I couldn’t reciprocate what my heart has
— “I have been waiting for you my entire life”
For I am tired and at a discontent. Seeking solace
only from knowing that we are special and just apart,
But it catches on my throat like cotton,
And I know you’d be frightened.
As terrified as Poe to
when he trembles over the rapping,
rapping sound from the raven.
Murmuring: “darkness there and nothing more”
Watching the silver shine
From your eyes divine
We had it all seen
When we were seventeen
Those days are gone
In the days the stars shone
For I am lost in the night
Without your light
With love's debt paid
I've been there before
Throught the Raven words are said
It will be nevermore
You used to be my subject
every angle, you're the object
inspires me to do more works
and ended up with great artwork.
I can be your Edgar Allan Poe
In a midst o critical world
Could be profound
just to be my Annabelle lee
Rather be your William Shakespeare
timeless age for your soul
endless love bringeth whole
even though just a buccaneer
but ended being Arthur Conan Doyle
You see but you do not observe
The mystery of my love for you
Single glimpse from you can't resolve
Every verse was a reflection
of every inch of you
But you keep on ignoring
And only received a rejection
You prefer to be just a prose
Catatonic yet simple
In my imaginative elated world
where our story remains untold
“I have been trying to get laid
So should I try lacing up my suspenders and get my *******,
for another fifty shades of drinking a Harlem shake to the
piece of cake fairy tale of nagging paper trail just to impress a **** pony tail
at the dark alley bakery, vending her own cookie with a tight shoulder skirt to this lions in search of an empire from a leverage point to cleavage, Torching the alley with a naked thigh just like tossing a coin into a fountain in a circus with clown with umbrella about throw some shade until when the tides go out to, you get to know who’s been swimming naked upon the pleasures that are bitter to swallow to this blood ******* roaches chasing strangers who would spread her legs to the canvas and induce seduction as a color scheme……..
She called me sadist and I called myself a dreamer,
She dreamt of pushing me off the bed and calling me a screamer
She envisioned cutting my throat and playing jazz with my vocal chords
She fantasied sarcastically caressing my cuticles just because last night I came in short of breath
She would sell her own soul to the syringe of morphine drip
for a denial shot that pain heals in the prefix of an outpatient rehab
now in the bathtub nursing in patient withdrawal ,
She would tie a shoe string around her bicep in search of vein,
so as to squeeze the **** libido version of limbo to oblivion
humiliating the dark clouds begging for a shooting star
to the pages that frustrates the pen unto the novel that prescribes a prenuptial of black bride killing the reader’s digest and buries their heads…………..so……………………
I am becoming a book.
that will induce an ****** with sympathy veil of beggar feeding on their own horses
to the end of the caterpillar misery is **** butterfly confetti to script that syncs the readers perception
Into the ****** abuses of the needle that impregnates the ink and tells the canvas to go get paternity test throughout the history of melting medusa lips
that made a homeless robin without a hood painting a revolution in this concrete jungle
where dreams are made up from silence thought that can
ambush a hive softy through whistling that melts
a bee’s temper in the presence of a queen is a poisonous sting of a artist
dipping his own brush into his own soul with a healing dew that never bruises
the honey in the vein of the garden is the beauty of the wine
From a vine to flower is a grape in the glass is anarchy
From what I am running from
To misery flowing from the river on
That’s why we are here
To profile the lost identity from the art of war that sun Tzu was afraid of losing his head to another thigh!
That’s why we are here
To profile the slit of the dress that curved the sword another napoleon to conquer Soviet Union
That’s why we are here
To profile a love Ballard from contortionist that melted medusa eyes from cold to flexible
Revolution will wear a mini skirt, squat and kiss the lepers hands for the Benjamin’s banking dump jokes...and still hire Johnnie Cochran for second ****** trial of O.J Simpson ……………
That’s why I still want …………………………….
our culture wore a fabric of circus clothes only dance in the arena like a puppet from the strings of the servants chasing a redemption in the den of thrones getting thrown to the game of throne for guilty pleasure as kings daughters were gambling upon gladiators death to the freedom of escaping their own Sobibor that chopped off my foot in the life of Kunta Kinte
Slavery was blushing teeth with a **** moan of a cigarette smoke
Flirting to the horrors of unshaved groins,
from the growing pains in the hands that planted olive trees
to labor and harvest their oil that has become tears of
cowards staining heaven with obscene imagery of their own likeness
holding their insights captive upon the eyes of the ******
Until our backs were a canvas of whips and brutality, we had tattoos
of pain and graffiti of blood as written the book blue skies
claiming the prepare the way the Lord, judging Esther from a supremacy attire of poverty
termed to be isolated from the world where the corner stone fell into the wrong hands and built a
Tower of babel for the Pharisee living in a glass house
Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal to pleasure
the urges out of the Garden of Eden, Adam had to seek leaves to live with eve,
From a mustard seed renouncing the deception ought to praise the womb that gave birth to the blood sweat and tears to the system planting snares pig’s ears and fears ,
with intent to subdue the cat inside the bag from the smell of the rat that has been suffering a broken rib
We used ashes as lotion to conquer the scratching pains of the unhearing wounds eying the staff that turned into a serpent in exodus to the stiff neck of the system after the death of Moses….we had to succumb to victory,
There was a story of how soldiers got hungry
in the battlefield even they started feeding on themselves
Fighting for peace in the pieces of human meat...
upon pawns that have kept chasing the salvation of in the story that was
made by rats that fought all the dogs and killed the cats is like
Judging a fish with its own abilities to climb trees from the a shadow of small boy reflecting an elephant in the room with betrayal that made Julius have a seizure after gambling with another’s man
life with few pieces of silver sealed by a Judas kiss that killed Jesus,
In the desperate times I hear it call my name
No, not again please spare me
The horrible, haunting horrors
Like a leech, draining me leaving me with despair
Who is he or she that calls my name
I dare not say, for it haunts me
Lurking in the depths of mind, oh how awful
I could live my life forever in glee,
but when the light fades I’d rather die
Oh God please have mercy, I beg and plead
It begins to attach to me
To my mind sinking to my heart spreading to my limbs
Im hopeless, how can i get rid of this burden
Antagonizing, the pain is physical you can see it in my eyes
Listen carefully making no mistake and you can hear it in my voice
The darkness leers leaving me with tears of sadness
I wouldn't dare wish for it on any innocent soul
For let it devour me after all I must deserve it
For it is a monster that I have created and it only seeks for me
This is my first dark poem.
DONT TOUCH ME.
Don't shake my hand,
Don't bump into me,
JUST DONT TOUCH ME!!
For every touch is a hurtful reminder,
Every sound becomes a hightened panic attack,
Just don't touch me.
For every graze of the fingers is a stinging ache,
Every flinch a silent reminder....
Every stare becomes a question of:
Do they know?
Can they smell him on me?...
The shame bestowed upon me... .. .
Don't look at me!
Or in my direction... In fact do not acknowledge me,
I'd like to remain invisible for now,
Don't hug me for embrace is no longer a comfort,
Just what feels like a forced entrapment,
Don't you look at me, for it feels like nausea and a razor's edge that cuts thru and thru,
DONT TOUCH ME!!!
For I am not yours to touch,
and NO.... you are not welcomed,
That's for ANYONE that seeks me,
Just don't touch me,
For every touch is just another agonizing miserable moment I could not escape even if I wanted to...
And the human touch has become now my biggest FEAR.
I've never been great at poetry;
The process always fails for me.
While mister Poe and Shakespeare last,
My writing ends up in the trash.
Their writing style, lost with age,
Their wisdom hid in ev'ry page,
The glory given where it's due -
These are things I cannot do.
My writing's forced; theirs doth flow.
I say it blunt; they say it slow.
Those areas that bless and move
Are places where I can't improve.
So why, with my lack of skill,
Do I keep on writing still?
With such a hopeless case as this,
You'd think I would already quit!
There was a time when I did -
My desk was shut; my pen was hid.
Then something occurred to me
Which changed it all instantly.
If Dr. Seuss had Shakespeare tried,
And Mr. Poe glorified,
And given up in dismay,
We wouldn't have his books today.
So keep on writing how you do
With that style unique to you.
Put your mind into use
(You just might be another Seuss)!
dressed to ****
give me a shiver
give me a thrill
they kiss each other
their mouths pink and bright
tender and cruel
a kiss then a bite
******* brush soft
*****'s get wet
hands ***** *******
drools like a pet
spasms and creams
hands touching thighs
oh they love
all candy and ***
lips like ***
ones a slave
the other her queen
then they switch
kiss and scream
its hotter then hot
a burning **** sun
melting butter slits
a tempest of fun
doing the rumba
pretty dance feet
gawd its sweet
moving in place
what i want always
is ***** mouth face
ADULT *** EXPLICIT