Any song can sound sweet,
if you tune your tone appropriately,
and add a lyric,
with a melody
and I have seen where there is a life,
there is a song
but some songs are not only a love song
that notion was a loop, intense, black and blue passionate song
was not romantic

She was a sad song
and I thought I would know how to make it better
like if I could be the only to love her again,
I believed that everything would fall into a melodious love song
but  I lost a few lines of lyrics
and there was bit melody missing that I couldn't find
and I saw too many scratches on the disc
I couldn't let myself be made no longer
trying to fix her entirety.
.
@Musfiq us shaleheen

Once a proud land of
of purist words
and poetry .
Now has become the land
where the trolls roam free .
They have caused
the Unicorns tears to flow .
Now they will die within the hour
didn't you know .

The chocolate digestive is a marvel of invention
Custard creams are sickly, but worthy of a mention
Shortbread can be gritty, steer clear of the cheap ones
For if you love your biscuits, your pockets must be deep ones

For perfect dunkability, the hobnob leads the field
But prone to going chewy if their packet isn't sealed
Bourbon creams can satisfy when nothing else is offered
Avert your eyes from pretzels, no matter how they're proffered

The lowly Garibaldi is an underrated treasure
A macaroon is excellent for eating at your leisure
Enjoy the home made cookies and the chocolate crispy nests
And save a pack of party rings for fobbing off on guests

But biscuits can be functional, with keen survival craft
A packet of pink wafers can be used to make a raft
Penguins can be hollowed out and used to smuggle crack
And if you throw a ginger nut, you'll always get it back

A Jaffa cake is handy as a snowboard for a spider
And flapjacks are a sustenance and energy provider
Wagon wheels are lethal when they're wielded by a ninja
Brandy snaps cure cancer with a tiny hint of ginger

Experiment with biscuits, they're a versatile thing
Try horizontal dunking or the highland shortbread fling
Keep a packet stashed away for when the end is nigh
And always have the kettle full, and milk in good supply

How old are we all, really?
All the years you spent playing catch up.
Running with your broken legs.
More sinister than it seems.
No patrol, no not today sir.

Dead hair in sink drains.

I forgot everything I ever learned at 14.
Fell down the rabbit hole.
Ivy clinging to houses, pulling down walls.
You're pushing up daisies, at least last time I heard.
Somewhere your mother cries and the bells begin to toll.

Blowing old dandelions out,
trying to cash my expired wishes and bring you back.

Wonder how old you were the first time you died.
I was 7.
12.
14.
After that, 16.
Ask me again tomorrow.

Drowning in bathtubs.
Falling out of nests.
Our baby bird wings weren't ready yet.

Cutting your hair at night, rainbows blooming.
Empty train stations with bricks as our luggage.
Nothing left to dream of.
Green water spilling out from beneath the potted plants.
Life is a domino effect.

I've been living in shades
since the day they buried me in robins egg blue.
All I'm really trying to tell you is babe,

I miss you.

You and your reckless abandon made me feel beautiful.
I felt like Christmas lights in October,
still shining bright, still hung.

And one day,
as you held me softly in your arms,
you told me you loved me.

I was the only real "family" you had left.
On account of your father chopping up your mother and all.

Told me you loved me,
the words I've always wanted to hear,
the words I have made my tongue bleed on,
the words I have broken my jaw with trying to keep
them from coming out.

You told me we will never get married.
Told me to get a boyfriend,
and when I shook my head and said I "don't like anyone" ,
you grabbed my hair in your fist and kissed me,
your wet tongue sliding into my warm mouth.

"Ah, little one. But you like me."

I see you like I would see my father,
you see me like a little sister,
like a young girl half your age you can protect,
can kiss on the head,
can hold close.

A girl you can **** from behind, your fingers in my mouth.
A 19 to your 38.

A girl you introduce as "I see her as a little sister"
while you have my scent on your thighs.
A girl you can never marry, but oh god, do you love her.

You told him, with 70 pounds of high grade marijuana on the table: "This is my little girl gone gangster.
I'm leaving for a while but she's holding down my game.
Treat her right and she'll do you the same."

And I will.

In truth, I love to love you and I live to love you.

And I'll take your ***** type of ****** love over not having you.

When this girl crashed her car
going over 90 mph into a ditch with no seat belt on
and the music blaring she wonders what it looked like.
The story makes people laugh now
and they always ask how it happened but don't wait for the answer, they laugh and think about her body hurtling into bushes
and the car smoking something so foul
no one from the highway stopped to help
even though it was sunny and a Tuesday.
As long as you can make someone laugh.
They all say oh, she didn't mean to.
You didn't mean to
I meant to

2. When this girl gets drunk
and takes her clothes off and kisses everyone in the pool
and then ***** on the kitchen counter
where everyone can see through the glass door,
chains around her like that could hold her back, they laugh.
Ah, classic her.
"Haven't you heard she's crazy?"
One asks while handing his friend a cigarette.
Well yes he ******* has, thank you.
Watch the show

3.
When she leaves her fiancé for the felon twice her age
just cause he ***** better, they stare.
She feels it like little red hot lasers in the small of her back.
She is used to it.
"*****"
they manage to choke out.
Well, she already knew this.
She looks at them with indifference.
"Try something more original", she says.

4.
That man left which really just hurts her pride more than anything. No one leaves her and that's just the way it is, Ya know?
She floats on the souls of those who have loved her.
She sneaks into his house with the spare key
she stole to his apartment just to lie around in his bed.
She makes herself a drink.
She falls down the hallway.
"She didn't mean to", they say.
"Yes I did", she says.

5.
That girl.
She'll **** herself for a dare girl.
She's so crazy girl.
She's a sad girl,
"she wears her scars like a noose" they say.
"What do you know", she says.
They say "she didn't mean to".
I ******* meant to.
I let the darkness inside swallow me whole
and I let my heartbreak ****** me.
I am a fraction of a being but that's just fine with me

6. I ******* meant to

Last night I saw him after two weeks.
He was 9 shots deep,
patron making his breath hot and
heavy on my face when he hugged me hello.

I was cracking open a second beer
while he cut into the chicken breast.

He grabbed my arm and
placed it on the cutting board.
He pressed the knife to my flesh while I took a swig of beer.
He pulled the knife through my skin,
blood bubbling as he said:

"ah. you almost flinched."

He then took me into his mouth,
my blood making his lips and teeth momentarily stained ruby.

I held his head to my cheek and
kissed his neck while he crouched to my height.

I guess this was too tender a moment for him
because he pinned me against the wall and
pulled my hair so hard my feet ceased to touch the floor.

He kissed me with desire,
he kissed me in a way that almost made me flinch.

He kissed me but it didn't feel like a kiss.
He cut me and it felt like love.

When he asks you to purchase a gun for him-
one he is not permitted to have,
say no.
When he asks you to help him saw the serial number off of said gun,
say no.
Hand back his sweaty, clenched-palm, ******* tainted money.
Do not deny him in words,
this will only force him into a blind fit of rage-
One where he throws glass at his apartment walls;
the apartment he pays for with the crime drenched money of his "clients."

2. Do not tell him of your weakness(es).
Do not tell him about the men who touched your inner thighs
when you were waiting for a ride home from the bar
you were never even supposed to be at.
Never ask him for help.
Do not let yourself owe him anything.
When he tells you that you have "daddy issues" written on your face,
play kind.
Do not utter the word pervert aloud.
Do not make it clear that you know he touches you
when he thinks you are drunk and asleep.

3. When he asks you to tell him how you really feel about him,
deny your obsessions.
His emotions will not, can not duplicate your own.
Do not feed his already overflowing ego.
When he tells you "do not touch me", let him pull from your grasp.
Do not take it personally, fight your feelings, quiet your desires, shrug.
Laugh it off, check your phone.
Play coy, know that even a woman like YOU cannot pull off
desperation with a simple smile.

4. On the occasional nights he texts you at 12,1,3 am
and asks you to come over, say yes.
Allow him to take you, make you moan, swallow him.
Touch him, taste him.
Mesh your bodies like a woven basket and feel his sweat pool
on the bone between your *******.
Do not make it personal when he smiles while deep inside of you.
Never take it personally when he holds you close,
your naked flesh touching in a way that almost makes you burn.
Smell him, let his scent linger.
Press your face into his tattooed back, curl your fingers around his
chiseled arms, his thick black hair.
Feel him, but do not make this personal.
You are just another empty thing in his bed.
You are not quite sure how much is left of you,
but you both know he will **** it until it is long gone.

5. When he asks you to keep a safe of his product in your apartment,
bat your lashes.
When he offers you money to do it, smile.
When he whispers he might be getting followed,
when he tells you he will be murdered soon,
when his tires get slashed,
do not laugh. Do not say anything.
Remind yourself that this is all rhetorical. This is his game.
When the city comes creeping, comes knocking,
pretend it is normal.
When he triple bolts his doors- even his bedroom door and windows,
do not comment.
When you feel knives under your pillow and a gun under his,
pretend you didn't. Roll over. Ignorance is bliss.

6.When he spends days locked in his room and comes out smelling of
a box of magna champa incense and marijuana smoke,
stab wounds in his thigh, say nothing.
Patch his injuries, stifle his excuses.
Wet the rags, be ready with gauze and bandages.
When he calls you after a week of silence and tells you of his blood lust,
tell him of yours.
When he tells you of his pain, his sadness, his regrets, just listen.
Fight him in his kitchen with soft fists and deadened eyes.
Do not surrender, even when he pins you in a choke hold
a bit too long to be alright.
Stand your ground. Stare at the tiled floor.
Never take him at face value when he is like this.

7. He will tell you about his surely upcoming death,
how he is close to dying, obviously.
You will tell him how every time you pass the bridge on
your way home, you think of driving your car off of it.
he will look at you with poison in his expression.
Realize you do not know the color of his iris. Do not figure it out.
Know you are not the only, never will be the one.
You cannot change him, cannot fix him.
He has been a prisoner since he has been a son.
Remind yourself he has been behind bars for
longer than you have been alive.
He has no idea why the caged bird sings,
and he does not give a
**** about what Maya Angelou has to say.
He has fought too long and hard trying to break free.

"Loving her was like shaking hands with the devil. "
Loving her was a soft suicide.

A bottle of pills and a warm bath,
candles lit around your head like a glowing halo.

Loving her was a steady shock.

A fork in an outlet and a buzzing in your spine.
Loving her was the agony of a quick snap of a bone.
The long ride to the emergency room,
listening to music you never liked.
Especially not now.

Watching her leave was almost worse.

Almost better.

It was the swift pain of a steel toed boot in the
soft part of your stomach.
The gasp of the crowd in the busy bar.
The realization no one was going to step in and help.

Yes, loving her was surely relentless, inevitable pain.

So you turned into a person who kissed feet and
fell to their knees.
Bandaged yourself up and then asked to bleed a little more.
And the truth is..

You almost liked it.

Chocolate, nothing taste better than rich creamy chocolate.  Such a delight, brown chocolate skin woman how sweet you must be.  Such a savory treat, brown chocolate skin woman.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum