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Riot  Apr 2014
amanda
Riot Apr 2014
One two three four
Turn around and shut the door
Five six seven eight
You say you love me
But now it's too late…
amanda
my never ending story begins here.
when i was in 7th grade
i would go on webcam with my friends
so i could meet and and talk to new people
and the compliments did not end…
then…
someone said
“show me a little more of your beauty”
i was in seventh grade
nieve i didn’t care
then 1 year later
a facebook message told me
that picture is still there
amanda
the man who sent this message to me
new everything about me
how he got that information
i don’t know
but on christmas break
i didn’t think anything of it
it was too late
for him to do anything
my life was great
but a knock knock knock at 4 am
change the way i felt
my picture was sent to everyone
i felt like i was in hell
this lead to anxiety
all the time i tried to hide me
amanda
didn’t want to go out in summer
because i knew that mistake would find me
amanda
and it did
it found me in different substances and alcohol
my anxiety got worse than it ever was before  
a year past and the man sent me the list of my new school and friends
just when i thought the torcher would end
but it got worse
this time it was a facebook page
the picture of my “beauty” was his profile
i
amanda
cried every night
lost my friends and respect again
walked down the hall being called names
being judged
again
i would never get that photo back
it was out there forever
so i started to cut
and i promised myself never
i had no friends
sat at lunch alone
so i moved schools again
just to be alone
but it was better this time
a month later i started talking to an old friend
he was a guy
we texted back and forth
and it was kinda nice
but then it got better
and he said he liked me
but he had a girlfriend
but he still liked me
so one day he said
“come over, my gf is away”
so like the teenager i was
i
amanda
made a mistake
we
got together
i thought he liked me
but just like every other
that mistake found me
one week later he texted me
amanda
saying
“get out of your school amanda ”
his gf and fifteen others came to find me
amanda
her and to other just stood there and said nobody liked me
amanda
a guy said in the background
“just punch her already”
so she did
she threw me to the ground
and punched me
amanda
over and over again
but the worst part was it was taped
and i was left there
alone
amanda
a joke in this world
nobody deserved this
this hurt of the world
i lied and said it was my fault
that i told him to do it
i didn’t want him to get hurt
and it’s no different if they put me through it
because i thought he liked me
amanda
there was one person in the world
who like me
but he just wanted what i could give him
so i just layed in a ditch all day
feeling like nothing was right
until my dad found me
and brought me home that night
i wanted it to be over
i wanted to stop the pain
so when i got home i drank bleach
and thought the pain would go away
it killed me inside but not out
so the ambulance came
and saved me
but i was still dead without a doubt
because on facebook
they said
she deserved it
i hope AMANDA is dead
and i tried so hard but i couldn’t get those words out of my head
and i didn’t want to press charges so i changed schools instead
i
amanda
just wanted to move on
but i was being tagged with pictures of bleach on facebook
how could i
they wanted me gone
i
amanda
a person
made a mistake
and on my story video
the comments
i could not take
the last words i read were
darwin at it’s best
but i’m just amanda
no more perfect than the rest
solenn fresnay Nov 2012
A six heures trente- neuf ce matin le grand sourire et un peu trop de blush sur la joue gauche
J'ai senti qu'entre nous deux un léger décalage dans les pratiques professionnelles il y avait
Je n'ai pas su déterminer quel nombre exact de cuillères à café je devais mettre pour l'équivalent d'une cafetière pleine
J'en ai mis six
Il n'en fallait que deux
A midi moins deux minutes nous n'avions toujours pas fini nos toilettes
Il ne restait plus une goutte d'eau, juste des amas de mousse anti-cancer qui s'entassaient là à même le sol, noyés par des milliards de fourmis portant sur leurs dos trop courts des litres de caillots de sang
Le pire c'est le cancer de la vessie, on dirait de la porcelaine, j'osais à peine vous toucher, vous m'excusez?
En attendant le prochain voyage pour la planète cancer j'ai tartiné mon pain de confiture de groseilles, ou était-ce de la prune ?
Peu importe, je ne me sentais pas très bien et je voulais boire le sang de ma propre mère en prenant soin de m'étouffer avec ses quelques caillots restants, en hommage à ses quelques non-dits d'une vie plus que passée et depuis longtemps oubliée
Comme dans la cour d'école, vous ne m'avez pas choisi et j'ai senti que mes jambes me lâchaient
NE FAIRE QUE COMME VOUS ET ÉLIRE DOMICILE DANS VOTRE CAGE D'ESCALIER
J'ai dit "encombré", vous m'avez corrigée et ouvrez les guillemets, je cite: "Pas encombré, mais dyspnéique, cela s'appelle de la dyspnée"
CONN-ASSE
Je me suis appuyée contre le mur, vous ai simplement souri et tout n'allait pas trop bien avec mon blush en surdosage
Les mots étaient là coincés au travers de ma glotte, impossibles à sortir, je ne vous trouvais plus, vous ai simplement servi un café dans une petite tasse en ayant au préalable pensé y cracher toute ma morve dedans
CONNASSE, ON DIT PEUT ETRE DYSPNEIQUE ET PAS ENCOMBRE MAIS QUI DIT QUE TEL PATIENT EST P-SSSY A TOUT BOUT DE CHAMP CA VEUT DIRE QUOI D'AILLEURS ETRE P-SSSY SURTOUT QUAND ON VA CREVER?
Putain, j'ai rien pu dire du tout jusqu'au yaourt aux fruits rouges
Mes seules paroles formulées ne furent pas prises au sérieux et mon salaire ne fut plus qu’une avalanche de vers de terre en pente descendante
Comme un tel visage dépoussiéré et quelques centimètres d'un seul poumon à la surface de vos quatre-vingt trois printemps
Mais que nous reste-t-il donc à vivre ?
La tumeur est là bien visible et vous empêche de parler, presque, de respirer
Vous perdez la tête
Nous perdons la tête
Mais qu'avez-vous donc fait pour mériter telle souffrance?
Chaque nuit le même rêve d'un père que je tue de mes propres mains bouffées par la vermine
De là je l'entends geindre et ses draps sont tachés de sang mais je continue de courir
Je cours encore
Je cours toujours
Je ne sais faire que ça, courir
Je vais m'évanouir
Bon Dieu que je déteste les gens.

Mes cheveux me démangeaient alors dès la sortie des classes je suis allée m'acheter de la compote à la cerise et sur le chemin du retour mes cheveux continuaient à me démanger je les ai donc déposés bien délicatement au fond du caniveau de la rue Edgar Quinet
Je suis nulle, je suis nouille et je travaille à Convention
Et à Convention, vous faites quoi?
Dans le théâtre, je travaille dans le théâtre
Il s'appelle Boris et en fait c'est pas ça du tout
Il n'y avait pas de chauffage chez moi et la femme n'était pas enceinte
Je n'ai jamais rien compris au fonctionnement propre d'un miroir et j'ai mes derniers textes qui attendent d'être classés ainsi que la syntaxe à rafraîchir
Appelez-moi comme vous voulez et arrachez moi toutes mes dents, peu m’importe
J'ai le poste de télévision qui dérive sur la droite
Laissez-moi finir mon chapitre et surtout ne dites à personne ce que je vous ai dit
Oubliez l’écrivaine qui écrit comme elle respire
Je ne fais que torcher des culs comme on emballe des endives, le monde tourne à l'envers, le bateau coule, c'est la crise, non l'escroquerie pardon, te souviens-tu du jour où tu as rêvé...
Prendre un paquebot à l'amiante et t'envoler pour la planète Néant
N'oubliez jamais que peut-être demain matin de votre lit vous ne pourrez plus parler car durant une nuit sans fin votre tête rongée par la culpabilité aura été tranchée
Je sens je pisse encore du sang et ma vie n'est plus qu'un cargo à la dérive
Baissez donc le rideau et laissez-moi, vous m'avez assez emmerdé pour aujourd'hui.

.../...

Je l'ai vraiment tué ?

.../...

Je ne sais plus
Alors j'ai avalé les derniers débris de glace
Il respirait encore quand je suis partie
J'ai chié dans mon jean troué aux deux genoux et j'ai simplement continué de courir.
Brandon Navarro  Aug 2014
Rainbow
Brandon Navarro Aug 2014
We are groups of people
made to hate
because of who we love
not what we stand for.
Did no one listen to
your parents?
You treat others how you want to be treated
not
throwing beer bottles
and whining when it misses their head
not
coming at them with a knife
because a man is holding a man's hand.
We are taught as kids
being gay isn't okay.
You could be a murderer
but you can't love another man.
Why?
Why
can't I love who I love.
People would rather
have a man dying alone
in the hospital
because his boyfriend of 35 years
isn't his husband
than letting love flourish.
People would rather **** us off
than understand.
People would have broken homes
where kids come home to beatings
their head shoved in an oven
*****
molested
beaten to a pulp
cigars burned out on their arms
and hit with beer bottles to
the point of being broken
than to let a happily loving couple of two men
to have that child.
They would rather see
a red sea of bodies
than to allow us
to live.
People would rather say
"******"
"fruitcake"
"***"
"fairy"
and watch their child slit his wrist
for every time he looks at a man
and feels a twinge of love
than to let him be happy.
They would rather torcher and torment children to the point
of mental breakdowns
rushing blood
soar throats
living alone
on the streets
no love
pretending.
Than to let them be them.
People love purple
that it means freedom
but I like the rainbow.
Rainbows have a million colours
and not one colour is quite the same hue.
No one hates rainbows
or the gorgeous colours it has.
Not many notice the differences
of them so,
why can't everyone
treat other people
like we're rainbows?
jeffrey conyers Jul 2018
Any slave that escape bring him back and torcher him.
Strange, but mostly true were slave masters mentality.

So it's amazing, we still, have these slave matters today.
Oh, I forgot, we call them business owners of professional teams.

Who?
Have dictated to their slaves?
I'm sorry players.
What required of them?
When the national anthem is played?
Oh, yes it's America.
And we have the first amendment as freedom of speech.

You BETTER stand during the playing of the national theme.
No choice!
Yes, your master has spoken.
You better listen?

Wait!
Do the players realize the power they posse?
Unions, years ago brought manufactures of product to a halt to settle deals.

Players, especially the National Football League African Americans can HALT any season from being played?
Power in numbers.

Who?
Would be hurt?
The masters of the slaves.
They business owners.
Many locked into deals with a various organization to make a profit.

Cities, the economy will suffer.
All those tax breaks that cities cheaply gave to get the team.
All those soda, food businesses that make money during athletic seasons.

Sure, you lose some fans than many are like fair weather friends.
When winning, they there.
When suffering you can't begin to see them.

In modern time, the slaves have the power.
Oh, my fault, the players has the strength.
And forget about threats from THIS president.

Years, ago.
He played the owner of a franchise in a sub-par league.P
Probably, still holding a grudge cause we see many present owners gathering up to him.

And, what if?
The NBA players throw ALL their support to their fellow group.
Heck, imagine the thunderstorm of losses.

Only ones safe is the baseball owners.
The odds of these players supporting them is slim.
And that based mainly on the racial hue.

So just think of the power that players got in the NFL/NBA?
The steps to the museum were many ,
as you helped me up the  steps ,
views to every room every living ***** of me .

You bought a program,
you called it art !

one chair in the gallery ,
my heart behind the glass ,
no paintings of fine art on display .
My heart a Spector ,
lies a ghost behind the wall ,
to burn ,
torcher ,
leave on the rack !
only then

and so might it bleed ?

It’s blood flowed down from traitors gate ,
I ate bread, long had it gone stale ,
for you judgements axe hung above me ,
and for once was about to fall .
Deaths daughter her crimson lips  did I touch .

A traitor ? not I .
A herotic maybe ,
for her touch was like no other ,
her words so beautiful your truth I could not see ,
though angels surrounded me with locks and keys ,
their sorrows tell .

Give me a field of bluebells and butterflies ..... and all will be well .

We walked down the steps the doors bolted behind ,
as evening cought the suns light high on chimney tops as
my heart found capture in you’re smile .
All the power in one hand  
The hand not of God but of a man, a fellow man  
ultimate power is their aim    
Rootless they are , destroy all in the way  to get their went

Freedom of speech, freedom of press, freedom of assemble  
All right and freedom in smokes, there are bugs that are crashed under they feet    
the people have no say but to sit and suffer
                                                                                                                                        
They rule with an iron fist      
holding on to power with all they have  
whatever the cost, even of blood
  if raised up against, they **** they torcher  
                                                                                                                      
Fear and persecution is their ultimate instrument  
the populations dare not speak  
for fear of death and endless  pain  
"rat and cockroaches" are the people under their feet    
                                                                                                                                    
There is job is corruption, there are married to corruption  
Rat they are to them in blackness of knowledge  and hiding in holes
taking all their can and giving noting back .
                                                                                                                                                                                                          
Though the sun going up and down                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    Revolutionary cloud hang in the sky ready to let down it rain  
the people shall rise to rebel to be suppressed no more.
Jeremy Betts Oct 2022
With the flippant fear of a proudly clueless onlooker, another forgettable observer
I stare out over the breaking waves to see if I can't see a few things clearer
In a sense in search of innocents and the essence of this monstrous heckler I've been entrusted to not only tame but conquer
Maybe find bits and pieces of meaning here or there for this opaque character and it's seemingly insignificant blip on life's radar
They say all of our lives are important and as a whole they are, for sure, but A life, singular, doesn't even measure
On a timeline reaching back past the beginning of forever to the outer limits of what we know so far it can't possibly matter
Somewhere in there is an answer but I swear, don't let it be just another jump scare
I can bare no more, take me outta here becomes the newly revised prayer screamed into the ether
I'm not the star here, nor did I properly prepare for the cameo roll in my own B movie disaster picture.
I've done what was asked of me even when not fare, even as the nightmare went unchecked, haunting my every endeavor.
If this is expected to go on for the foreseeable future how much of my downfall am I going to be held accountable for?
Every battle the same as the one before, it can be torcher but y'all clap with the desire for an encore
Like your entertainment and the roar of the crowd is what I'm just barley holding on for
Then the face of an absent father figure puts a untimely hand on my shoulder, a whisper of congrats for making it though yet another war
That's every **** day sir, so excuse me for not going out of my way to carpe any of those diems mother fuucker
At the same time
I was so sure that I was finally able to procure the mindset to endure my own lour
But nobody seemed to eager to tell me that reality is a relentless attention *****
Making sure to hide the shore and provide only a broken ore to navigate a sea of insecure insecurities hell bent on devouring my core
Can't help but to take a little more than a fare share when there's so much dispair and dispair is their preferred flavor
And that's what I'm in store for, give or take some gore just to mitigate the bore
Remove all signs of the cancer and watch the stock soar, can't prosper dragging a dead weight anchor
Cut ties and wave goodbye to the failure, take out the pinch hitter cause that personality wasn't any better
A life changer for the better, now willing and wanting to keep score as a reminder of how bad it was before
Never again let the dark passenger take the wheel and steer, unless it's to steer clear
Forget looking backward, remove the rearview mirror and note the side mirror as truth, the atrocities are far closer than they appear
Tossin' small bits of anarchy out the driver side window, flipping the bird and quoting the Raven, "nevermore."
But I forgot why for

©2022
Eric Babsy  Oct 2018
Acting Liars
Eric Babsy Oct 2018
Acting like an accident waiting to happen.
They unprotected me and left me for dead while I was napping.
Torchered by their lies.
I can see through their hip disguise.

Again they act like the lying cheats they are.
It is to bad they have beaten up old car.
Trying to help them act to torcher.
In the heat another scorcher.

For ***, lies, and video tape.
They can go on “Gilbert’s” grape.
My neighbors lie and so they act self righteous.
Then they then act to destroy my life with no bias.

No one will help.
I am here alone with the enemy about to melt.
That is all I can say.
Maybe one day they will pay!
Mark Tilford Apr 2017
Thinking of you
The night to get through
Thoughts, they are confused
They have consumed
My mind
So many they are not defined
Torcher
So unkind
Why do they, have to remind
The day, of your decline
The day, you left mankind
The day, of leaving me behind
Ending my time
With my partner in crime
Midnight (awake)
At nighttime
In the light shine
Shadows
Not a figment of mind
A sign
That I find
You are here
Can still hear
When I whisper
" my dear "
Midnight (awake)
Laying here
Holding back the tears
Absences of you
Being near
Years
Of waiting
For you to
Magically reappear
Midnight (awake)
Hoping the door opening
To my death is
Near
!!
Midnight, awake
Jeremy Betts May 2022
I always forget to remember lessons from the last failure, therefore I'm forever havin' to start all over, my own personal torcher chamber
It creates this culture of fear that I can't get over, the chip on my shoulder staked on the bolder that's already there
A taunting whisper on loop saying it'll never get better, cursed with bad days, one after another
Try to fudge the numbers, facts don't lie but memories blur, every passing day recollection gets harder
I had this thought in the shower, your heart beat is just a countdown to your last breath and death is just a new beginning to forever
Should I still follow my dreams if it's a recurring nightmare? Only the loser says the other didn't fight fare
Only the winner gets their name in the paper unless it's a smear campaign so staying out of the conversation is safer
Where's the line between assassination and ******? And what's the difference between an unwanted guest and intruder?
Does a lamb know about the slaughter? Does the hand know it can take a life without being given an order?
Which is shorter I wonder, the path to greatness or to a personality disorder, my dark passengers a backseat driver
So it's all in how you frame the picture, have a nice day sounds less threatening than enjoy your next 24
Who decides what will occur? How much more can I endure? Roll the dice and hope they don't shatter
Matter of fact I pray for just enough to make it to the next day not knowing there's no listener
God ain't there and if he is he doesn't care or doesn't know the answer either
Either that or he to has given up on this fallen soldier all together, abandoned by my supposed creator
I don't make an hourly wage, I sell chunks of my life for pennies on the dollar
Some one, somewhere is listening to the last song they'll ever hear
Could be me, right now, right here, no way to tell till after then it's to late to alter
Masking anxiety with witty banter, no alter ego just another dark passenger, this time he's riding shotgun like one in the chamber
One personality is hard enough to keep front and center, take one down but there's always another, I am just fodder
The split is wether to move forward or quit all together, don't know which is better
Tried divide and conquer, another failure, tried to find a new harbour but couldn't pull the anchor

Got control of my anger just to immediately lose the battle, instantly falling outta the saddle
I thought I wasn't supposed to get more than I could handle, I guess that's just another cryptic riddle
Starting to feel old testament biblical, the punishment for mistakes are astronomical no matter how miniscule
Almost feels personal, maybe I'm part of some sadistic ritual, forced to be a part of it, no consent, held against my will
Little did I know I could walk away and be okay still, no one told me the rules making every move futile
Trying a different approach, going vocal, begging for mercy in vain but hopeful
An ineffectual campaign, the struggle was always inevitable, my thoughts not believable
Not even a credible witness to my own life, how is this even possible?
Well, cranial damage is plausible due to hitting every obstacle head on, brain almost falling out of my skull
Life is the train light at the end of the tunnel while I'm mid tunnel on a stationary bicycle
Rock bottom was the pinnacle of my life, cynical doesn't even begin to describe what drives my mental
Keep it all in to avoid the hospital, trapped lightning in a bottle but couldn't get a grip on its broke handle
Already sold my soul, not to the devil but to the people and the return on my investment was far from equal
The colossal difference was they got the best of me and I was left an empty shell
Tried to fill it but it now looks like a landfill, a trash receptacle, the overflow of garbage unavoidable
Completely full of hurt and pain, I pray there's no sequel but I just saw the preview commercial so I guess it's ******* official
But even before dress rehearsal I took myself out of the circle knowing it wouldn't be merciful, devouring me whole
Besides, the demon inside stole the show and convinced me I was evil and deserve to not go any further than my current window
I accepted it cause it's all I know, brittle and fragile, will I made it to another day? Doubtful, the outcome predictable
If written out the how come would be longer than the bible so just take my word for it so you're not liable
Life itself is my rival, and now spiteful has replaced delightful and forced the downward spiral
The life or death questions I scream at the sky come nightfall are being treated as rhetorical
And there's no capable Oracle these days so I'm on my own to wrestle this powerful, never ending dose of trouble
Stepped out of my comfortable bubble once before and it was brutal
Promised myself never again but it's not that simple, every attempt pitiful

Wish me luck

©2022
Matthew Sokolov Mar 2019
Do you wanna catch a macro?
Then observe them after that?

But no one does…
And make them all just go extinct…

They used to be just buggies…
But now they’re not…
They are a bigger deal!

Do you wanna catch a macro?
And make a google sheets?

It’ll become a viral tweet,
And end up dying by a week!!!

Then somebody named Michel Clapp liked it all…
He used them to torcher us all!

Now we’re watching the weeks go by,
Really Really Slowly…

“GO AWAY MACROS!!!”
TR3F1LD Nov 2023
a[ɛ]m I going psychotic in my dA̲[ɛ]mn mind
or ma[ɛ]nkind is on a deranged ride
[in fact, I prefer the word "humankind", but it doesn't fit with the rhyme pattern]
on an armored train? like that power-cray
North Korean son of a bo[ɑ]mb afraid
of his own go[ɑ]ddamn shadow, for it, ju[ɪ]st like
this *****#cking fatso's order, is quite
terrible; on a reckless ride that's
go[ʌ]nna take
the highly developed kind back
fro[ʌ]m the age
of reason to the uncivilized past's
darksome days
["dark somedays"]
(probably the latter)
————————————————————————————————
should be in a mental asylum watched over (why?)
off my "meds" like some iron-grip jE̲rkwad
[the meds were mostly video games]
in power striking a wA̲r up
an indescribable U̲rge to wreak destruction & ******
[mostly lyrically]
as if I were a horse-riding enforcer of the Apo[ɑ]calypse or a
jihadist supporter of the IslA̲mist new order
heading to a spot with the public galO̲re to
turn up at; I'm highly avE̲rse to
autocracy, but tyrant-like to[—]ward a kindergartner-like verser
half-a## writers, conformers, & allies of usurpers
better put on something fire-sound or go underground
like the Camorra or Johaness Arnesson, fO̲r I
["for I" is supposed to be read/pronounced as "fora"]
[Camorra is a part of the underworld]
[Johannes Arnesson (Owl Vision) makes underground type of electronic music]
am, like when a living victim's hide's being bU̲rned to
muscles by a hob O̲r a cutting blowpipe, a fierce torcher
["torture"]
and if there were, like Ivan the Fourth, a
terrible tsar & a murker, like a hitman satisfying hit orders
[the reign of Ivan the Terrible is infamous for, inter alia, tortures]
for me to take my pick like a **** 𝑓𝑜[ɔ]𝑡𝑘𝑎
["pic."]
I'd, like the wight-like equine rider
direct my sight on the former (scythe); you hardly can stI̲r up
[Death, the pale one of the 4 horsemen of the Apocalypse]
a spark, I've come to the taiga & stI̲rred up
a violent inferno; while in the wilds, I've discerned a
couple of male old-timers encircled
by some guards & cam workers; a fire fiend, for the
restless mind is like a flamethrower
which this corruption-plagued world su—
—pplies with fuel like a "Flying J" servo
don't get this wrong, I can't be bothered re[eɪ]
which kai is fave by which state, but I'm afraid
autocracy is, in the China vein, on the rise today (on the rice)
but, for the sake of a fighter plane
laying f#cking waste to a ride or train
with an autocratic ******* aboard
what is a singular someO̲ne that ain't
a well-savvy hacktivist nor
a sick gunfighter, like Max Payne
to do when the disbalance between a civil society
and a regime in some abysmal auto[ɑ]cracy
is so grave there's nothing safe
and rock-solid, like a tungsten *****
to do to undermine this state
of affairs? apply the cre[i]do of yours
to whatever at which you are versed
that's why I'm engaged in my anti-autocratic rhyme crusade
[previously to this one: "punishment of an autocrat"; "надвигался 2022-ой" ➔]
[➔ "all the worst to autocrats" & anti-authoritarian fragments ➔]
[➔ of some other rhyme pieces published by me]
I might lO̲O̲k to be an evil-minded skate
now, but, seizing the opportunity
like some viced ***** gained
a role O̲f a rU̲ler with
an unchecked political might & aimed
at establishing a tight-grip reign inside the state
there's something I'd like to say
I hhhooock... thooo... spit on tyrants' graves
and graves of their compliant aides
without the slightest shame, I, like a crane for construction, raze
["raise"]
their heads—tones by a mace from the knightly age
bet taphophiles ain't gonna like the way
in which I behave; ones who're enviro-cray
better get fire squa[ɑ]ds awake like a rite that takes
place after someone's life has waned
wholly (a wake), 'cause I get mY̲ hands laid
on a pulverizer with spirits of wine & spray
it on those scheissers' grave—yards, then make
'em go, like the face of someone laughing so wildly they
are about to split their sides, ablaze
and I've barely gotten underway
lyrics-wise, I'm gonna give a harsh time
to a power-blinded, nazissistic go[ɑ]bshite
a sort of tea party which you'll no[ɑ]t like
'cause there's a billypo[ɑ]t rife with steaming splo[ɑ]sh I've
got in the pipeline, like oil, & will be pleased to slo[ɑ]sh right
into your filthy mug, swine, so here's a piece of a[ɑ]dvice
better get equipped with some wipes
and something chilling, much like
a horror game when you sit without lights
and with earphones on in the middle o[ʌ]f night
it may seem now as if I'm a kitchen cart guy
and you're at an eating spo[ɑ]t (why?)
'cause you're about to get served
scuzz, I'ma strike
a lyrical skewer through your mouth & your stern
just like a swine
————————————————————————————————
it is night-time, like the pre-enlightenment E̲[i]poch, but I'm
["knight time"]
like a ballista sho[ɑ]t flyi[—]ng
the target's way, in the open air & quite away
like an anthracite aflame/ablaze
["(a) vay" (Malagasy) - "(a) glowing coal"]
nearby the gates of your sublime estate
a mite ashamed to say this, but I might be ta'en
for the Russian state or the "Hamas" brigade (why?)
these premises are like Ukraine
or Israel, respectively, inasmuch as they
are gonna be violated sI̲m. to a victim of a ******; finna
penetrate your villa like the agent Fisher
[Sam Fisher from the "Splintel Cell" video game series]
which is gonna be made much quicker
than you, a[ɛ]nxious geezer, would make a lady stimu—lated I̲nto
the ****** state; your security system & lights are way
like a surgeon who's armless, they no longer o[ɑ]perate (ha-ha)
'cause I have an EMP device in play; the weather, by the way
is trash, raining, just like Hussein in his presiding days (trash, reigning)
but your cap-cladded daw[ɑ]gs remain
outside despite that & an adage Russians say
that a dog keeper that is mindful ain't
gonna let his dogs be outside at the time it rains
or when some other weather that's bad becomes the case
but thA̲t's, un—like the sign that's made
of metal & acts A̲s an
indication that it's a co[ɑ]p you face
not a bother; like a register that has an
["buzzer", in the sense of "police badge"]
abundant range
of info about a vile regime's pieces of crap having
rank slides, such as their addies, mug sho[ɑ]ts, & names
a specialist, the black-cladded
["special list"]
crusader from the Norsefire-tyrannized UK
in the Guy Fawkes mask strapped with
[V from "V For Vendetta"]
a blowgun with darts, like the pirate claimed
the title of an assassin
[Edward Kenway from "Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag"]
by which I sedate those diletta[ɑ]nte[—]s ordained
to guard your place as I slyly make my go[ɑ]ddamn way
forth like a farcE̲U̲r coming out
of behind the stage
lock pick the door of your house
then walk inside like a pro[ɑ]mena[eɪ]de (walking site)
while touring around
the pretty so[ɑ]lid place
of yours, I encoun—
—ter your do[ɑ]xy draped
with a corse[—]let-like towel
not far away from the room in which you shower, bathe
with her bo[ɑ]dy shape, to one whose mind's unchaste
she's like a va—cant front seat to one whose sight's debased
hard not to try & take; but, given the time & place, I try to stay
away from these broad thoughts like an ex-****-bawd (thots)
besides your inviting bae
like a ship-parking space nearby a pirate-obliging place
["inviting bay"]
I descry your maid nearby the kitchen-dinette; they
both get tranquilized, like someO̲ne who came
for a massage, & chained to pillars of a ba[ɑ]lustrade
with their gobs sealed with parcel tape
arrived a mite hungry, so I knife a slice
off of an icebox pie I came bY̲ inside
the fridge of yours, then eat it sE̲rved on
your high-cost plate
using your silver fork &
your table knife engraved
with a rhomb grid adornment
(some would think you're a perfectionist, like me when I undertake)
(rhyming like an Eastern person)
["ramen"]
(but, in accordance with what my mindset says)
(it's more likely you're just pretty corny)
(like rappers whose lines display their consumerism-governed brains)
(and whose body of rhymes is shaped in an unenticing way)
once the meal's finished, like a rival/fighter slain
in a "Mortal Ko[ɑ]mbat" fray, I leave your tableware defiled, same
as that pious place, in which ***** Riot made
a protest performance
pU̲t on, like that unashamed
co[ɑ]cky, a la desert soldiers
["khaki"]
autocratic swine that reigns in the north-east mo[ɑ]bster state
some high-octane tunes fro[ʌ]m a play—
—list of mine, then start to make your hideaway
[it's supposed that the EMP effect has gone by this time, so electronics are able to function]
look like it faced the wildest rave that mustered skates
who have, like a wrE̲cking ball
a disorganizing trait
towards stuff that's ta[ɛ]ngible
and are prone to territory-marking, same
as what's done by a[ɛ]nimals
or bY̲ street ga[ɛ]ngs
quite an effortful
jo[ɑ]b awaits your unlucky maid
or whoever you're gonna choose to invite & pay
in order to neutralize the may—hem caused by my stay
————————————————————————————————
such a misfortune you, A̲##hole
are away from your glorious castle
which is, like a brutal ******
that you are, looking nO̲[ɑ]t so
["nutso"]
glorious now if you look insI̲de, *** (ha-ha)
you stupid ****̲teball, ***** you, li̲ke bolts
"spit on autocrats' graves" by TR3F1LD (TRFLD) is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (to view a copy of this license, visit creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0)

— The End —