Kelsey Marie Harris

by Horror Sleaze Trash on May 12, 2017

Kelsey Marie Harris is a poet in less than the traditional sense. Her work is often experimental, generally offensive, and usually foaming at the mouth. She reps the mid-west. Ask her why she loves Racine.

 


 

And that is how I was reincarnated as a unicorn

I finally discovered the end of the rainbow. I fastened it around my neck, and coaxed the leprechaun into my chocolate starfish, creating the perfect storm of anal rampage and auto asphyxiation. I masturbated with such rapid force, the skin from my penis rubbed off in my hands. This new element of pain sent my pleasure sensors into hyper drive. I ventured into a realm incomprehensible to mere mortals. My eyeballs froze and shattered like ice. Blood spat from my ears. I reached an orgasm so massive I spontaneously combusted. Pink mist and ejaculate coated the clouds.

 

 

Christian nymphos

The doggy style strap received poor reviews. Most husbands prefer hands free rear entry. Convenience is putting your own toy in the love glider. Conviction is creaming on a vibrating crucifix.

 

 

Taint of race, or The night you were conceived

There were bloodstains on the mattress. He told me not to worry. That they were more “menstruation” than murder. The room was heavy. Acid filled scrotum chandeliered from the ceiling like livestock in a meat locker. The walls mumbled an unfamiliar blues riff. I could hardly make out the lyrics ”…I am Charlie Sheen, I am Sara Baartman, I am your pseudo sex symbol, I look good in leather…” The sun peaked through the wood paneling like a voyeur straining to catch a glimpse of Nudy Judy, fondling the busted crack pipe glass on the floor. Needless to say, it was a ballsy set up. I asked Jesus what he put in my drink. He said he slipped my a Holy Roofy. He removed his Rhinestone Cowboy belt buckle. Its clink on the nightstand echoed soundwaves off the metal like psychedelic heat waves. Suddenly, the hills were alive with the sound of his zipper and they were shouting, “GET THE FUCK OUT YOU STUPID CUNT!” I opened my mouth to scream, but all that came out was a squirrel monkey. It flipped me off before scurrying beneath the door. The mundane had been set ablaze. The walls became a thousand weeping eyes. An anaconda unfolded itself from his pants. Jesus pulled a flute from his back pocket and proceeded to charm his snake penis. At full mass, it unhinged its jaw and swallowed me whole. I woke up in an unfamiliar ally, nude, and covered in feathers. There was a strange sensation in my mid-section. I peeled open my vagina and pulled out a note. It read, “Congratulations, you have been immaculately conceptioned.”

 

 

On a head stand

I pussy                  popped for Jesus                            like a good Christian                      I busted it

                wide open                                         for the father                    son                         and holy spirit                  raising  the name of                                  the Lord                              mountain high                  relinquishing                    my body of sin                                 shimmying down             a metal pole                     in Jesus                                name                   amen

 

 

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