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A cigarette after ***
  gets old
when it's the only thing
  burning
in your world.

When Netflix feels like
  family,
you wonder where
  everyone went.

******* feels like
  a cry for help--
So help you God.

Missing your home
  is second
to missing who
  you once were.

Eastern philosophy,
Karl Marx, Rawls--
We don't know
  any ******* thing,
really.

Pretending to be more.
Pretending to be smarter
than we really are.

May holes in our sides
let others see
that we're beating, too--
just not as ferociously
or as honestly.

May we vanish
into the darkness
that best suits us.

If the light is our night,
may we follow it.
Follow it...
Follow it...
Rebel from our frame.

May God grant us
to be more
than losers.
Do you enjoy* causing trouble wherever you go?
Do you enjoy hurting people wherever you go?
Do you enjoy disturbing the peace we work towards?
Do you enjoy threatening the dreams we fight for?
Do you enjoy making problems for people?
Do you enjoy creating evil after evil?
Do you enjoy forcing others to cry?
Do you enjoy pushing others to die?
A serious message for the earnest to pass on to the apathetic.

---

© Jordan Dean "Mystery" Ezekude
Wonderland by day
Wasteland by night

Hospitable under the sun
Hostile under the moon

Flourishing in the light
Destructive in the dark

Heaven for the accompanied
Hell for the alone

I was born on the bright side
Now I live on the dark side

But not for long
I'm going back
This poem pretty much sums up my experience living alone in Stockton-on-Tees for almost two years. Makes me all the more glad that I'll be moving down to Eastleigh this summer.

---

© Jordan Dean "Mystery" Ezekude
Ever since I was growing up
I've been walking a rocky path
Each long night wouldn't be the first
Nor would it be the last

Now this is something most of the time
I've only felt in my heart
But never before did I feel it straight
Until one cold hike in the dark

I got spikes in the grass
Mud on my shoes
Blood on my hands
But nothing to lose
Skin full of needles
Head full of hope
Time to get back on the ***** (I hope)

Ever since I was a college boy
My monochrome scarf from France
Accompanied me on the bleakest of days
Though I guess it wasn't meant to last

Because I got spikes in the grass
Mud on my shoes
Blood on my hands
But nothing to lose
Skin full of needles
Head full of hope
Time to get back on the *****
I wrote this poem after falling into a thorn bush and getting myself out at the cost of my favourite capped beanie and Paris scarf.

---

© Jordan Dean "Mystery" Ezekude
Define nobody,
label not a soul.
To deal but not to bow,
is every psychological goal.
No problem defines who we are.
You think you're tough enough?
To leave bruises on the others' body
To make a scar on the others' face

You think you're perfect?
To insult the others
Saying their existence is a ******* jokes

Do you proud of it?
Does it worth?

What did you gained?
Satisfaction?
Victory?

From your deepest heart
Don't you feel sorry for them?
They're physically and mentally
Broken by you

And you
Laughing at them
Saying they deserve this?

Is there
No humanity
Live inside you?

People like you guys
Don't deserve to be called human
Neither be called animal
'Cause animal isn't as devil as you

Just remember
This world is round
What goes around
Comes around
So, for the bullies
Please stop
'Cause it's hurt be the victims
Where exactly do
I put my hands
on somebody who
*hurts all over?
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