January 17, 2009


  1. It gives me ultimate pleasure to let down a man.
    Am I sadistic in that sense? Maybe.
    But there’s just something.. About a man coming up to you.. In most cases with a drink in his hands.. Saying “can I buy you a drink?” or… “Hey beautiful.” 
    There’s something about it.. That disgusts me.. I don’t feel flattered. I don’t feel sexy.
    Maybe it is the smell of alcohol on his breath?
    Maybe it is the fact that he probably approached hundreds of girls before.
    Maybe it is the cliche pick up line.
    Maybe it is the fact that I am not there to be “picked up”. Not there to “score”.
    Maybe it is how I see it. Such a man thinks himself so beyond rejection.. So beyond  the realm of girls being simply not interested. He walks up to me with that ego.. With that smile.. With that flirty attitude that puts the lights off in me.. And he thinks he’s doing me some sort of favor? Recognizing me in a crowd? A gallery, a concert, a club, a lecture.
    I am here for the art.
    I am here for the company.
    I am here for the music.
    I am not here to be picked up by filth.
    So yes. It does give me pleasure to say “no thanks”.
    It does give me great pleasure not to be interested.
    I am winning against that race of man (filth) when I am rejecting him. I am winning, because I will not let a man like that control me, infest my life,  nor affect my good time.
    No thanks. I am not interested in men. I am not interested in men like you, especially. With your egos and your hungry cocks.
  2. You disgust me.
    You are the definition of filth.
    I wonder how many times you have done it. I wonder, when do you leave the bus? When you have had enough? Or when the girl notices what you are doing? Or when your manhood start to expand?
    You made me sick to my stomach.
    Not when you did it to me because I knew what you were doing and I knew how to stop you.
    But when you did it to that other girl.. She didn’t notice you were sticking too close.. Her face was in the other direction, the bus was so crowded.. She thought you had to be that close..
    You moved closer when there were passers by.. You didn’t need to move that close.. You rubbed that organ you love so much on her body.. She did not notice.. She did not know.. She thought it was an accident.. She was so busy keeping the contents of her bags from flying out to notice the filthy thing you were doing..
    What did you do it for?
    Did it give you pleasure to rub your sleeping organ on unknowing girls?
    Did it provoke it later on when there was no harm in it getting up?
    Did you stroke it thinking of them?
    Just the thought of it makes me sick. The way you had her between two arms.. The way you pushed your pelvis closer to her body.. I felt like I should save her.. I wish I had.. She was so innocent.. So sweet.. Her curly blonde hair.. Her voice.. How she thanked the driver so cheerfully when she left the bus.
    How could you?
    How could you stain that innocence..? How can you live with yourself?
    I wonder if filth knows it’s filth. I wonder if you realize you’re a lowlife. A disgusting being. 

*a type of men.

5 Responses to “Filth*”

  1. highrevver Says:

    chop off his dick!

  2. Ruby Woo Says:

    Did you witness the second part?

  3. cruxine Says:

    Yeah… Unfortunately.

  4. KTDP Says:

    somebody woke up the wrong side of bed …..

    good poem none the less.

    and yes men are pigs …. but then again women poop, fart and bleed spontaneously roughly once a month …..

  5. cruxine Says:


    I said some men… :/
    Don’t take it personal :p
    A poem, huh? I didn’t intend that hehe

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