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Oh! What a place to be at
Witnessing a helpless victim of these rats
The girl is fighting back, to retained her pureness
Shouting, asking for mercy, but it’s all useless

If only a woman like me, could lend a hand in order for her to escape
To get away with the nightmare she’s at right now, this gang ****
Too late now, those rats found the hole
Eating every pleasure from her pity soul

After the relishment that the poor body gave
As fast as the symbol of death, the master rat hand wave
Two gunshots, two bullets buried into her head
Oh my! The poor girl now is totally dead

They are now dragging her body not so far
I hope she won’t turned like me, that she’ll find her way up in the star
Into the ground they started digging a cave
Now, they are placing her remains,  near to my very grave


10/24/2015

Mysterious Aries
Advanced Happy Creepy Halloween
 Oct 2015 Martin Narrod
Azuraine
Your expression about generality is not expression about me
I shouldn't have asked...its not about me.
I cant feel anything else in or for this life.
this life must be for someone else.

Else,your hands aren't holding my hands..they are just  holding.
your days are not about me they are just filled by me.
this life is for someone else.
your life is not about me.

Me, I have felt sadness for so long now
I hate this lonely life
I am a flower on the wall
this life is not about me
I am the wallflower

wallflower,I have blended in.
I can see i am not
this life must be for someone else
someone else can have this life...
my life.
I woke up to the pious sunlight of broken dreams
drenched in the faded tear drops of yesterday
arcing like a broken rainbow down empty streets
leading to the septic tank of tomorrow.

Resplendently dressed in rhetoric
silk woven by congenial weevils
frantically fed on gypsum and diesel
weaving verbosity with loquacity
table a motion to make independence illegal;
keep the status quo unequal between certain people.

There once was a dream called change
proclaimed to be the prize of revolution by some
restrained and contained as hyperbole by others
the disenfranchised left muddled in facts unexplained
the vocal ambivalence of political unrest is to blame
as Union Jacks march on Glasgow with steel toe-capped boots
and in the George Square riots the Saltire burns in flames
as history repeats itself
and the thistle of Scotland is ripped by her roots
the first act as a welcome back
into the fold of the commonwealth .
A sad day in the history of Glasgow...
Fall from grace
That which was never given
Clash with the Titan
Riding the eyes of the storm
Resplendent in ridicule
and washed in wasted rage.

Wrapped in rabid loneliness
Comforted by faithless poison
Purchased from a concrete German shell
Foaming at the mouth of contention
A stooping mottled scar for a face
and crumpled by a decade of abuse.

Such is the light that shines for some
Casting long deep shadows for others
Flickering in a wind licked alleyway
Caked in ***** and discarded toiletries
Shifting vision between dusk and dawn.

The hidden spectres just a heartbeat away
The gloss of a French pastry and the smell
of freshly ground coffee a fingers tip away
Searching for a random act of kindness
or some spare coin to buy the river man a liquid confession so that for a moment,
just a moment, to be human again
soak up the passing laughter and 1st world problems of the cities streets
Ignorant to the roads that lead to nowhere.
She just wants to be fancy
Uneducated fancy
Frozen fancy
Teach her till the dawn what it means
What don't we all learn something
Formless fancy women
You don't know one **** thang
Except for how to be fancy
Electric spider across your back
Little hour glass
I bet you can tell the time
Stand right next to me
Trust that you don't know a thang
Why aren't we all fed up
With the type of fancy you portray
Open up your mind
She don't know one **** thang
Except for how to be fancy
And the image won't go away
Eyes,lips, ears, and nose
Every curve memorized
Take your time and she'll take you away
She aint nothing but fancy
And that's the only thing that matters
So give her what she wants and wa it
She'll let's you taste her fancy ways
Copyright Matthew Marquis Xavier Donald 10/19/15
 Oct 2015 Martin Narrod
kairos
Is it just me,
or are mirrors weird?

They reflect who you are;
no;
they reflect the opposition
of your composition

Do reflections reflect
who you really are?
Or do they give
a false impression?

The flat surface
reflects
your reflection

Put your finger to the mirror
and if your fingers touch,
it is double sided.
I do say, indeed, mirrors are strange.

Why do mirrors bounce light of my reflection?
Why does my reflection reflect?
Is it trapped in,
or,
is it trapped out?

Is there a parallel world
in which, mirrors are portals?

Is my reflection staring at me,
wondering the same things?

What if the glass blocks me out of the parallel reality,
or rather,
protects me from the harsh, gray reality?
 Oct 2015 Martin Narrod
kairos
time                                                                          

to play        

with feelings                              

☺︎    

time                                                                        

to *****                

with                                                      
their  

thoughts                                

and make them                                                                    

feel                      
useless    

a                                  
n                              
d                            

worthless                                                    
☺︎
time to play with words.
 Oct 2015 Martin Narrod
kairos
mar
 Oct 2015 Martin Narrod
kairos
mar
they say his eyes are like the sea,
having difference of depth

different thoughts on different levels
darker, the deeper you go

some say that his eyes are like the moon
reflecting the sun's light

beautiful, round, and celestial;
always there,
staring back at you.

some say his eyes are the most truthful parts about him.
they say eyes don't lie,

the gaze must waver when they lie,
they say.

she says his eyes are dreamy.
the color of the hellfire,

or vibrant as obsidian.

people always tell me,
fall in love with the eyes that you would never tire from looking at.
fall in love with the person that has those eyes.

why do your eyes hold my stare
when you're obviously lying?

I still like you, your lips shaped.
then coming forward with arms stretched.

and enveloping me in safety and warmth.

your eyes were like anyone else's.
they were nothing special,
but the camera of my world.

your eyes didn't mean much to me,
just something i avoided looking at.

it made me nervous,
in a good kind of way.

but over time,
as you started to fray from my grasp,

i looked into the devils of your pupils.
the sin behind it,
the black lies,
mangled with white pure truths.

mixing into a gray
inseparable
that just blackens eventually.

where truths become lies,
you convince yourself that lies are truths;

your eyes staring,
but your thoughts lying.

your eyes were never the moon, nor the sea.
they just said what i wanted to hear,
but never
the quintessence of truths.
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