Oh Hell Yeah I’ll Speak Ill

I am so angry that I could spit – so fucking angry…

How in the name of all things sane can that lying, whoring, filthy piece of shit have accrued so many wilfully blind fools?

All coming out to sing his praises just because he conveniently died and escaped having to face any accountability for his actions?

If he even had the decency to die. ‘Paths have been known to commit “Pseudocide”

He was a pathological liar of almost unreal dimensions. He is a fake, a phony and a complete and utter fraud. The one shred of dignity that I have is I left him.

Any idiot (of which I was one) can find this out with a simple Google Search and a little help from a P.I. Virtually, his entire life was a fabrication, embellished or tailored for every chick that came along. He could mouth and mimic, not feel.

I am not ranting about him. I know now what he is. I have proof and can happily supply it. I’m ranting about the people who think they were so damn special or deserving simply because he could slot them into his Google Hangout and Skype time.

He slept with me every night for almost two years and came to visit you while he called me his fiancée – the infamous black diamond engagement ring – and this is a sainted, troubled, pitiable man?  He wasn’t “troubled”.

This was a malicious, twisted, pathological Narcissist Predator.

I am so disgusted with Humanity, Women, Men and women in particular right now… No morals, no compassion, it doesn’t matter what I do, who cares who gets hurt as long as I get what I want. Don’t lets ask a question or try to get at a truth… Good God! That might spoil our little charades and delusions.


~ kei
8 June 2014

Why Do Narcissists Write Poetry?


Put Away Your Pompoms


My secret love, dwelling quiet in my heart and soul, shouted from this page.

My liege protector, standing strong against the world, held close to my Watcher’s heart.

His desire and longing are irresistible to me, as he lies in perfect beauty on our bed.

He commands in weighted silence, the touch of my fingers on his frame and pleads with kisses sweet that burn his image into my brain.

His hunger leaves me breathless, this secret love of mine, tasting full the unbridled desire he makes in me, and leaving me wanting more of his kiss.

Every angle of his body begs to be caressed and kissed and the sweet, low sound of his ecstasy I feel it for my own. I take his love inside of me and give him back in kind.

There are no secrets between him and me, my soul’s Alpha. He knows my heart like his own, my body better than myself. I am made lovely in his eyes, and he is perfect in mine.

He offers himself to me like the rarest gift, taking what he wants as a conqueror on his knees and I am a his treasured slave, when I push him down and demand my due.

We fight in sweat soaked sheets, seeking to be both the master and the servant and in moments of perfect joining not knowing where he begins or where I end.

In sated exhaustion, breath gone with exertion, the sheen of sweat and love, oils our bodies in the moonlight. His gaze upon me, reflects his love and adoration, undoing my soul and I fall into his eyes, lost in his arms, dreaming in complete satisfaction of the fealty of my Knight, to whom his Lady kneels.

In perfect harmony and balance of equals. A yin and yang of souls. In loving contrasts and harmonies. Two halves of one whole.

~ kei
30 April 2014


NaPoWriMo Blog Button

National Poetry Writing Month

See more at the link above.


I’m absolutely delighted to be posting my last poem of the 30 days of NaPoWriMo. What a great idea, though my inner teenager often wanted to flip the bird to the concept. No medals will be awarded but I’m pleased to have completed the challenge.

Here are all my poetry pieces written for this, my first year participating in National Poetry Writing Month:

1 April 2014 – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/01/not-fooled/

2 April 2014 – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/02/i-dont-wanna/

3 April 2014 – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/03/the-boys-got-swing/

4 April 2014 – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/04/linen-pages-haikus-nine/

5 April 2014 – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/05/passport/

6 April 2014 – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/06/gaslighter-acrostic-iv/

7 April 2014 – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/07/flower-child-haiku-viii/

8 April 2014 – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/08/perfect-couple-tanka-iii/

9 April 2014 – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/09/stars-pleiades-ii/

10 April 2014 – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/10/linen-pages-haikus-ten/

11 April 2014 – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/11/arlington-calls/

12 April 2014 – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/12/tenderness/

13 April 2014 – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/13/blank-verse/

14 April 2014 –  https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/14/afterglow-tanka-iv/

15 April 2014 –  https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/15/belladonna-reverse-acrostic-one/

16 April 2014  – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/16/spiritual-reverse-acrostic-two/

17 April 2014  – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/17/seventeenth/

18 April 2014  – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/18/rhythm/

19 April 2014  – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/19/ostara-seasons-haikus-four/

20 April 2014  – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/20/the-morning-after/

21 April 2014  – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/21/stasis/

22 April 2014  – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/22/tears/

23 April 2014  – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/23/hope/

24 April 2014  – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/24/relevance-2/

25 April 2014  – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/25/hello-boyo-alouette-one/

26 April 2014  – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/26/untitled-2/

27 April 2014  – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/27/forward-tanka-v/

28 April 2014  – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/28/oh-wordpress/

29 April 2014  – https://theeclecticpoet.com/2014/04/29/your-gift/


Running dry… the rain that continues to fall
I find my thoughts ever yearning for something, someone
Struggling to make beautiful words out of ugly thoughts
Labouriously trying to rewire the connections wrought
So deeply conditioned
Suspicions buried deep in my head
Destroy peace of mind
Make a trap of my bed
I can’t seem to stop looking for betrayal
The smallest things claw at my guts
Am I just one of the parade
A momentary diversion
Waking alone with horrible dreams
A lover with two knives one in each hand
Reaching to hug me with those knives held aloft
Ready to plunge in my back even as his mouth seeks mine
Running dry… no poetry
Alone with these thoughts
The horrific losses
Rain is falling endlessly
Alone I grieve
The loss of me

~ kei
26 April 2014


NaPoWriMo Blog Button

National Poetry Writing Month

See more at the link above.

The Morning After…

My mind is far away today
Perhaps a good thing
The turmoil in my own life demands its due at times
Once it’s had me in its teeth and given a good shake
I want to hole up emotionally
Hide from the world for a while

My mind is a thousand miles from here
Perhaps a good thing
Waking on a stranger’s couch, a little disoriented
Connectedness that is an undeniable force
Pulling out of the despair I feel
For there is a world in this one

Rebirth, renewal, regeneration
Hope that refuses to die
Shedding skin, shedding tears, shedding old selves
Faith in a an ephemeral dream

You are this, You are these

My Knight of the Couch Surf
Awake and come forth
Do not kneel
Only kiss back to life
Your Lady of the Koi Tattoo

~ Hope springs eternal, the stone is rolled back, soul’s light cannot be extinguished ~

~ kei
20 April 2014


NaPoWriMo Blog Button

National Poetry Writing Month

See more at the link above.

For Sale / Obituaries

One bed. Pillow top. Double. (a Queen wouldn’t fit through the narrow hall and doorway of this apartment)

Gently used (unlike my heart)

Dimensions: 137 cm × 191 cm (remember joking your feet would hang out the bottom)

May need to spot clean some teardrops or two thousand (three, four, five thousand)

There is a slight scorch mark on your side, the right hand side (where my laptop lay beside me every night)

There may be a scorch mark on my side (where temporary long-distance didn’t keep us apart)

Perhaps the memory foam holds the imprint of my body (wrapped round the screen where you slept every night)

The echo of your voice is caught in the weft of the threads (Baby, I sleep better when you’re here with me)

I know I hear my voice there every night that I lay down (Goodnight Beautiful One, I’m watching over you)

Lately though, I can’t sleep. I hear other whispered voices (Goodnight Jane, Goodnight Josephine, Goodnight Big Red)

They wake me up screaming and holding my head (the voices of the strangers that you brought into my bed)

My nightmares stay with me, all day they attack (tell me who was behind the screen, when the screen went black)


Will deliver

~ kei
5 March 2014

mac in bed


That email.
That one that you hammer onto the keys.

You know the one. You’re pissed off as all hell but every point you make is precise. Like a laser-guided scalpel. And witty.
Aren’t we all witty in that moment before hitting “Send”?

I want to send that email right now. It’s been brewing – well, maybe festering – for days now and it’s like The Alien, ready to burst out of me and to smash into your inbox like the Acme anvil on Wile E.’s head.

It’s the email that tells you in no uncertain terms just exactly what I think of you and it’s perfect.It’s perfect and I will have the ultimate satisfaction of ceremoniously clicking that button right… fucking… now.

That satisfaction will probably last about a parsec before “OMG, OMG, OMG!! What the HELL did I just do?!”



I feel like a lovesick teenager!
Can’t you please just call?!

Damn it!

I’m sorry if my response to your lovely compliment about memorable blow jobs wasn’t so well received. You must understand that I’m torn between flattered you remember and wanting to punch you in the head.


It’s okay. It’s not the first time in history someone’s drunken finger slipped on a cellphone or email “Send”.
Just remember I didn’t blast into your life like a hurricane, stirring up the dust of all that old lust.

You did…

And I am intrigued. I’m not gonna lie about that.
If only to know more about a guy who has the cast-iron balls to do that.

But more…

I want to know about the guy who can carry that spark for so long.
Who pours gasoline on a fire he knows will start.

And then sit back in silence and let me burn alone…

~ kei

24 January 2014

Two AM thoughts at two in the afternoon…

Petites Pensées

So… when opposites attract? Midnight thoughts on that.

I may have lost a little “Bing” in the last year but I don’t think I’m your flavour.
Probably a little too cherry…

Don’t be looking for a cat o’ nine tails here, all I got for you is pussy.
My curiosity and our history got you a pass, not carte blanche.

No bounce. No play.
It’s your move…

~ kei

16 January 2014


Talking to you has been like… what? It’s like you’ve dropped a diamond-tipped stylus into the grooves of my brain.

I was still finding my music when we met, not a Stones girl yet… Oh, but you have no idea how many Divinyls moments you caused. Cause. I could listen to this all night. On repeat. You were so sweet… An A+ honour roll boy with a streak of sensuality that was metres deep. Singing to me…

Sheena Is A Punk Rocker, good girl, Daddy’s daughter.

Round and round my thoughts go… this is one of my favourite songs. Anyone else listening to this could tell by the pops and crackles… That melody though? Still clear as HD, gets right inside to the core of me, makes my blood sing and I can’t help but dance. You are like fucking electricity. I’m powered up, spinning like 33 1/3 rpms. On my iPhone.

Memories, just memories, but I still shiver with Antici… pation.

I was your Wilhemina Venom and you were my Peter Gunn. Working on a case, maybe just this basketcase. Damn! You look fine in a hat but it was the brain underneath that was so goddamn sexy. Three miles of legs, hey football boy, Dance This Mess Around.

Moves like Jagger, smoother, better. Do you ever Picture My Face?

When I think about you, it’s music. It’s music and sex and you really were Like A Hurricane, fucked like a record… two sides,  flip me over, extended play… do you think those residence walls still echo with our voices? No food, just drinking, music, sex… That stylus is skipping now; the repeat is damn fine, do it again. I swear I can still feel you, your back wet with sweat, the only thing keeping us together were my ankles round your neck…

My Punk Rock King, my skinny college boy dream…

You were everything I wanted but it wasn’t meant to be… Who’s the fucking moron who orchestrated you crossing my path when I wasn’t ready? There’s that pop and crackle again, a shift into Lips Like Sugar and just like any favourite tune… My synapses fire under that diamond-tipped stylus and I’m lost in the revolutions, the contortions and contusions…

I’m your Wilhemina Venom and you’re my Peter Gunn.

~ kei
21 December 2013