They cannot ignore us anymore.
They cannot **** us all.
They cannot tear us apart and treat us like garbage on the side of a busy street.
They throw tear gas and gunfire.
Bullets ricochet.
We still keep fighting.
They cannot take away our rights without a fight.
We stand together as one nation fighting for what is ours.
We will never back down.
We will never fall silent.
Police brutality, dictatorship, basic human rights.
We need to be heard.
Our voices will ring.

You, my dear, are made of flesh and bone and hopes and dreams just like the rest of us; you are no automaton, no cyborg. A mere tuning fork has more metal in it than you.

But I’ll still make you sing, my dear, my mouth coaxing soft moaning melodies from your lips. These songs are lovely, lustful little testaments to the intensity of my longing, they echo off your bouts and reverberate about your waist.

Staccato gasps and a gentle crescendo of your moans follow as I bow my tongue along your neck, plucking at your curves and ******* your lengths.

I’m no archer but I see a quiver in front of me as I pull at a string.

My chin piece is the bottom of your *** and together we play a masterpiece, your breath’s ragged cadence accompanying a mezzo-piano scream. We go on like this repeatedly, each dal segno al coda pulling one more riff out of you. Eventually my strokes and your moans harmonize and we crescendo, fortissimo,

bravo.

I used to believe
that I would
never
be able to
move on...

But whenever I woke up
this morning,

I didn't even
think about
**you.

I can't see me any more
or remember who I was
or understand what I am
or build and equate a plan
of what I will become.
Lost within,
desperate without.
Slipping with hourglass grains
getting squeezed though
an unavoidable hole.
I'm sinking,
to where,
who knows?
The walls offer no purchase
I'm falling.
Will it hurt when I land?

I will not mortalize them by name or rhyme
Or paint their character with prose
they are the spiteful, bitter ones
the same ones everybody knows