"Whatever we convey to you,
You think we're lying,
Better get real familiar cause loose ends are tying,
They love politics and the underlying,
You understand the half without innersighting,
Better get acquainted with the chakra finding,
Lacking discipline, cut out all that trauma dumping,
They tried to block the energy , there is no stopping,
Collecting all the data that they store like shopping"....

(full poem in link below)

AB - ..Baby rejection is protection,
We were never ever the same,
Self awareness and common sense meets logic,
The human brain can only do so much,
Consciousness electrifying beyond universes,
Thoughts racing into better circumstances,
Better choices,
So be mad when its you I would erase, you are a phase,
Don't betray my trust , it could get ugly,
Make up a sob excuse for what you did, waddle like a little puppy,
This world is a joke and when it ends , it still will begin..
●
A.R. - They say it’s best
To expect the harm
From other human beings.
Its yours anyway
If you ignore it.
Your fate, your fault
Your flaw.

No excuse for innocence
Even if we all
Join this world
With it
intrinsic.


**** that.


There’s an obscene
arsenal of barbs
And daggers.
Piled up on the
hardwood floor.

A Battle Royale
In waiting.
But I won’t touch
A single one.
Not even for the shadows.


Cut me down
And I’ll be shorter
But I’ll never be
Anyone but
Me.

(Full poem in link)

By Abpoetry

That of your own self interest,
getting the weight off your shoulders resulting in some further examination on your part,
Shadow work , watch the wheels turn,
watch em' tumble over rocks and fall apart,
Like soap suds , cleaner modern art,
the chaos ensues, the world is a ruse,
Ya' skin color's already something they'll use  ,against you,
You lean into the tense you,
You wanted love , you wanted someone to Innerstand and learn you.
you had someone , he took ya hand , you gave him things,
he took those things and threw them right back in your face,
Now you want justice for your heart,
You couldn't get it, always lose for winnin'....

"Your true enemy will never leave you."
— Stanisław Jerzy Lec


Your true enemy won’t stray,
Sits inside you every day.
Since your childhood, **** devour,
Shameless, honorless in power.

School, the system, hollow lies,
Every rat in rank and guise.
You’re alone—against the pack
Of the fiends who drag you back.

Filth keeps sinking, world decays,
Spitting on the Spark’s faint blaze.
Satan’s goal is crystal clear:
Cut the bond and spread the smear.

Every gang just serves his call,
Fascist filth and madness rule.
Honest minds don’t fit at all—
Crushed beneath Totality’s cruel.

Death comes early, walks ahead,
Seeking those who won’t obey.
Friends are few—or worse, they’re dead,
Lost for daring say their "nay."

Drowning deep in filth and grime,
No redemption, none in sight.
Still, resist it all the time,
Lest you lose your inner light.

That’s the way to save your soul—
Only friend who stays around.
Hear Psyche, keep your spirit whole
While the liars drag you down.

The poet cannot talk about what he already knows.
Northrop Frye

light splits the world in seen and unseen
night accelerates some fascination
I contemplate the poverty of words
who is doing the autopsy of freedom or something,
a requiem for a country that torments its name
streets don't smell of winter but of loneliness and oblivion, exhaustion and rage
some have already forgotten the meaning of blood
we like sweating not weeping, cursing not dreaming, finding the stain not the brain of fog
we practice forgetting like the snake charmers

dreams look like second hand stores, like the promise of the apocalypse,  a local version of Munch's scream, like an uninvented wheel or the beginning of the world.
an old lady sells fir wreaths in disbelief
too many drugstores ignore the untethered soul,  
a place of redemption they are, unwittingly

here there are poets, there are beasts, gentle souls and blind alleys,
indifferent smiles and lazy hands
and who can hear/bear the echo of that song... better dead than communists, comrades
province hates the center, the center forgets its north,
the all good sequestred against the all bad, no dialectics in doublespeak
truth to be told, there is  no consent for telling the truth
ersatz emotions exchanged casually, Hell is other people. always.  some play Russian roulette with reality, we are the heirs of a history disorder
if my dreams are full of birds, waters, lonesome deposits of the flow of time, I have to wonder
is history a desire machine searching for some mythical proportions

this country or a ****** mother with indifferent hands
here citizens have no faces, but interrupted gestures, fractured thoughts without containment
I fear those who cannot cry
without the meaning of blood history has no meaning or maybe it does, look at the speed of some digital thoughts,  the attack of ready made ideas. ideology becomes eulogy

no wonder I don't know how to end this poem
we need new words that contain their power
what is freedom? who knows, who cares.
oh, an old adagio, a gangrene of our undiscovered minds

monsters unleashed I fear
light might freeze on our faces
and what a rush to be generous
an eden of objects, a living emptiness
all in the name of christmas
merciless the geopolitics of hatred
this is not a poem but sheer rage
when streets explode under our feet
exhausted by words turned into death sentences

We the nobodies, shadows cut from the cloth of smoke and scars,
a fever of sweat and darkness pooling, tears of sorrow swallowing tomorrow.
They locked us in silence, mad minds forging new words, wild and sharp,
each syllable slipping from sanity’s grip, each sound a breath clawing free.

Everything slides in time, the tick-tock mocking us, echoes like footsteps
down the hallway of closed doors, promises that never open.
See you on the other side, they said, where death waits like a lover,
the kiss of a fist, sweet baby girl, sleep—don’t listen,
we’ll wait before sharing the truth, its teeth bare and grinning.

The mania whispers in dark corners, shakes the bones from rest,
and a thousand thoughts slice through, a razor storm beneath quiet skin.
Blood seeping down thick thighs, warmth trickling like proof—
still alive, still fertile with fear, birthing only dread.

He could never hear her, she screamed into an endless void,
her voice a smear, red stains across cold walls.
And no peace wrapped her, no quiet settled in,
only the whisper of madness, and the promise—
of a darker dawn to come.

a world in motion and who would,
who could guess the next rhyme
bliss, hope, and horror
tyrants falling, resisting, raising
fresh terror in sheep's clothing
these are mental wars, fake news tsunamis
feasting in our blood in our sweat in our tension
the invaders possess our minds, our souls
these are reality games, the most dangerous
who cares about facts or consensual reality
humiliation, helplessness, loneliness
manipulated in the transition between nothingness to utopia
an acid destroying the human form and social body
they can feel again after a long apathy the call to heroic action
let's not be afraid, the tyrant is inside and we kind of know it
I look at the face of nothingness, of dread
no power no reason no words
dread is alive too