FUCK
me in bondage
deny me
erections
rip me
in half
and split me
in sections
leather + dildos
daddies + diapers
A drink
with a kink
can be cockblock
for writers!
Written by Jason Wright
April 10, 2018
Quirky Perversions
Disconnect
There’s a space between me
and all that I’ve wanted…
Like my lust is a ghost
that has left my life haunted…
Devoid of the spark
that connects me to revery…
Like the life I am living
is only a memory…
A personal history
grown cold and impersonal…
A vacuous dream that had
once seemed so purposeful…
But I know I am there
buried under the sadness…
Married between her pain
and his madness…
They have stolen from me
what we were to ourselves…
My senses can’t deal
because they’re overwhelmed…
And part of me wants
to take time to sort out…
But mostly I want
to rip time inside out!
I want to take all
that has tied me to her…
Be it blood on my hands
or my unspoken words…
Or the things unremembered
that left me to die…
Want to shred that
and shed tears of goodbye…
As all of the pain
that trapped us in slaughter…
Travels back to the past
and then rescues our father.
Written by Jason Wright
April 10, 2018
A Tempted Isle of View
the need to resist
to persist with the lie
that I’m not a freak
hard to speak when I cry
the need for another
my brother was stolen
incest is best
lest we find our hearts frozen
their rules disobey
by the saying of truth
they want to deny
but inside us there’s proof
our joy will not frown
will not drown in the river
and the ice in their price
did not cause us to shiver
that tremble assembled
of passion and trust
was furthered by murder
attempt on our lust
Written by Jason Wright
April 9, 2018
Fawn
I need to sleep
but the boy in the field
won’t leave me in peace
or admit that he’s real
so I can’t close my eyes
until I have captured
the verdict of spies
that has left us enraptured
by twig and by leaf
by bird and by bone
by fall of rain water
and on him it shone…
the boy in the field
may never be real
but he looks like another
and they have each other.
Written by Jason Wright
April 9, 2018
Disaster Be Thy Name
She’s safe, if not whole
and he’s unwanted, broken & insane.
Insanity may seem like a good cause
for forgiveness or comfort
but it’s actually a piss poor substitute.
Quivering on shattered legs,
his spine broken by revelations
gained in his “fall” from a great height…
he fell so far and landed so hard
yet he has never recovered
from the truth of his actions.
The smile from the rickety defenseless monster
seems so sincere that others make note
and inform me of his safety; his well being;
his painful continued death rattle.
This skeleton shell of a scarecrow man
once preached sex and brimstone,
starvation and salvation,
while his inverted path to heaven would save us all
even as he damned us to this forever Hell.
Written by Jason Wright
April 5, 2018
The Truth That We Craved
The boy across the field behind my house
had more in common with me than
ancestors;
most other kids I played with
were related to me
but he was always my favorite
because of the way he looked at me…
Later in life he was damaged in a tragic accident
and our future conversations ceased to be.
In an unseen instant he was ripped away
although he was still alive,
and that’s more than can be said for others
lost in that era of AIDS and ignorance.
I shake the love letter postcards out of my skull
and pick one at random:
I remember his breath on my neck;
the feel of our young bodies pressed together
like the pages of a trashy tattered copy
of a seldom read incest fantasy,
which I will forever remember as the first time that I made love;
the first time that someone I loved made love to me.
His reaching, reciprocated touch was tender,
terrified and then joyous.
His movement: considerate, then brutal within the landscape
of a language that we both finally understood.
In our joining, our words from a hundred lying conversations
gained new meaning and were finally made honest.
His kiss informed me that I was never truly alone.
His cock translated every secret code
I had ever witnessed
in the eyes of countless lonely strangers.
His thrusting within me
within the home of his grandparents…
that place between sheets
and layers of blood magic was always
and will forever be sacred.
My love letter postcard memories
are holy relics
now tumbling out of my decades old skull.
Rectangular snapshots of a time before
we were allowed to be who we truly were…
In a time before he lost who he truly,
secretly had been…
A time when we had dreamed
of a very different future
that had been reflected in
our tangle of shared flesh and blood.
Written by Jason Wright
April 5, 2018