I am your jungle;
You slither all over me,
climbing my trees,
suffocating my roots.

You've taught me
walking graffiti is
not welcome here,
So I do not know
why you keep me near;
I defy all your rules.

Let me be street art
for everyone to admire,
but let no one walk me;
I am a dead end.

I will capsize you,
I will exhaust every
molecule of yours
until you miss the excuse
of a heart once residing
in your bones,

And you will know how it feels
when your hands still
clutch at empty air
because I will not be there.

- Crimsyy

Rollin up at school
Mates and I loving to fool
Graffiti on the walls
Bullies decking the halls
An out-of-place Christmas
Dis this ***** I'll dish licks for spits
Revenge counteracted and counters counteract
Mother ******* follow law of Chemistry: react
And that's that, it's a fact
Evil reigns supreme
I'm evil too yet Devils be
Hating on me
You see?

There's no justice just depression
No real law just suppression
It's hard to imagine
That a devils invention
Is invested in protection
Law
And Order for Chaos
Does it work?
Nope
I walk down the street see six ******* blazing dope
Walk into school toilets and herb is in the air
******* blow smoke in teachers ears
They don't care
There's no prayer to save those so gone
The world is a cruel place and erases those when they are alone

So we band together
Rule of strength and defence
Is for us altogether
Never sharing secrets in our minds we be keeping
We stay awake to 8 past 8 in the morning, no sleeping
No rest for the wicked
I guess I'm just sick of *******
Because every lyric I spit
Falls ******* deaf ears
Still listening?

I reminisce blue skies
That I see through crystal clear tears
No solution or absolution to resolve this malicious premonition
The worlds in despair
No repair
Disrepair
Fire flashing embers swirl and smoke is in the air

We destroy and conquer and thrive off death
Fighting others killing hope until we pass our final breath
If this is a test
God we failed
Eons ago
I'd like to rest peacefully now
If you don't mind
I just want you to know
Action brings reaction, reaction brings pain
Don't question the truth
It's ruthless but we ****** in the brain
Insane
Now if you don't mind
I got business to attend to
And a brand new life to find
Or a new rap to recite

We're doomed, we failed,
Good didn't prevail
Evil conquered long ago
And sanity set sail

To somewhere better,
Perhaps another land
Maybe there peace and hope
Is something people understand

And prosper from it

Feelings?
feelings fade
everything fades
scars fade
graffiti fades
everything seems to fade
but everything seems to also stay the same.
Feelings still seem to be there at least a trace
Sometimes the heart still beats fast
Or
You try to replace the feeling of love with hate but still love
everything may go away but there are still traces
Graffiti seems to go away
You may not see it but it left a mark and is really truly still there
Everything seems to fade
but is truly still there.
  



L.S.

I suppose I could plead innocent to this crime,
But that would be lying.
After all, I knew exactly what I was doing
Each and every time I took you apart,
Ripping your self-esteem and sense of security down
With every cruel word I threw at you,
Like a game of darts with your heart as the target.

You tell me that despite having broken up with me,
You can’t possibly forget me because all your demons have my voice.
I suppose you hoped that would spark remorse within me,
And serve as some sort of proof that there’s evidence of what I’ve done.
But darling, I don’t think you understand;
That was my intention all along:
To leave an imprint in your life.

I’ve always been enamored by graffiti on public property.
I suppose destroying you
Was my way of imitating that;
Leaving my mark on something that
Wasn’t mine to begin with, nor to end with.

If it’s any consolation,
I’m not proud of the person I’ve become.
But at this point I’m afraid
It’s too late to try to change.

i saw you the way an artist does
brilliant and bathed in holy fire
your scars
the strokes of a brush
your anatomy every medium
your smile
a photograph in
black and white
your lips
oil on canvas
your eyes
watercolor on paper
your hair
texture and dimension
on a portrait
you and i
an unfinished graffiti
an unorthodox art form
fleeting and reflective
but a masterpiece
nonetheless

Talk to me about flowers and fires.
The orchids
of our collected youths
are bleeding into rose water
and being smashed into books.
For a little look
like a picture stretched under a slide
hiding, elfin to run back away from us.

In the hearth of us we wonder
what the charcoal will draw next.
Sticks on the banks of the styx
In it’s flicking midst
I can almost see
the little beat-less heart
in the center of the cherry.
It’s like it’s still held still in pursed lips.

In a falling little flame
accidently spilling it.

Out in Saturday mornings.
Out of school
so sliding in our nose rings.
Skiving by lying
with fist rubbed eyeballs.
The swell,
Then the classic sweetness
of the re-sleep.

Marker pen graffiti.
Feeling like elitists
because we don’t like elitists.
Defeatist is in right now, love's yet a fable.
(Planets are *****) on physics tables,
and writings on my hands,
but **** it man,
I won’t remember them, anyway.

Blurry nameless kisses
tasting like French lager,
or is that me?
Bellybutton shots.
Love at a coin toss
or against a brick wall was at it's best.
But there’s room for two
in this tent full of burn-holes.

Iron maiden.
never paid but
in microphone coldness
on the lips.
Lifted on the fix.
Giving the week in a night
and taking the night for a week,
with velocity.

Headbanger’s neck on
the pen-bottle ****, being used,
being used up.
Swimming against the river.
Golden Virginia,
Sobranies in the bus shelter.
And as the day's screen goes over
we still kept the bonfire
running in the rain.

That's what talks to me.
I'm laying back,
but moving forwards,
involuntarily.

The farthest man made object in space, Voyager 1,
is over 20 billion km away from Earth.
On board is a phonograph record, brilliant gold,
containing sounds and images of what life is like on earth,
A message to whoever is able to listen, a literal shot in the dark.
On it is an inscription that is perhaps the most beautiful sentence
I have ever read
TO THE MAKERS OF MUSIC
ALL TIMES
ALL WORLDS
a time capsule, a gift, from us
To anywhere and everywhere
A hundred years from now or a thousand
Our belief that no matter what time
Or world you belong to, melody and harmony and rhythm, can bring us together, can communicate.
On the cover
Are figures, explaining how to operate this record
Hieroglyphics from what by then
Would be ancient history
Messages in binary, the 1s and 0s
Our position in the universe marked by our distances
from gigantic pulsars, the star map to our home,
the creators of this message
There's beauty in this marriage of math and art
Code and music
As a way to communicate with the universe.
Some of the images on the record are
the most beautifully simple ones,
Of us, humans, drinking and eating, laughing,
of animals, nature, food and architecture.
Then there are images of our scientific observations,
mathematical calculations, our discoveries,
Like a child showing off
Look, look what I can do!
Black and white and in colour,
Pictures, proof that we, indeed have lived and achieved.
The music, classical, our very best from Bach and Mozart
to Blind Willie Johnson's Dark was the Night.
But all of this can only matter, can come to fruition
if someone exists to receive it, and is evolved enough
to comprehend what it means.
But that's the thing, everybody knows,
That's there's a slim chance of this record ever being heard,
and it's much more possible that the Voyager will simply end up as floating debris in the cosmos, but it doesn't matter!
We just want someone to know that there was a species of bipedal, intelligent animals on this blue planet,
no different than finding graffiti in alleys that read I WAS HERE.
WE WERE HERE, WE EXISTED.  
And it's all about that hope, the hope that someone will see us,
our pictures, listen to our languages, our greetings, our music, and remember us, even after we're long gone.
Or perhaps we will one day be interstellar space faring people as well, following the path of the Voyager, doing what we do best,
Explore.

These grey walls

That lost their souls

Are soon to be resurrected

By a new kind of art that’s been neglected.



Bring in the color,

Let’s have fun

Change the mural,

Make is shine!



Many might be against it,

Call it fake,

Or even junk,

But for me guys,

This is… art.

1.
I am sitting at a coffee shop but I am too nervous to go in.
It is the same coffee shop you were in a week ago,
before you skipped town with your new girlfriend
who has a brand new nose as part of her graduation gift.

The very same coffee shop in which you told everyone
you wanted to take a crowbar to my knees
and knock out my teeth.

You wanted to **** me
and cut me up
and throw me in a landfill.

Oh honey, you never were very articulate or imaginative.

2.
It's strange, human interaction, you know?
While you were wishing ill on me,
I was with another man by the river who is over twice my age
and he was touching me in a way that he shouldn't have been.

That's life for me now,
there are no other ways to it anymore.

We all know I have a desire for what is taboo,
you made certain everyone knew about my little indiscretions,
and that's no secret.

3.
In truth,
I still think about the sun dappled curtains
that hung over our bed in early spring.
Still too cold out to enjoy ourselves,
but warm enough when we wore heavy jackets
and kissed in the community rose gardens.
Just cold enough that lattes and card games in coffee shops
such as the one where you swore you would **** me at
were still something we could enjoy.
But..alas,
I find myself to be the worst type of romantic.
I have a hard time letting go.

4.
And there's this woman outside the coffee shop
talking on her phone in eloquent Spanish
and chain smoking cigarettes in a way that makes them seem beautiful.
Her hair is obviously very deeply chocolate colored,
it is coming through on her blonde roots.

And there's this old man who limped up
and felt the need to stand behind me
and stare either at my computer screen,
or the seedy men day drinking on the job,
laying asphalt in the early summer heat.
It is hot, loud, sticky work to do,
but I guess this is their life and someone has to live it.

5.
There is a big green heart spray painted
onto the white brick wall downtown
and it has large initials sprawled across it in vibrant colors.
I do not remember a time when this heart was not there.
I want that.
I want a love so interesting even the city will not paint over it.
A love so daring I will have my initials plastered,
glaring over the city with a finalized permanence that says..

"I win."

Because that's what we all really want.. to win.

All the world is a stage of course.

6.
I feel that I push people away without trying to.
But, what is it about me that makes middle aged men look at me
and say "**** girl"?
What is it about me that takes their compliments
without a batted eye and makes me smile,
reveling in the fact for at least just a few moments..
I was deemed attractive enough to make a comment,
no matter how simple or degrading?

I find myself in a mans car who takes me to an abandoned house
and talks to me about hallucinating
and how women OBVIOUSLY do not enjoy *** as much as men,
and I sat in quiet, smug, disbelief
and watched him talk about what he does not know about.
All while fantasizing about him bending me over.

They forget all the world is a stage.

7.
I am a very good actress.