeming his soul day by day Embracing him without casting blame Never letting him go insane. Is about a man with demons? How does a ‘she’ get involved? This is just like maths all over again. All my seven entries, which were His grace, light, lover, peace, angel, smile and charm, were all buzzing with a red light. I also noticed over a dozen people had already tried all the words I came up with. How do you compete with this? “Move out of my way, loser!” Japhia yells, pushing me out of his way. “Let the genius do the magic.” he says, giving out a villain like laughter.

“ Okay,’’ the teacher signaled the people who were clapping at her poem before handing over my book. DEMI GOD Ye god of beauty, Ooh Israelite god lost in earth Ye is full of walking metaphors and perfections Your breath oozes love and makes beautiful flowers to blush Like a virgin caught in a midnight dance with bachelors Thou eyes glow like molten lave and hot coals, healing broken hearts. The girl finished reading my book and the whole class kept quiet, this was a big disappointment. The poem was only supposed to be one stanza, about love. The bully turned around and looked at my seat with a blank expression, he seemed confused, wasn’t it obvious, it was a poem that I had written for him.

this Naughty Wordsmith was writhing my life for it to happen. No, no, that was crazy. Of course, so were two girls jumping out of a portal claiming to be my unborn daughters matured to eighteen and ready to fuck. That was equally insane. If this Kristen was real, then I was thankful for all the naughty things she wrote for me to do. I tongued Jenny's cunt as Penny worked her pussy up and down my cock. She rode me with that hot pussy. Her deflowered flesh massaged me. She felt so amazing around my dick. I groaned, savoring that wonderful cunt massaging me.

But that only made us laugh; we enjoyed our endless naughtiness and unrestrained debauchery. In the end, there was probably more spit on the floor than urine, which had passed through all eight mouths as well as my asshole. The liquid had become completely opaque. Like babies we could as well start pooping in our own pee, then tapping and throwing it around. I began to dream that someone would surprise us in this condition right here...

He only linked my pinky in his and stayed outside the club's deep-green closed door with me until I'd mustered enough bravado to enter inside. A scrawny girl wearing thick round Harry Potter glasses is on the shriny stage they built. Splashes of screaming colour smudge the wall, and when I squint I see that they are figures, small figurine like paintings that resemble Nok art and igbo-ukwu works. Written in bold mural alphabets on another stretch of the wall is a quote: There is no greater agony, than the agony of an untold story. She reads out her poem. It's called "earlier than yesterday", and she uses bogus words like matador, incandescent, and malaise. I wonder if everyone here underst

after everything I went through, still just insults I did my study on those creatures for years, and I can still remember some of my favourite poetry and poems I read as a kid A Last Word by Ernest Dowson Let us go hence: the night is now at hand; The day is overworn, the birds all flown; And we have reaped the crops the gods have sown; Despair and death; deep darkness o'er the land, Broods like an owl; we cannot understand Laughter or tears, for we have only known Surpassing vanity: vain things alone Have driven our perverse and aimless band. Let us go hence, somewhither strange and cold, To Hollow Lands where just men and unjust Find end of labour, where's rest for the old, Freedom to all

Insecure shoes often obscuring the walls, the sonata of chemicals likens heads to garage tires you’ve spared for cool household principles. I bet you look down, look down so hard to catch the open light unfurling, like a beef falafel surprising schoolchildren from Bandra, Mumbai I earn a living by re-counting poetic lines and make them smell of cardamom. Carton-shroud livelihood makes a statement. To live comfortably is to fall in love with euphoria: 100%. Sweetheart of lies—

Picking up the beer bottles lying on the tiled floor, she heard her phone chime. It was a remainder. A reminder for the interview she was having in the next one hour. “Fuck!!!” she cussed, sprinting to the bathroom to shower. How could she forget the interview for the nanny job. It was very important to her. For one, the pay was ridiculously expensive, 30$ per hour, that’s higher than any other job she had ever gotten, she could finally buy a car. Also the job required her to live in the house as she attended to the child every need. That meant no rent for a long time and she could finally get out of this dead apartment, she found on Thrift list.

"She used to read poetries to me. In her confession letter, she used one of the poems from her favourite book to describe how she viewed me. She even wrote my initials on the page." Poetries? Ahn Hana can’t help but think of the murder scene. Was that supposed to be poetic? "Did she like reading novels? Mystery or thrillers? Something related to murders? “ Usually, teenagers are interested in murder mysteries that offer them thrills. Reading poetry is rather normal, but Noh Kyung-hee doesn’t seem like a foolish and romantic girl to her.

The imagery was…compelling. Very. Compelling. My body swayed forward of it’s own accord, uncaring of it’s own survival with the prospect of having her beneath it. Being inside, on top of and around her. Such an alluring temptation. I turned my back on her. “What’s so funny?” I crossed my arms, braced for her reply. “I can’t believe you think I put poison in my pussy. You know that’s the softest of soft tissue right. The poison’d be spreading through my system, killing me before it had a chance to get to you.”