I could have been dead!
Would that I, be dead in my head?
No, I be dead in thine bed.
Would not that you care that I am dead?
Poppycock and dead!
I am never dead, I am only my head.
Not dead so to say, that you take it away.
I am dead without thine head.
Dead! Better dead than red.
Red, dead in your bed covered in red.
I said I was dead, so leave me in bed.
Dead in your eyes, dead in my bed.
Dead, like dregs.
Dead in a dreg.
Covered head to toe in clay.
Making my way, in heaven to stay.
For you my babe, I am dead.
My white privilege is being proud to be black
I am white so I can be over the top and outspoken about being black
I can say whatever I want about whiteness
It is self criticism
nothing to do with anyone else's assumptions
black lives matter more than white lives
is the mantra I use to self medicate
pick yourself up by the bootsraps
making black children excited
instead of scared
from the trauma of a racially imbalanced
world of whiteness
in a world that legally denies its traumatic process upon its victims
a society structured on the denial
that whiteness is a mental illness
Within fluttered winks and falling tears
shaking hands grasp on
porcelain for forgiveness
He or Her
whichever one prefers
Draws towards a shattered mirror.
A Face, Flush and Pale
Sanity, long set for sail
Into the storm. A storm ment to flush not rinse.
A swirl taking with it skin, vomit and blood
They begged to get rid of it
But refused to look back and fix it.
As the narrator said, shaking hands grasp porcelain for forgiveness. Tis be true.
With knuckles black and blue
and complexion changing hue
The sickness of self, hovers above the zenith of reality but stagnant in a hole of the One who has dibs on OBSCURITY.
Repeating to self
"This is the sickest form of past aggressive grieving"
With a thousand mile stare into the shattered mirror, one notices a hundred forms of self. All are gushing from the eyes and spewing from the mouth.
Nostrils nothing more than mangled cartilage. Bashed by the perceptual reflection of a late night monstrosity. Hundred times over, knees begin to buckle. but those shaking hands. Those shaking hands grasp to the porcelain for forgiveness.
Breaking news for the commonwealth..
or shall we say, the "Common Health"
Nobody to help this poor soul
Caged in catatonic infamy, not unlike the wrapping of wrists where fists are broken from being kissed. Kissed by Love and Doom. All cheer for the bride and groom, falling hatred seeping into spilt Will and separated spirit. Shhhhh only evil will hear it.
Psychotic laughter humming within like rising vibration. Chaotic Clutching to consciousness like a tormented soul. Reality based filling... Mouths grimacing at the foul stench left in the sink. A darker side hides, saying Drink Drink...Drink!
but lets make things clear, SHALL WE
There is no mirror!
There is fear in the dumbest (unaware) form,
The Form of Deformity,
a sweet link to robotic conformity. But after that Death Dance let us all raise a glass! and TOAST, to the brightest buyer in technological advancements! thundering applause to follow, carving the dimwitted completely hollow. The clever and bleak shall wear their skin and do a dance in the creek. splashing and slashing for the crowd to play hide and seek.
LETS MAKE THINGS CLEAR!!!
Existence is "I"
There are no games
No DILITED SPIRIT
No REASONS TO FEAR IT
NO SUBSTANCE OR AFFLICTION
NO VICTIMS OR ADDITIONS
NO PEACE, WAR, OR VENOM
Allow me to make things clear...
"There Will Be Blood"
I used to mock couples for their PDA
I used to sneer as they indulged in affectionate displays.
Being self-sufficient was all I used to enjoy
And then, one day, along came this boy...
Just like that, I was completely enthralled
Made a hypocrite by my own free-fall.
Suddenly the world was primary and pastel
Like every year I'd lived was drab gray scale.
I was never the one to compliment a beautiful day
Yet somehow the days are gorgeous now, sunshine or rain.
I'm not the kind who bothers with smiles for smiling's sake
But when I'm talking to him I'm smiling till my cheeks ache.
I used to glare at all that PDA
That one couple I just had to shoo away.
They all still get the same treatment
Though now it's because fuck long distance.
I'm jittery as though my blood is made of caffeine
I'm grinning like I just swallowed a goddamn sun beam
I'm excited as though I just won the lottery
Because this lovely boy has made a fucking fairy-tale of me.
Its amazing what just an object can do
Depending on who it was from
And what it means to you
Given to me is a borrowed gift I treasure
It is not a car
But merely a
It may seem silly
It may seem odd
That a sweater can do so much
But along with the
And the love
I would rather have your sweater
Then any of the other electronic things