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Derby Jan 2017
Come on and dance with me
It’s easy if you try
Come on and dance with me
Follow my lead and glide

Slip in the mud
Racing through your blood
You’re as good as gone
Drifting away with eyes half-shut

Come on and dance with me
It’s easy if you try
Come on and dance with me
You’re stepping out of time

It’s a living Hell
Cold sweats, puke, and pain
Your skin goes blue
When you drink the blackened rain

Do you want to dance with me?
It’s easy if you try
Come on and dance with me
As we fall down from the sky

Oh, come on and dance with me
It’s easy if you try
Come on now, dance with me
And I’ll shiver down your spine

The warmth is gone
The rush is fleeting away
You’ve nodded off
For the last time

You’ve come here to dance with me
So give me your best try
You've tread upon my dancing shoes
It’s now your time to die

Come on and dance with me
It’s easy if you try
Now, tell me 'bout your dance with death
Was it worth the high?

Come on and dance with me--
Title obviously a play on Poe's "The Masque of the Red Death." Where Poe's piece was about plague and disease, this piece is such for drug use, namely ****** (hence "Brown Death," "Blackened rain" "mud," and other such references). Drug use and abuse is an epidemic here in the United States. It is a disease, it can almost be described as a plague. This is just a quick poem (song) about the true hazard of drug use. The high is not worth the side effects, the psychological and physiological addiction, the pain and suffering, and the effects on others the drug(s) cause.
(You know exactly what drugs we're talking about here.)
Nicholas Slater Jan 2017
Touch of your skin on mine
bodies intertwined
Laying next to you
waking side by side
A living Heaven
those magical brown eyes
A gentle kiss
from your velvet soft lips
Beautiful black hair
as dark as midnight sky
Baby I adore you
I love you
I miss you
❤️
Mihir Kulkarni Jan 2017
Spreading like ink on the canvas of moon light,
grey clouds drifted haphazardly across the skies;
as we talked about life endlessly into the night,
all my stars had aligned in her dark brown eyes...
Her passion makes her thoughts sparkle and you can see it in her eyes. The time simply passes by unnoticed while discussing new ideas with her!
I get it now
They think I'm you

Black
Is only the color of your skin

Black
Is not the culture you love
The people you associate with
The people you share a bed with
The people you represent

Black
Is only your name
Is only where you come from
Is what you claim around family

Black is you
Long as you are the only one
Long as-if there could be such a thing-the best one
Long as you are in charge of the rest

I am Black because Americans don't understand
An African born outside of Africa is still an African

I am Black
I am African
I love the reflection I see because it sees me

Truth be told:
I still love you
Even if you hate everything that stares back at you


© Christopher F. Brown 2017
jg Jan 2017
It's 4:02 am
And I'm craving your mesmerizing brown eyes more than ever,
the ones you never liked and the ones you wanted to change badly.
But you never saw them with my eyes,
you never realized they had a compelling and authentic power...
Your dark brown eyes could wake anybody up more than dark coffee ever did,
they fulfilled you with electricity, magic and colorful butterflies in your chest.
Your dark brown eyes told stories,
ones you could read over and over and you'd never get tired of it,
ones that awed you more than an Ernest Hemingway book ever did
Your eyes were a mystical dark brown
with shades, nuances and hues that could resemble the dark depths of the center of earth.

And if he looks at you the way he looks at me, oh those dark brown eyes have the overwhelming spell of freezing you
into a trance full of freedom and euphoria, and there, right there
you'll find stars floating and lighting up the galaxy's edge and the center of the universe, but only if you look closely enough.
The water's blue
The sand's brown
As long as I'm with you
I won't feel down

The waves says, ssshhh!
I thought you'd stay
The wind blows, wooosh!
The end of my day
Trump ******* us all
but did he really?

The South followed suit on its promise
Yet the heartland had a change

We would like to say:
“He doesn’t represent America.”
But doesn’t he?

Profit above all is the capitalist credo

Racism: to divide the people and keep them disorganized
Sexism: to divide the people and keep them disorganized
Xenophobia: to divide the people and keep them disorganized

Hasn’t that always been the American way
Keep the neighbors distracted with one another
Keep the neighbors fighting one another
While you rob them blind
And their children
And their children’s children
And . . .

Trump speaks
For those that see government only as a tool for furthering business

Trump speaks
For those that were born into a position of privilege
For those that find it offensive when their privilege is pointed out
For those that can construct legalese so their privilege can never be denied

Trump speaks
For those that believe something determined by genetic or socio/politico/economico construction
Not effort of their own
Imbues them with divine right
Imbues them with heaven’s mantel
Imbues them with a destiny that is their burden to make manifest

Trump ******* us all
Trump doesn’t speak for America

Historically
Morally

Doesn’t he?

© Christopher F. Brown 2017
Crimsyy Dec 2016
"Who would love such a
toxic conundrum?"
I whispered in the early
hours of my existence,
starting as a lukewarm
substance,
gazing into my pristine heart,
my empty core.

Then the fate of life saw to it;
to stain my skin and give
my emptiness a name;
Hurt,
no.
Ignition, match,
or maybe their hands.

I can't tell when those things
had a distinct identity
and didn't just seem to be
my heart twisting and
my core splitting,
soaked in chemicals,
all mixing.

There are cigarette lighters
everywhere you turn,
they look like brown eyes,
rough hands and vinyl collectors.
But I realize I am something
to be inhaled;
choose dying over pleasure,
give me your utmost devotion,
touch me as I burn.
I'm baaack!!! All future poems including this one will be from my new book, Burn.
The only thing they are worried about is their reflection
Who cares if they're dead or dying inside

ab shot for the gram
*** shot for the snap chat
**** pic for the dm’s

Some of them
have gotten to the place where
Their selfie
is their self

The only thing they are worried about is their reflection
Who cares if they're dead or dying inside

I could be hypocritical and say im not there
but then
how would I know it exists
You find your way
The way does not find you

*** shots on the Time Line
full nudes on tumblr
live shows on connectpal

The only thing they are worried about is their reflection
Who cares if they're dead or dying inside


© Christopher F. Brown 2016
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