Nikki

Nikki Dec 2013

Dance on you angry smoke,
setting fire to the rebellious *****
before escaping through pearly whites.
You are the silent cry for freedom,
the old messenger whispering new stories.
You are dangerous, yes,
leaving an inky black signature on not-so-innocent flesh,
but then everything is dangerous.
You are an ally to those who know,
a comfort to those who love,
and a threat to those who prefer to live asleep.
I will miss the lovely gurgle,
the wonderful sizzle,
but distance makes the heart grow fonder
and my sweet smoke,
one day you will float from my mouth again.

Nikki Dec 2013

America Dreams

Only those who are asleep
still believe in the American dream.
Nothing is as it seems.
Although we are still great,
our people full of the future,
our land has been overrun by righteous moochers.
They sit on their false thrones,
growing fat on our toil
while they poison our soil.
Our schools are a joke;
teachers teaching what to think instead of how.
We are all as captive as the sad meat cow.
There is still hope,
we can still be free
but first people have to see
that this world is in trouble,
our mother is in peril
for she's valued less than a stinking oil barrel.
If you have her heart and want to fight,
do be cautious,
the government has eyes that watch us.
Revolution won't be easy,
and I don't think we're ready
but unrest is sure growing steady.
Stand up for Lady Liberty,
cry out for freedom
because our soldiers need somebody to lead 'em.

Nikki Feb 2013

Wooden Bones

Let's say that I'm a toy;
a puppet with lovely wooden bones and long, silken strings.
Let's say you're a puppeteer with extremely capable hands
and no desire to speak for me, only to me.
You play with me out of habit, and comfort.
Because I am comfortable with you.
However, your hands muck up my strings,
tangling them terribly.
You don't notice though,
because my strings are carefully hidden from view
and they leave you without a clue.
Even with all the mess,
you move me like no other and I'm addicted.
Thus my strings are becoming ever more tangled
but there's not a thing to do about it,
besides lose you
and that I could not bear.
That would cut my strings entirely
and I wouldn't be much of a puppet.
Luckily, you've recently confessed you can't lose me either,
so we're stuck,
putting on these shows of missed love and hidden emotion.
Oh, I miss you.

— The End —