Takato's Poetry

He drank beer while jacking off to porn.
Beer dribbled down his chin and onto his shirt
but he didn't mind. He never did.
His beer bottle felt like a glass neck
he could snap in two.

But he didn't. He never did.

I knew this guy back in high school,
he was the guy who slapped the teacher's ass
and said he would come to her home and fuck her.
There were rumors about him,
People would always whisper in the halls
how he would stick is cock into anything,
"Even a pencil sharpener if the hole was big enough."
I never paid too much attention to that though,
I was too busy trying to see what size he was underneath his pants.

After graduation we lurked into the boys bathroom,
the place stunk of Marijuana smoke and the floors were sticky
with something I'm pretty sure wasn't piss.

"Do you want a kiss?" He asked me.

I licked my lips like a dog.
I could never remember it fully.
My memories of that one moment in time were
like ripped photographs, no cohesion, no story,
just images that appear and disappear before they could truly be recalled.

I remember waking up on the bathroom floor,
my shirt ripped from me and my pants down.
I remember my back moving across the bathroom tile
and a black eye that felt like someone had kissed it to make it better.
My ass felt soar.

It still does, even now.

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There was an old man who lived
down the street in an old pick-up truck.
I can still remember hearing it blaze down the street
at twelve in the morning while the moon was still
partying with the clouds.
(Apparently someone forgot to get beer so they had to improvise.)
There were rumors about this man,
some said he sold pot to third graders
and others said he had raped thirty locale
women without so much as a second thought.

I wondered.

For some reason I went to meet this man,
hoping some of the rumors were true
I wanted to score some easy pot
and maybe get a dick stuffed into me.
(If he was willing to settle for a man)

I approached him as he dug through the back of his truck.
His jeans were ripped like a whore's self-esteem
and an unlit cig hung from his mouth like a toothpick.

"Got any for free?"

He only looked at me as if I were speaking another language.
He said:
"I fought in a war once,
lost my left ear."
I hadn't noticed, no one had
due to his green cap that always covered his head.

Jesus, it smelled like shit.

All of it smelled like shit,
the man's clothes, his hair that
waved to the air, as if it were saying an early "Good morning."

This was the man that raped women and sold
pot to third graders?
He seemed too dingy to fuck
and his hands were wrapped in toilet paper.
(Something that was probably used before)

"Never mind."
I turned around and left
still hearing him rummage through his truck,
probably searching for something he didn't have.

wow. u r rly rly rly good.
u should write more.

Amusing.

I think it would have been easier
if we had just fucked and then left.

But it couldn't have been love.

I remember why he had sex with his brother,
the man who I deemed my lover,
it might have been to spite me, or perhaps
just to gain my attention.
When I was younger my mother read me the story
of a mermaid who agreed to have her tongue chopped off
in order to feel the sands above shore.
It pained her to walk on legs, like slipping on glass
or dancing on coal.

But he was her lover, so she believed.

I saved him from slicing his fingers
with that butcher's knife last week,
and he thanked me by feeling my ass.
I kissed him in the morning yesterday
and he thanked me by shoving his dick into my mouth,

The little mermaid fell in love with a man
who married another. So she threw her body
into the sea's embrace and turned into foam.

"I wonder"

Was the foam that secreted from his body,
it slipped onto me and faded, just like the remains
of the mermaid?

Was I the prince who had fallen for another?
Or was it just the pills that made me feel that way?
I laid further down into a bed of sheet and sperm,
and let him fondle me like a toy.
It felt like holding a lover,
and it hurt like walking on glass.

WOW! u are fucking sick!!!! really u need to see a psychiatrist!! crazy lil mother fucker! u damn EMOS areee fucked up so much damn but i never seen such a sad kid like this guy in my life rlly need to be in a crazy house ro somethin wow

A friend of mine tried out for a porn website
and he got the job.
He told me he was thrilled and couldn't wait to start.
"Those people are sick."
The day after he told me about everything.
It was a gay porn site,
he told me how they strapped him down to the cold
metal chair, how they removed his socks
like a woman's bra and how they licked his feet.
(Their tongues like snakes)
"They called that shit worship."
Like a God?
I never admitted to him that his
feet made me want to feel my dick
and that his muscles made me want to
rub my cheek against him,
but it was something I didn't think he needed to know.
"That's sick." I agreed.
It was a lie, but lying was the only thing we knew how to do
around each other.
He made my skin tingle,
he made me want to cram his dick into my mouth
and fantasize about getting spat on.
I wanted him to call me his bitch, or his pussy, or his lover,
it didn't matter what, just as long as I was his.
"What website did you say it was?"

Just Try To Make It Count

Maybe it could have been simpler,
like fucking a dead man's corpse and walking off,
but I don't think anyone would have wanted it like that.

Try and think back.

Before we watched that commercial on T.V
about the big breasted women, and the men who
wanted to tie them to their beds.
Before you made me buy a condom,
even though fucking someone in the ass
wouldn't amount to anything.
(Especially if the one you were fucking had a dick of his own.)

We bought cigarettes and watched as the
tobacco smoke whipped at the air like
a bondage master from a porn site.

You called me a perv, but you still let me feel your leg.
You said "Never again", but you still let me move tongue across your dick.
You screamed for me to stop, but you still smiled whenever I
let my cigarette burn you arm.

Can you remember it?

Yes, it was so simple, like slipping on a condom
or fucking a corpse,