Prayers are no meditations for your begging.
Pretending you're embedded in God’s will,
Aside salvation: The eternal momentum to
Chant a meaning; his second-hand revelations!
To bear witness the next three digited centuries.  
And what if the burst of colors was in my head,
From the crowns walked a plank to confess
A halfpiece of bread, and a wine-full of blood
In your heart. What knees pristine, uncalloused!
As if uncrucifixed to the privilege of delusions.

A heathen! Me?
You're mistaken, my brother.
He is definitive in my eyes! And upon my words,
Our Father sees me as he sees you.
But I see you not as Our Father does.

For when you're lost then, do you seize deceit?
Because the latter excuses were amiss
of validations from other Holy spirits?
Or is it, you're paltrier of a servant unrequited
By God’s manifestation of an ant,
Born inside an indecisive man: crying—begging.
Fate and God and spirits and fortunes,
Whatever fits your pocket, fits with lies.
Lies that begged to know a little paradise.
It's all abstract! A profound persuasion within.
Numbers ruined the origins of your skin?
You don't know? Where's your resolution then?
If one beseechs one more trivial permission,
When does the life of purity begin?
And if one doubts his God,
Is he not permitted to sin?

By the everyday bench, he—above all, is sinister.
Look yonder, at his warped entry hole,
aloft his ghoul-like chin.
Mercy! The bread cried.
That sad naked eyes gazing upon his feast,
Until the dry surface denied
his tongue, gliding through utmost dexterity,
And eventually died.

The blood is butter,
The tongue is hell.

And the crust could only tell
What is beyond nothing before reverie.

The mush, the crush, a touch of reverie.
He's but a entitlement of his attonements.
He’s the lyrical empirical, reaper of meals,
That is only eaten by men,
by women, by child.  
Upon fixation, he's near but a separation
of humanity and *******.
An offspring of all vices,
A reaper of reverie.
What need of you to ponder
more in the face of a Monster?

When the wind takes over—me and you.
I’d plunge a tonic to drag its destruction.
Till’ your kiss hits the cloud banks to insue,
violence of graven red by my cheeks into
a vast depression of lonesome hermits—
While I’m still in need of your urgency,
The bubbles spills upon your dress.
And now, the world is a mess.

The world with pretty closed eyes.
I lifted from room to room on her thighs,
And drew to plunge our destruction to synchronize.

The great pessimist of the century,
wins over fate by the order of all-
Knights in blue in matters of righteously
Collapsing on its knees named ‘fairness’ wons
A century of dismissals of cries,
Descending again rewinding demise.
The image of its state in perfect shapes,
Formed outside prevalent ties, with craniums,
with faces non-eccentric intentions,
sovereign definitions winding up
And down and undermines your ambitions.
New and old and inventive thoughts…Process.
Simple as just. Simple as in breathing,
In and out your end—from the beginning.

The moment we met eyes,
You gave birth to our child.

You nurture with tears; by restless bosoms.
I return by the evening, noticing its thighs
Fat and growing.
I ran to some-thing significant in time,
To excuse myself from the crying.

When I sleep i recall
These three beds stole all my salary.
Since your ******* breakdowns that caused
this relations to shatter carelessly.
I should have escaped from this slammer.
With the child, or not.

You be space out by the window telling the child,
“He’ll be away for a while.”
And I’ll leave the window panes open,
For wind to pass through.
That oughta leave you something.

I'd wish for a medicine
But there's no more cure,
For a lovable child-full wifeless future.

The antithesis of life.
How much have you bothered heaven
just to take my wife.
How well do you know me,
like you know my wife.
Like a date at December twenty three,
In a partial outdated eatery?
With sisigs charred to a crisp
and bottled mountain dews beside a muted tree.
And will you kiss her in the kingdom by the sea?
While I wail out from your great serendipity,
with my skies drooling and watering upon me.
So please, when I sleep tonight…my friend,
will you give her my notice and my worldy clarity?

Mind yerself, man of war.
Tis’ bronze and gaudy, them peepers yonder
gainst’ this golden sugar land.

We ain’t safe - nor the stars.
Cause’ we don't explode nor alight no moons
and feed the darkness our’s-

Quit yer mock, man of war.
Yer caint’ listen when yer deafen by pride
and a fat tongued like muzzle

for the best. Best of worst.
Listen well, hitherto and never more:
Feel the white ghosted night burst,

Into flames, with the flames.
Your dearest flames. Gazed upon dawn upon
archs among the darken days.

And those days, I tell ye,
Are comin’ west and east and south and north-
unequiped of arsenals.

I’ve eyed it, and I’ve bled.
It oughta’ have something in between em’?
Face me eyes then, tell me I

Own two moons, two black stars.
Which of this is half of half the other?
It breaks in two. Into fate.

Drop it boy, this no war.
It’s yer rush of blood to the naked heart.
Don’t go fright now- don’t implore.

Look at me, man of war.
Black is black; white is white; there is no gray.
There is no mercy.