the Ponyboy is made up of Reptile Triangles, all of them bones, all of which you can see at different points of the night, circulating in Basilisks and Butterflies around the room.

He will not kiss you, but he will take your muscles and slip them down his throat.

There is no word for what he wants to do to you.

He likes push boxes and push plugs.  It doesn’t matter what you have so long as you let him keep it for a while.

His hair is dark, short on the sides, long on top.  This is his mane, and he shakes it.  He is, after all, a pony.

He looks like a diseased thirteen-year-old.  Which disease? You can pick whatever you like, love.  It doesn’t matter so long as you don’t mind sharing.

His teeth are filed down to points, but you won’t notice this until he slides his black tongue over them and they glisten like cold cut diamonds.

He keeps an emerald in his navel, just in case.

He will probably try to put his hand down your throat.  He might put the other one up your anus.  Don’t mind this, just let him do it.  It hurts him more than it hurts you.

He will put three thousand notches in your bedpost with his seven rows of teeth.  He will whittle it down into about the size of a tooth pick and use it to clean his  teeth and toe nails.

He will not have sex with you.






he tells you while you fall asleep.  Don’t worry, he won’t do it.  He won’t.

He whispers out acid and it foams at the corners of his mouth.  He slurps it back in, sharp hissing the air cold over countless cavities.

He is as silent as the grave as he vomits in your hair.  He hates it when you don’t let him vomit in your mouth.  You don’t like the taste of it? Well, he’ll put his toe fungus in your coffee the next morning.

Don’t let him make you coffee.

His hat has been hanging on your coat rack for three days now.  Time to go home.  Don’t tell him to go home.  Don’t tell him it’s time for him to get the fuck home, go home you shit cunt, I said go home.

Don’t say that.

He will call you Honey, Honey.  He will make you the Queen or King of something so he can bow down and prostrate himself without feeling stupid.  He will lick his lips. His eyes will get big.  His hands will get big.  He will put them on you somewhere special — somewhere special for just the two of you.

Just the two of you.

~ by yearzerowriters on August 31, 2010.

13 Responses to “p-the-p”

  1. Wicked good! Brought to mind an ex of mine.
    Also, my 1st microdot trip in the Hope & Anchor, all the studs, tats, mohicans, leather – everybody was a king reptile.
    Every line in this piece sings.

  2. Fuck, yeah! That’s got to be the best opening line I’ve read since Oli’s “I watch Michael Portillo fake-dying on TV” And

    “He is as silent as the grave as he vomits in your hair.” That has to be the best image I can remember – what the hell dark pit did that one come from?

    I’ve read about Ponyboy before on your blog – he should have his own zine or graphic novel – he is a very dark thing.

  3. Go home,you shit cunt!

  4. sounds like most douche-bags I know. LOL

  5. Just checking Sarah – when you say P the P you’re suggesting the Ponyboy is Paulie, right?

  6. This Ponyboy is a really good character. You use him a lot?

    Loads of great lines too.

    • I use him for the really dark stuff, so he doesn’t come up that often, as I try not to do too many things like this. But I think he’s fascinating just because he’s so brutal.

  7. Dan- thanks, that’s quite a compliment! The throwing up thing, well I’m terrified of throwing up. That’s the one paragraph that I can’t make my mind up about, if it’s literal or a metaphor. I like it being both, though. And if you take it being a metaphor, the idea of describing someone being “as quiet as the grave” during sex is just really creepy.

    And yes, it’s paulie the ponyboy. He’s the bad one. I’m thinking of doing some more creepy illustrations, if I can pull it off.

  8. Love Ponyboy. My fave line: “He will call you Honey, Honey.”

    Just…really powerful stuff. I want more, please.

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