poems, untitled

by plermpt

Untitled 1

A jar of pills.

Wrap her face is a blanket and make love to the gun hammer. Silver liquid leaks from my cervix. Putting commas where the periods belong.

Let the bears kiss; we don’t get along very well anymore. We should have kept it how it is, cus now we saying how it used to be.

Turned off by her senility.

This is my favorite mugshot; the one where his face is caved in.

Scared I will pull a knife; my eyeliner bleeds for you.

Tears of chili roll down his belly, shave that stupid mustache, spell my name wrong for the fifth time, mispronounce my last name.

Two first names with a flat nose just bc she blond don’t mean everyone want that pussy.

Untitled 2

A Hundred Forty Party.

The Gag.

A Skank of Skanks.

Painted Trash at The Gag.

Love Bite.

Unemployed Admin.

Box Cutter.

Unlock the secrets of my asshole.

The Sticky Masters.

Can’t keep keeping up.

Signature Fart-Burp.

She comes over, teaches me how to operate a forklift. I complain, loving the cleavage of the raccoon welts.

Stage Four Herpes.

Watermelon Burger.

Sesame Tea.

Uncle Cheeto.


Welcome for coming, she was up all nightmare.

Rockin’ that shit like

Blackened Hemorrhoids.

Salamander Kites.

Aunt Betty.

A Final Turn Off Notice Is In Effect.

We out here, we smokin’

Get him to the bacon.

My iPad’s boyfriend.


Exhausted after a night of non-fucking.

Ok, very Meg.

Have more. Eat more. Suck more.

“I’ll touch it! I’ll suck it!”

Why’s it so hard to find some rich kids?

Am I over it? Once was enough.

Heading to H’Rarlm, call me f/dipp. Ploopy Ploopers.

I hap u plermpt ur lezzon.

An’oop. Nah, please.

Stay herp. Final dickles. I’ll videotape it.

Dunno if he still fucked up, but if I had a court date I’d live life the same as always: a gay boy. A very gay boy. Stuck inside an hourglass, pins inside his face, thousand island dressing in his bloodstream, ranch in his contact lens solution.


Faceless Butcher.

Cut Cut.

An average, naughty bucket.

Feel like it may be puke time.

Clerk at the knife exchange.

Gettin’ that Shia LaBeouf money.

Just thought I’d ask.

Lame and lonely. Dull and horny.

These motherfuckers. Hey! Any of you motherfuckers have a light?

Should have dressed in a t-shirt. Fakest bitch alive tatted on his forearm.

Sunday is Monday.

The biggest day for brunch and no one is picking up their phones.

Solicit sex from the homeless bc my dicc is burnt out on tea.

The female Mr. Doop.

Wait till everyone finds out I I-fucked Mr. Doop!