They say that team work
Makes the dream work
Well... if that's true then boy do I have a
Surprise for you
My head and mouth couldn't get on the same page even if they were two periods in a book.
And it's far from a good luck. Matter of fact it could crack a mirror purely out of frustration in my case
I feel like my will for making this work has been debased
I can't even find the strength to debate this with what's left of my self, oh well...

-Neroamee Alucard

There's that stinking
Sinking feeling
In the pit
Of my brain

"You're a burden.
Dead weight
Carry your load
You're better off
Being nothing
But vapor in the air"

I've run from this feeling
By writing
Escaping into the page
Expressing sadness, lust and outrage
Into these words Instead of a shameful display
But how can you run from something
That follows you night and day?
Try as you might to escape...

There is tropical warmth
Inside my heart, that
Only an Island girl can understand
Why we eat the mango, the way in which we do it:
Making that small hole at the top, as the sweet juice
Sipped into our mouth, Like fresh breast milk

Mangoes help you unclog your pores
and add freshness to the face.
The internet is changing the way in which we think
Too much **** information, on things
That we already know from long ago:

Knife and fork to eat my mango;
Yeah right!!! Leave my island mango alone
Tourist westerner man!

Not once did I mention
the relationship between the island girl, the warmth
or the joy we gets from eating a mango…
but I will let you in on a little secret
it's the Organic ******* with the timing...

Looking into a blank page is one of the most harrowing experiences you can undertake
The whole thing changes with every line you write, every brushstroke you make
Every risk you take on the page may not always be indelible
They can be erased from the paper but not the mind, aside from intervention that happens to be divine
But the mind twins spins twists and does the splits for the creative... maybe it needs to rest once in awhile as it spills like lactating... even though mine is far from the best.

I cant sit on a thought
For crap lately, so maybe i should get off the
***.
Not smoking i am sober as a button but
My head's turned into rotten mutton, it's disgusting what is said lately, no discussion
Or debate needed. To far is too far like that time i had one too many white Russians.

But, the heck with it maybe the words will find their way into line, rhythmic meter and rhyme and with time a poem will come together like the Beatles and be reflective like a bold and proud bald eagle

This honestly could be a series
About what the eyes, the windows to the soul
Simply cannot see.
They aren't able to register someone feeling like they're falling apart
Or someone like me who can't seem to bring it together
But it's whatever.
The eyes can't see years of name calling throughout school to cackling laughter
Feeling alone and wondering if you can get yourself
And some rope up to the gym rafters
I'll have you know that the eyes are pricelessly important organs needed for our everyday lives
But sometimes, sometimes i do wish we as a society could see

What our eyes simply cannot see.

I'm not one for recreating my mistakes repeating yourself is for the birds like  hitchcock or however that old saying goes
To show that maybe this can be done right
This time, and as i plotted this rhyme out
Like Dr. Doom in comic books i grew shook like Havoc on that classic queensbridge beat
As i sat and thought, what could this mean?
Has that cloud of cynicism left and overpowered my lyricism I'm not much of a wordsmith to begin with but sxxt if this is what it takes to make what could've been great
Then around the corner I'll bend if it means we can try again...