I keep getting these emails about making my cock bigger. Which is strange because I don't have a cock. Well, I do. I bought it. It's mine.
Bukowski once said,
love was like the early
What he didn’t say was,
that the fog would
slither into your
"Oh, thank you God!" I breathed with deep gratitude and reverence. There were two cigarettes left in the pack instead of one.
Don't come to me for advice on how to be a better poet. Have the courage to live your life, then write honestly about it. (Also, learn the mechanics of writing. God damn.)
There is something unsettling about rehashing our past relationship - all its heartbreaks and mistakes - while you take a piss on a tree . I have a feeling the tree and I share similar sentiments.
The most beautiful
thing I’ve ever seen
was when you came.
cock in hand,
cum pooling in my belly button.
And then you’d
kiss me, like you
found water in the desert.
Never read Bukowski before bed. You'll dream of shitty apartments, empty, rattling wine bottles, and scabby hookers. Then, mid dream, you'll realize you're sweating buckets between your ass cheeks.