JOHN RALPH TUCCITTO IS 'SARDONIC POET'
  • About the Author
  • Orchestral Flatulence
  • Mythology of the Muse
  • The Culture of Certainty Divides us
  • The Dearth of Empathy
  • What is Sardonicism?
  • The Simulation of Doubt
  • Book Appointment

Writers (Anon)ymous

​It's like we are threads thrashed...in a wool stuffed pillow.

Worthless

10/10/2019

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A constant search for meaning in a naked mind, the root of agony flows to nourish the unkind. My flaws beg for laughter from women who admonish scum, dance the darkness falls like the sky is raining rum. There is no purpose to a fallible trek, take the knife to your throat and slice your fucking neck. No one will care trust me I AM you, you are a disgusting mouthful not even a pig would chew. You are fat and ugly and stupid and bland, you deserve to drown in piss your struggle to breathe would be grand. She doesn't love you you stubborn fool, your heart is just a thing to her like a counterfeit jewel. Love is a purpose without meaning, that's lost on you because reality keeps intervening. You're a piece of shit, you deserve to die, kill yourself, you need only try. I cannot rhyme without tears, you irritate me that is clear. Don't you see I exist because you persist. I don't want this anymore you hear me, your death is her glee.

Your death, is her glee.
Your death, is her glee.
Your death, is her glee.
Your death, is her glee.
​
Your heart is a counterfeit jewel...worthless.
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Time began when you found me.

5/24/2019

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Would Satan disguise himself if he were standing in front of a mirror?  All art is is a mirror.

4/24/2019

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Lust makes me sick.

4/20/2019

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Chivalry

4/19/2019

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Lust strokes the mind with gullible fantasies. 
Your lucid stare is my undoing. 
I not want this sensation to linger, it sickens me. 
Damn your ravishing  beauty, I do not consent! 
Please yield to reason...attraction is not a choice. 
​How to express my struggling palette.

Years of silence sutured shut by suffering the allure of this lust.
What must I do?  Levitate?  Cure poverty?  You break me. 
​
​Lust strokes the mind with gullible fantasies.  Am I gullible?  AM I?!
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Invitation

4/16/2019

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Drink your pain through swollen eyes, what secrets nest between shameful lies.

Thicker than syrup pickles the heart, it rots off the vine, a destiny you cannot chart.

You are a muse, a perfect storm, I wallow in froth, my confidence shorn.

You know not your effect on me, I welcome unconsciousness, is to be.

You haunt my kind, poets are curious breed, meet me halfway, that’s all I need.

Yes, yes, yes, acquiesce
Yes, yes, YES, acquiesce
Yes, YES, YES, acquiesce
YES, YES, YES, ACQUIESCE!
​
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God thinks you're necessary.  Your response will be...typical.

4/10/2019

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Addiction is magical

4/10/2019

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Oh muh God guys...Hitler is LITERALLY Hitler.

4/10/2019

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Male PMS is uterus envy

4/3/2019

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Jesus is blacker than dirt.  White Jesus is an idol.

4/2/2019

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Hitler was a hell of a public speaker.

4/1/2019

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Why did Muhammad dislike mustaches?

11/20/2018

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Can a mustard seed pass through the eye of a needle?

11/14/2018

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I am addicted to the fire

11/11/2018

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Shivering flames, whistling bark, ash like snow, illuminating the dark.

I ignore the cold, that stings my back, my ears inhale, the wind’s soundtrack.

My belly is empty, my head is full, of the choices I’ve played, no excuses to pull.

I perverted the path, to become an outlier, now I am addicted to the fire.

I feed the fire, to quench my senses, to divorce my spirit, from the choir of consequences.

The irony is fitting, feeding fire with my clothes, because what gives light, has no shadows.

The flame is famished, the smoke is slithering, into my nostrils, hope is dithering.

I forgot to blink, entranced by the motion, my eyes are arid, bleeding a teary potion.

The fire is an addiction, to pervert the path, fire is my relief, from nature’s wrath.

I know this is crazy, but listen to what I say…the only way to beat addiction, is walk away.

Leave the fire, and follow your breath, where your ancestors conquered death.

My toes are black, my lips are blue, my skin is frozen, my stare eschewed.

I die in the dark, I laughed at the irony, all this time, the fire was addicted to me.

The fire was addicted to me.  The fire was addicted...to ME.
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John...did you think you were the most unlikely Messiah? That’s God’s irony for you, not mine.​

11/9/2018

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I am addicted to writing.  Do you suggest I journal?

11/9/2018

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In God we prey.​

11/9/2018

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God cries forever you never surrender to God.​

11/9/2018

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The devil is a judge you give power to with your unfaithfulness. You’ll be fine...​

11/9/2018

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Devils and Angels cussing at each other, like niggas circlin a dollar.

11/9/2018

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Imagine a homeless man heckling commuters

11/9/2018

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“I wear pajamas to work mutha fucka...fuck you and your navy suit. You Punk-ass...”
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I speak in forked-tongues.

11/9/2018

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My tongue is a fire, and I'm addicted to the fire.

11/9/2018

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James 3:6  
The tongue also is a fire, a world of evil among the parts of the body. It corrupts the whole body, sets the whole course of one's life on fire, and is itself set on fire by hell.
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I am an addict.

11/8/2018

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I guess the first step is to admit I have a problem.  I am addicted to writing.  
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    Sardonic Poet

    I have an addiction to the fire.

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  • About the Author
  • Orchestral Flatulence
  • Mythology of the Muse
  • The Culture of Certainty Divides us
  • The Dearth of Empathy
  • What is Sardonicism?
  • The Simulation of Doubt
  • Book Appointment