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Calli Kirra Sep 2013
Gina and Dru, the perfect two
Killed a boy named Beau then went on the move
Maybe its sick, maybe its wrong
But for Dru, that Beau hurt his Gina, and love is **** strong
Pinned her down cryin, made her take it
Then those two lovers came back, as it went
Gina brought a tire iron to his head
And Dru was in shock, but wasted no time then
Got in his truck, set for a man named Carl
That new his brother Jaime, behind bars now
They ran and they ran, those two kids man,
But one day Dru passed out, and Gina was hurt again
So while her baby slept, dreaming of her
She ran the bath water hot, didn't care if it hurt
Slit her wrists snip snip, just like that, the end
And Dru woke up and found her, in that water running red
Yelled at the abandoned walls, "You took it all!"
Knees too weak, he begins to fall
Takes the knife from his girl, his entire ******* world
Slit his throat so again he could hold her
They dreamt of treehouses, bad dogs, forever
But in the end, after it all
Gina and Dru are still together
I cannot find you a token
of my well wishes for the day;
and I wish you well, not only now,
but ever, ever all the way.

These stones are cheap,
yes, they are even fake.
If only I could make them speak,
that the heart that giveth,
is not counterfeit.

The hurts and foibles,
the tears and errors;
these all I have brought to you.
These too shall have an end,
        they must;
and in their end --
        a beginning.

My best wishes again.
To my wife on her birthday, 08 July 1956.
softcomponent  Mar 2014
limitless
softcomponent Mar 2014
flailing in a grave, arabian drums

         arabian drums

'i sing the body electric' / fish-fillet mind is

eclectic, iridescent

finding a jumper cable in a dead-center desert

as the jeep ***** down--

the sound      
            
                            of         eccentric

                  

arabian

                                              
         ­                                 dru*ms
Reine Monroe Sep 2016
Can I call you?
At 2 am I can only talk for an hour...
Cause at 3 am,
They say it's the demons hour...
And boo I don't wanna turn on you
And go off on you,
Forgive me if I do it to you,
Your not the struggle that I've been through....

So lil baby can I ask you this?
Can I not be a love that your gonna ignore and miss?
Can you not carry the traits of these fuckboys I've been dismissed....
I didn't curve you,
When I probably could've..  
I didn't curve you,
Don't make me feel like I should've....

Can you call me ?
Make love to me with your voice,
Sing to me ,
Like Boys ll Men or
Dru Hill,
Back in the 90s?

Can you feel me ?
A chemistry similar like Jada & Will,
but imma need us to curve mfs,
and be ready to ****...
Those who hurt us....

Can you be for me ?
Like a baby without its binky?
Can you be the one to cry for me baby?
But man up because I'm the lady?


Can you love me for life?
I'm not trynna rush anything,
I just be thinking of things....
Your love could be the best thing...
Can you be for me?

I don't wanna have anymore games...
Not another chess piece....
Not another missing puzzle piece....

Maybe what I'm trynna say is...
Darling can you really love me ?
My preference for time is to be aware of it's existence but to not be in it's presence. I am 80 years old today but with the body of an adolescent, so what does it take to become a professor? What does it take for you to follow my lesson? The truth, literally  is the dru wood, etymologically speaking I feel as if I have to be myself in order to be misunderstood and that's what I'm aware of,  the self, the soul,  immortality is my blessing slash curse, you have cash I have an eternity to write words. Sorry you're so poor.
Lexander J Apr 2015
Striking, turquoise genetics,
douse my cries in grieving resplendency,
for my naked soul
weeping has become almost a dependency //.-

familiar devil's hands
tucking me into home-made bones;

conscious, automatic,

////-..f-feelings sporadic ///.-.

I..-///.-..     ..I.///.-./.

I am not on my own,

shambling skeletons, rocking out upon the dance floor,
twerking to a cathartic post-punk sound -
jagged multi-colour squares flashing spasmodically,
jumping and jiving all over the ground,

crowds of pretty girls in leather tops,
thrashing their hips to the beat,
moving in fluent passion
skin blushed, dripping and sweaty from the heat,

whilst the darkness spoons out mousy doe eyes,
trading them in for introspective sight
colliding souls gyrating blindly
beneath schizophrenic light

curdling their kaleidoscopic hearts, tainting them homologous -
rubbed raw from a crass reflection,
hammering lips to robotic DNA

.//-. dr-...dru- //

drugging our minds for a complexion that's perfection.

AJ/SF

#cheekyrepost
IMPORTANT; this is a collaboration between me and a poet previously posted on an app called Opuss - the other poet is called Samantha (username @paintingskies) and I hereby declare this poem a shared effort.

— The End —