If only he wrote poems for
her like Byron did those
whom he knew, if only her
man took time to put pen
to paper, rather than his fist
to her cheek or jaw or pushed
her to the floor to have his way.
She liked the Byron book, kept
it by her bed or in her bag to
take out to read to **** the
words to her head. If only her
man had the good grace to
speak in such a way to make
her feel loved or needed, not
talked to like something on the
end of his shoe or poked about
till black and blue. Maybe one
day he will changed, she mused,
maybe he’ll speak to her in finer
tones in lovers’ words in softer
voice in kinder ways, as if some
inner fire blazed, not bellowed
at or cursed or punched till dazed.
She opened the book and read
her favourite lines, the words
caressed her, brought her joy
and enlightenment, not like him
and his dark side, violence, brutality
and punishment. Reading out loud
is difficult when her lips are swollen
or her bruised eyes are closed by
his vicious rage, then the words
sit silent on the open white page.
Tastes of metal. Tastes of rust.
I take wisps of music from the air
to try to fill up the hole.
I am not whole.
I ******* own limits,
my own blossoming self-doubt.
I am afraid of learning to hate.
I want to be the answer to somebody's question.
Is life so short that love will
evade my outstretched fingertips?
Water droplets and flowers on the ground,
Hugs that end too soon. Can
I ask for it to stop? Can I take
Do you draw your own lines or
watch them form around you?
Or did you not notice them at all?
I want to be someone's wispy,
drifting to touch the ground,
back in the air with the wind,
I bet it would taste like
Having no choice.
What a paradox.
The Sweet life....
You never shed a tear.
not even when your father died
the only water to touch your face
was from the crystal blue ocean
that you swam in everymorning...
billion dollar collar
making calls to CEO's
playing golf on Thursday mornings.
driving cars like UFO's
Not a care for the world
living in paridise
No affection for a soul
snake eyes on the dice
taking from the poor
and giving to yourself
calling women ******
and glorify yourself
Never shed a tear
don't care about the world......
never fall a tier
in your own little world...
I can't seem to stop the rapeage... they love being forced into *******...only average...beings...but i m a super-dude...with a super human john...need me a Mary Sue...a super average Don...Im sick of flying from town to town...trying to save the hoes...I wanna be a father...A super hero dad...**** helping these strippers..cuz men only love dem strippers..and I see they all in love... ****** all the girl...stealing all their love... so Im just ******* all the girls tryin to make them see...That if a superman don't love them, then neither does he.....
-Diary of a PsychoSuperhero
— The End —