Ben John Smith

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by horrorsleazetrash on September 6, 2010

Ben John Smith is the editor of Horror Sleaze Trash, and is really taking the piss giving him self a full page. You can read his shit almost no where and always with spelling errors. He has a blog that has lots of boobs and other stupid shit, this is the link.

“Internet Blues.”

I get
a week off work
and instead of doing
great things
I sit around and
play with my dick.

I buy a webcam
and troll chat rooms
that usually
flash up with dudes
beating their
big Cocks.

When they see my bored
baby face
they cover the camera
or just quicken the
rate of their strokes.

I find one woman
who is fat
and has no teeth
but her tits are
huge
and sit in a white
tank top.

I pull out my
little fella
and with the grit of
an Irish
curler;

I slowly join
the ranks
of the saddest and
loneliest people
in history.

A cult of
maybe more
than a million People
pointing the
wet end of a
little,
semi hard dick,
towards the
flashing eye of
a camera
on top of their monitors.

Every now and then,

even though the house
is empty,

I turn around
in my computer chair
and
look at her spot on the bed.

Still swallowed out
by her perfect ass
and long thin legs.

Her head cut out from
the pillow.

And
with a little guilt
but nothing suicidal
I play along
with the natural progression
of things.

“Telling the gods honest”

At dinner I talk about
my new website and the
nude girls we are going
to shoot with the photographer
In Northcote.

They tune out through
bordom or jealously
so I leave the house
without them knowing
and go home to
run a bath.

I hold my dick up in
the air so I can piss
all over my stomach
and tattoos
and watch my white
beer bloated
belly surface
and submerge
Like Ishmael.

Like the gut of
a starving albino
African.

The radio makes the
metronome sequence
af 2am and me,
a valium
and a half bottle of
warm beer
lose consciousness
to Easy Rider.

Almost pulling a
Munro, only with out
the beautiful blonde hair
and shiny white teeth.

There should be a great
few lines to finish
this poem,
but I can’t think of
them right
now.

“I want to be like you Burroughs”

I want to cut off
my little toe
and I have my foot
on the table
with a chisel.

before I get to serious
I spray D’arnes perfume
all around me.

I’m interrupted by
my little sister who just
finished night shift
at the supermarket.

She has a 6 pack of
beer and a block of
marble chocolate.

I drink the beer
and wake up with the
Chocolate
Smudged all over my face

And a few minutes of memory
about a film
about a dude
who was trying
to fuck a chick
but she wasn’t into it.

I think it
Was in French

Like the sound a woman
Makes when she vomits

Red and cold.

The day starts with
A tummy
Quiver.

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