The Haunted Night -- II

yo man, it's been fucking more than a year to one of my sexiest posts that had i dropped here around "The Frame" posts under title: Blood Lust - The Haunted Night (Sensual Erotica)

since would i drop that post with a pic (shown in that post), i always wondered, what'd be the name of the movie? i just longed to watch the movie scene, but seemed fruitless finding it across the web so i moved on... perhaps, a night back, when was i watching some videos, i accidentally watched the around 1+ min. video on the web. it was the video that i wanted to watch since 2015. in a meantime, i downloaded that video & watched the whole. i never knew that the night later, means tonight, i would be writing something on the video either as since i would already write on its pic. a year back.

anyways, check this out what i write new as a iind part of my write (that i would write in 2015), but tonight, i'm also gonna post its video too along with my verses. that's fascinating.

"she sighed hard, she cried hard

but he fucked her like a game card

she burned alive in the tempt. of lust

but damn cried for what he burst

he's the beast atheist, unleashed king of ring,

she's his white salve with her pussy pink

he made hard love, hit strong strokes

she cried for peace, but he doped groped

he'd fuck her for whole night; taste her pussy coca white

her thighs sweat & she kept spread her legs;

would tight her pussy, then wrapped in 'nutter laps

yo... she's his queen, but a night slave

it's rape scene that a monster made with electric waves

to her, 'twas haunted night -- a vulgar night

her abused life got eaten with her pussy white

till the end of her last sigh, oh Jesus Christ!

he enjoyed her pussy & licked her hard

& she sighed cried, but he torn her like a game, apart!!"

ps. don't forget to check out its 1st part which's found here in the link:
http://frameuponthehearts.blogspot.in/2015/03/blood-lust-haunted-night-sensual-erotica.html

the poet

i be vintage poet.
and you my classic poetry,
together we write modern poem
& frame it down to "hearts' gallery".
being fallen in love, i know,
something i long to speak
& allot you've got to mimic,
love has no language, no religion
for that our souls about to gimmick
the history of our synchronized love
will be written in historic epitaph,
like a dust of anew dawn &
an ash of drunk night,
our spirituality will live forever
till the end of this life. 

perfectly stained

i write the whole novel on your sadistically naked;
dangerously baked & perfectly so packed body;
but won't let anyone read that, my lady.
every page of your life i fill; do drill
with an ink of my love, my quill;
will chill the holyness of your stained soul, tranquil,
tranquilizer, your love. your breath, windmill;
& will swing you whole night till anew dawn on freewill.
what you're to me -- just an enigma!!
& in your enigmatic vibes i'm drunk, deeply
every night i write whatever comes popped up in my head
but latter, i'm dead...
half dead, half alive, i must be?
what should i call myself ---
a potter? or real groper of your written-yet-unwritten shoved story?
do i discolor the color of your lipstick
the painter you better call me?
perhaps, i oft. rune the whole novel on your numbly naked body
so now, if your beautiful muse dare addressing me drunk-writer,
i'm afraid, my love,
i'll have to take your under love-custody of Mr. Nobody
just for [having] the pleasure of your [perfectly stained] body.

sunk in love

not sure if it's the end of my life
or the beginning of love, unburnt
loving you be unpliable all time,
perhaps,
it's you in whom i'm deeply sunk.
my day gets started with ur smile
the sun got nothin' on you, my love
let moon shine through off your face
& world get wandered...
in the crowd of two unbeaten hearts.
true love birds we both could be
but not sure,
if it's the beginning of new life
or the end of unforbidden misery, i flee.

writer's life

written on june/30/2016!

writing's itself an addiction to... something that indulges us all deep inside. we lost in own reality; get away from our own lives being swung or drunken with literary words. people watch & look at us like we don't even belong to this planet called earth. how funny it is, we don't react on it but despite the matter of fact, we nudge our-self & start laughing at their sophisticated words. latter, we pour it all deep down into something that further touches many hearts, &  in the end, what all does matter is; for what others giva damn about is, what we do to 'em not what damage the world already caused to us.

and this's life...
... hardly understood by any average living of the same planet we called earth.

ps. writing's like a tranquilizer to us writers who being used to stumble in the rain. no matter how bad we're hurt, we find our own way to walk the moment that... not an average human being can do. we know, writing be a form of love that shows us all the barricades of own lives; tells us that how dark past we all trudged through & how long we still gotta pass through such darknesses. and it's all what's counted in #writerslife.