Both of my many
Seriously, the thanks
Of oddity, set to language
With a single hope, to simply ask...

Silence, I can afford
With only, itself...
Cause curious, the offending word
Is love, with an instinct for wealth

Paradise, was a fascinated clue
Almost and authority, undue?
Shared with poises shadow
Claiming only myself, as voice accrued

See...
Being the fate of another
Time, is a world, before anarchy
Ought in my step's, divine is a lover...

When conversation
is about competition
or condemnation
rather than contemplation
we all lose.

A PLACE

We
lived
in a society where  
false
is welcomed.
And
Where people
flee from
the
real.

A society
where truth
is enslaved
while deceit reign.
A world where
sages are referred
as mad.

And foolery
rule. An
environment
where love's
deprecated while
lust is summoned.

A place
where caring
is manipulated
as envy.

We lived in a
world where
peace is gradually becoming history,
making same
mistakes as ancestry.

But my dreams
is of a place where there'd be a
new world on planet earth, even
before the
very end of time.

A place as
peaceful as
Heavenly
where equality
lives among
mankind. When superiority or
inferiority is
mummified.

A world where
love will be only language we
all speak and comprehend.

#c9_fm

I reek of the stench of fear as I gaze upon the tall, slender figure before me. He towers above me while I oppose him, weak and frail in comparison.

He takes his stance whilst the adrenaline rushes through my veins and I feel my body shiver in sheer terror.

His fists are quick to meet with my face with such turbulent, burning anger.
My head soon lands harshly on the canvas, and mere seconds pass before hammer fists rain down on me at my most vulnerable state.

The gore pours down and I taste the metallic warmth of my own blood,
the smell of carnage reaches my nose as I begin to embrace this elation.
As the abuse boils my blood and sickens my soul down to its core, I tell myself, “let them RAIN! RAIN! RAIN!"

I am once again the victim of this heartless cruel world.

As the trauma settled within my brain,
it felt like waves were crashing against my skull.
I barely held on to my consciousness while hammer fists continued to rain down on my face.
What is this creed that makes him believe that he must make me bleed, and bleed, and bleed?

Every time he sends a blow towards my liver, I feel my lungs ache for air, and I miss the taste of the wind.
Nevertheless, he refuses to slow down.
His attacks are relentless, as though he must settle this cold dispute by any means, even if it calls for him to break my bones.
My body slams against the concrete floor, he crushes me to my core, and I see my friends walking away from the corner of my eye.
If they weren't heartless, they would have checked if I’m okay
Does anyone know the struggle I endure?
I stomach the pain and swallow my pride,
I let go, and my eyes roll back as the warm blood trickles down my face.

As the trauma subsides and the dust settles, I question if he wished death upon me, or for me to lay here and cry in torment upon these wet white tiles.
I look up towards him as he just smiles,
A chunk of cold, unfeeling ice sits instead of his heart beneath his ribs.
I sit in my now cold blood and ponder,
My emotions rushing with turbulent power,
I am left to wonder if he had beaten me for a reason, or for the thrill and elatio

religion was never the truth,
the difference between good and evil,
a meaning of an existence,
the truth within oneself,
when you can’t identify your truth you try to seek it from outside,
someone’s belief is not worth an acceptance of truth for one’s being,
don’t let a concept undermine your truth,
ideas that split humans into groups,
fighting with one another,
superiority is the quality of evil,
harmful morals,
the Evil won some fights throughout societies.

Sometimes diplomas are deleterious to a degree
it seems the cap, gown, and certificate holder
buys a telescope and starts using it to see
loses the ability to write freely and bolder
becomes particularly adept at speaking in snark -
so much easier than personally and intimately connecting -
preferring critique to finding and being a creative spark
becoming expert not so much from practice as from correcting.

I knew a man who used to be my friend
until he acquired his PhD
then he began to depart and ascend
too high for him to see little ole me
I knew a few too who were doctors and buddies
whose degrees didn’t pedestal them
who didn’t let their higher studies
erase their humor, make their hearts go dim.