Lisa Rose is an Italian-English illustrator based in colorful Bristol, UK.
Her work is inspired by a million things, but especially female/femme experiences, bodies, and sexuality.
Occasionally NSFW/kink-oriented, always sex and body positive.
You can find Lisa’s work at the links below:
www.lisaroseillustration.com
Instagram: @thelisabelle , @honeyartshow
Facebook: Lisa Rose Illustration
after we got drunk
and after we fucked
some dribbled out of her butt
to the bathroom floor
and she slipped
on the jizz
and hit her head and
got knocked out
and like a good boyfriend
I carried her to the bed
tucked her in
and let her sleep it off
she wakes up
in the middle of the night
and I ask how she’s feeling
she starts screaming
“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?”
and I try to calm her down but
she pulls a can of mace
from her purse
and sprays my face
and the dog is barking
and biting my ankles
she runs out of the house
screaming
“CALL THE POLICE
HELP
THERE’S A RAPER IN MY HOUSE”
I can hear neighbors opening their doors
and a commotion
dragging the dog by my ankle
I try to follow her outside
to explain the situation to everyone
and a neighbor has a shotgun
pointed at my chest
so I go back inside
and then the cops come
kicking down the door
I’m standing with my hands in the air
“GETDOWNGETDOWNGETDOWN”
before I can register what they’re saying
I get tased, three times
and her dog fried to death
but I’m alright
she remembers who I am now
what a day
It was a day at the track like any other.
Early on in the day, the hopeless all seemed so full of life, but as the day faded, you saw it:
The desperation in their eyes as they gambled it all away.
Made stupid bets and lost it all, pinning vain hopes on the last horse to at least break them even.
Some say it was the worst addiction there was, but to me they were all the same.
All it was was a passion for doing something more than dying.
And anyone can be a hamster to a wheel.
I was a regular there, but at best that probably meant I went unnoticed by most.
It wasn’t the kind of place where people stood out.
But every now and then you made conversation.
Mac was a regular like my me.
He at least understood how to bet, although his luck was seldom consistent.
We often had a beer together towards the last race.
Most times I was buying.
“Fuck, my luck’s been shit today, Frank.”
“Why you think I’m buying, asshole. If you ever pick a winner, drinks are on you for a change.”
He laughed as he took a sip of his overpriced beer.
“Hell, I ever hit another good streak, I believe the world may come to a end.”
“By the way, how’s the book coming, Frankie?”
“‘Bout same as your luck, it’s not.”
“Hell, man, don’t sweat it. You’re a great writer. All great writers suffer with that on occasion.”
I looked out at the track. I had to laugh to myself, for it always seemed those so-called losers in life were always the ones with the most hope.
“Yeah, Mac. I believe that’s true with most great writers, but I don’t think anyone will ever confuse me with one of them, my friend.”
“Hell, Frankie, chin up man. You’ve been doing some great stuff lately. Look at your last I read, that was some hilarious shit.”
“Man, you’re brutal when it comes to people. That chick really sleep with her eyes wide open and drool all over the pillow?”
“I’ll have you know I was once engaged to that woman.”
“No shit? You still together?”
I laughed at that one.
“Yeah, dude. That’s why I’m here most days watching you gamble away your last cent while I pick up the tab.”
“And you’re a good friend for it, Frankie. Well, I gotta go place one last bet. Lady luck is on my side, I just know it this time.”
With that, Mac got up and left, and I just sat there finishing my beer.
I wasn’t compelled like Mac to cast my last dime in some slim hopes of winning, only just to repeat it all over again tomorrow.
I bought another beer and killed it quickly. The track was closing for the evening.
Out in the parking lot, I ran into Mac.
Somehow he’d managed to pick a winner and won a decent amount.
Tomorrow would find him losing it all, of course. We were all hamsters to a wheel.
We just chose to believe we were better off than the next sap beside us.
I went home that night and never even looked at the page.
Even the horses were going nowhere fast.
i don’t look like a supermodel,
but i fuck like a porn star.
let me take that back—
not quite like
a porn star…
i won’t let you come on my face
and i won’t be faking it
when i come
on yours.
and ernie hemingway pushed through four wives
and two fucked up sons
before he finally took a bullet to his head over breakfast
on video i’ve watched bukowski kick his wife off a couch
hell, caravaggio and ben jonson actually did kill people
villon and genet were thieves
and rimbaud ended up nothing but a smuggler
nabokov wrote lolita and lord byron fucked his half-sister
dickens, the immortal Charles dickens
and those are just the men, ladies and gentlemen
let’s not even get started about what virginia woolf
the point is for all of their blemishes, heinous words
because some of them have given me more light and life
so to you people boycotting this artist and that
orson scott card or whoever you trolls have lined up next
someone who’s views aren’t yours
do me a favor and sit down and try to sweat out
or a handful of operas
a symphony or another wasteland
hell, try to write out your grocery lists
do something other than pounding out your inane
uneducated opinions behind the safe mercy of internet anonymity
your dull bullshit in 140 characters or less
and then we’ll talk
about who’s boycotting who
you motherfuckers.
A blonde is wheeled up to my door
and I am too drunk
to turn her away.
She is beautifully constructed
and her legs seem to carry on
forever.
I bring her inside
and admire her
as I sing and dance
and toast my good fortune.
All is well
and I think she likes me,
when
suddenly,
two battalions of pointy-fingered feminists
a legion of angry lesbians
a four-star father
three divisions of divorce lawyers
and a squadron of jealous ex boyfriends
all jump out
and hack my drunk ass
to pieces.
I love stick figure porn. I can’t get enough of it. I love a real tall stick figure, with long hair and massive boobs.
My closet is full of pictures I have drawn of stick figures doing all sorts of sexy things.
Most of the stick figure porn on the internet is fake. They aren’t real stick figures. They’re just really skinny girls painted black.
There was this one video I found. I’m pretty sure it’s real. It’s too real for me. The first time I saw it I got so horny I passed out.
I try to keep away from the video. It’s too raw.
I only watch the fake stick figures. Some of the videos have great special effects. They look almost real. But they are just fake enough for me to feel decent about what I am doing.
