Classic fairytale love is what it was to us. You being the spoiled rich ******* the block and me the poor, lonely expresser who stole your heart as if I could live off the mere heat of it.
We were fated, middle school crushes, High school sweethearts, college lovers. Our closeness judged by the length of time we spent together, and as college kids, our making love was sweeter than honeysuckles, more spiceful than Spanish rice. We had a poetic passion unlike any the world had ever seen
But your love for me wore off fast, you’d acquired a taste for un-sampled  cuisine. That would’ve been fine had I not found out on my own. I found out about them, one or two would’ve been bad, but Six?!?! Do I bore you? Don’t try to wiggle your way out of this, it only hurts me more.
Your voice gets tighter as you ridicule me for my actions, but I can’t hear you anymore. I don’t know you, I fell in love with a love and a lover, not this whorish display in front of me. You yell louder, climaxing my urges, I send a jolting hand fast across your cheek. I already feel the guilt and regret, tears spilling from my eyes, I get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness.
You forgave me.
And somehow we ended up making love that night, only, it was no longer love. My regret fueled me, but I didn’t want to touch you anymore knowing how many hands do so in my absence. Now I thought we should go our separate ways.
We stop speaking but remain on friendly terms as you continue your cheating barrage on  your new lovers. I still have feelings for you, but the betrayal has me cornered in a pit of emotion that’s  steady pulling me down, down, down into an aggressive element.
But we are still friends, right? So I’d like you to come to a show that I’m making, I intend for it to be a wild ride. You watch the crumbling masquerade with painful eyes, the other audience members leave in shock at the agony of the destructed art. The show was a disaster that destroyed any chance at a career I had. You consoled me, filling my head with sweet words and fantasized hopes, keying in my engram of you.
We ended up in bed once more, bare bodies spent as we fell asleep. All it took was a moment of weakness.  I leave you momentarily to doze as until you fall asleep, crazy thoughts run through my head as I stare at my **** body in the bathroom mirror, a body that had been reserved for you. I tried hard to suppress the urges again, thinking of the good times we had and the wonderful love we made, but it wasn’t helping, It was only making my shy, sweet mind turn vicious.
No, don’t make me do this! Screaming in my head as a homicidal idea takes over my conscious mind. She had nothing to honestly do with this! But my rationality ebbs as my snapped heart seeks its retaliation. My world begins to disappear around me as the urge takes over. I am sensually invisible: no hearing, no sight, no feeling.
But the sensation seems to last only seconds before my senses snap back on and I discover what was to be…
What have I done !? Two slits where your cherry-wood brown eyes used to be and the guilty utensil in my hand, a knife, colored crimson all the way to the handle. I panicked in my guilt and got on my knees. No repentence for what I had done, too late and too heavy a burden to apologize.
But there was one way I could make my wrong a right, I could second the wrong. I could join you on the other side and remake what we had. The idea only flashes in my grieving brain, but it’s enough to make me settle on it. I put both hands on the handle, thrusting it heavily into my belly and commit my own honorable seppuku.
Passion killing is what they called it when the authorities arrived. Two long time lovers, dead before the dawn, I was influenced deeply by my mind, and my heart was betrayed by it. But now I guess we both know the extent of a betrayed Poetic Passion.

I'm just laying here in this lonely bed, looking through my notifications, and tears pop up in the corners of my eyes.
For once, they aren't tears of sadness...

Seeing all those positive notifications, people liking my writings, people giving sweet comments, it just starts to mend my crushed heart a little.
For once in a long, long time, I have a feeling that people actually like what I say, do or write.

I know all of this sounded pathetic, but I just wanna say, to everyone, thank you, from the bottom part of my broken heart...

The country.
A little girl, forced to the ground by police twice her size. What was she doing wrong? What was the honest reason for it? Why did they see her, out of the entire crowd, as a threat severe enough to be rough-housed?
A little boy, playing with his toy pop-gun, like we all have, but the police claim to have feared for their lives as they drive past him. They turn around, in their car, get out and open fire. What was it that made this little boy look like a threat? Did they honestly believe that a child would chill in his own yard, fully exposed, just aiming a random weapon at random people?
A chubby man, ever hungry of tasteful things, has brought about a new hunger for the rest of the minority world. How can you honestly say you feared for your life, mister officer? He said he couldn’t breathe on several occasions as you strained the life out of him in front of multiple witnesses.
A poor man, looked homeless, running from the police. No weapon, no fight, just natural fear of someone who’s afraid of the trouble that’s been brought them. They shot him down in broad daylight and got upset at those who shouted their disapproval of the actions.
A church for the community, welcoming all with open arms. No security checks, no guards or peacekeeping officers. Just a church who wanted to praise the lord in whatever way they could. A homicidal maniac came through their doors, sat in a bit before opening fire with automatic weapons. How can you call yourselves warriors of god if when your own life’s at stake you beg and plead through five reloads instead of taking the actions necessary to neutralize the threat? Many died that day in carnage, and their families weep with te rest of the world wishing them a rest in peace. Right after the event, you want to forgive the killer? You mean that the blood splayed by your kin means nothing to you? The death of men women and of all ages means nothing to you?
Don’t feed me that “God wants peace” Line anymore, I’m tired of it. He gave you hands to put together in prayer, yes, but he gave you fists for protection. He gave you a voice to shout in his name, but it’s also a mouth for raising the battle cries of a raging spirit waging war.
You see it only as the “Peaceful” Light, I see it much deeper at my age.  People wished this man a speedy sentence to the nearest clinic to clear his head. Take it off, I say, for if this sort of insanity causes ****** then he needs to be lobotomized.
The list of events is endless, literally, I merely touched the surface in an attempt to shed a light on what it is.
Some say it’s not genocide, some say it’s mere coincidence, no my brotha, no my sista, running into an old friend is coincidence, finding a penny on the sidewalk is coincidence. This is by design, whose, I don’t know, but that doesn’t mean there’s no design in affect.
I have a solution for these plans though, it’s a hard call, but a solution that’s inevitable.
Separation.
Re-build your own communities, my people, and stop ******* it out. Stop spending so much money at the neighborhood walmart and grow your own **** food. Stop living off of welfare and make something out of yourself other than a tight pants street-walker imitation.
Pedal money back into the community instead of once it hits your hand you spend it at fancy stores knowing that you live in the housing projects, knowing that the car you drive isn’t yours and isn’t paid for. Become the gods and goddesses that you are truly meant to be and revive the ancestral Kings inside of you and revive your communities.
The simplest way to end hate is to get away from it, and once we get our own back, we should do just that.
-the justice has spoken