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Harley Hucof Jan 2021
Objectively i step out,
dissecting, inspecting, introspecting,
analysing what is to become of me.

You interpret my words and call it psychology

My main problem is communication,
Inherited from my mother ,
Though i earned a masters in the latter,

My perverseness came from my father
But who could ever blame the parents ?

Since reality is merely a fragment
associated to humans, and i accept that.

Subjectively i dig in , search , meditate and contemplate
i conclude the path is still long ahead however my herritage assures me that i am already there

If Jazz could be committed to ink and paper
assorted with therapy
the results would be similar to my humble poetry

Words Of Harfouchism
CC Jan 2021
Bombs, bombs away!
The crowned prince of Gotham has come to play.
Will you stand by his side?
Or whimper, run and hide?
With nowhere to turn to
And no one to plead to,
Habits die hard.
Though you are scarred,
With the familiar sting of bruises and cuts that still ache,
Nothing hurts more than heartache.
That is why you’ll look at his face and accept his hand,
Because no one will ever understand,
Just how much his sinister grin and laugh
Makes you feel like he’s your better half.
This is your finale, hold your breath,
And accept how he pushes you towards your death.
their love isn't exactly healthy, but she keeps going back to him... is the reason as clear as day or is it shrouded in mystery?
daisy Jul 2020
we’re like joker and harley,
love cannot be seen
my world is dropping in the city
and i am feeling dizzy
well, this is the agony
of being your queen
no matter how toxic this is,
you are still my weakness
can’t stop loving my puddin
though i’m the only one who’s vibin
and i know
i am now weaker
than i’ve become.
Bohemian May 2019
She could be more lost than anybody as though no akin
She could be more distorted than the moon's skin
She could be more sceptical than what eclipses bring
She could be more pessimistic than March equinox
She could be more cynical than the devils in abyss
She could be more sadistic than Harley Quinn
She could be more ghastly than decapitated heads
She could be more dead than a corpse itself  
But when she rose,
You know ?
She attributed him in nothing
His relics are buried
And I ?
I donot care with delight by my side
Sharon Talbot Jan 2019
Perhaps his duality would always be
For had he not been made this way
by genetic chance?
A hulking man with gardener's shirt
and biker's leather pants?
He might speed along a coastal highway,
Wind in his greasy hair,
Unchopped Harley shivering,
Eyes watering from the wind,
or was it because of sheer depth of soul?
As he peeled along, avoiding fatal curves,
Did his thoughts of roses blooming
keep him from launching himself
into the fog?
Were the droplets on his face,
full of salt from the sea,
the same as those he saw
in the morning dew on his flowers?
He was a not a Hunter Thompson,
who might return home to drink and write
reams of rage against the foul Effendi,
who beset him at night
after descending from their mansions.
Yet he too needed respite and beauty,
an Owl Farm in his mind,
Or a hotel on Sunset Boulevard,
Safe under the canopy, among the palms,
His security, not a typewriter
but a garden of perfect roses
that he would tend and breed,
Keeping beauty alive to feed
His hidden desire for peace and order.
Like an old man in the country,
The “rose rustler”he played
Lived in a little house,
His unassuming paradise,
with a cat, as secretive as him,
a lone goldfish in a bowl,
who looked out each day on
manicured paths and brick walls,
worthy of any English manor,
with acres of flowers,
dozens of colors...
but every single one a rose.
This whole thing sprang out of a title from a photo site, combined with an excellent book I read, "Freak Kingdom", by Timothy Denevi, about Hunter Thompson's "Ten years of fighting against American Fascism". If you read this, it would help to listen to Elvis Costello's "Brilliant Mistake" simultaneously!
julianna Oct 2018
In a different reality,
I would be wearing two-toned shorts,
Do crazy makeup,
And dye my hair
I’d carry a bat and wear a shirt
That said I was your monster
I’d be your crazy baby
And you, my evil man
But sadly Harley and The Joker
Don’t think the way I can
I’ve always wanted a twisted love and honestly, we’d have it. But things are different than I want and right now, that’s
what I need.
Kassandra Mar 2018
I fell for a madman, a lunatic, a clown
Knowing this all I can do is frown
For so many years I took his abuse
Him hunting a man who hides as Bruce

This cakey clown makeup will cover the bruise
A temporary reminder not to give him bad news
He threw me out the window, it’s not the first time
It’s all my fault, I got in the way of his crime

One thing I needed to remember, he’s the star of the show
It’s him and Batman, him and his foe
I was just a puppet, a means to an end
Maybe that why I met Ivy, I just needed a friend

I was charged to mend and fix his head
But it was him who got inside mine instead
My ambition clouded my judgment, all could see
He saw this flaw and decided to overtake me

I became his Harlequin, or at least I guess I was meant too
The issue is I thought for myself and didn’t share his worldview
He lured me in with sadness and my pity
He told me we would in the future rule Gotham city

I believed him, I changed into a red and black lackey
He said he just wanted to bring smiles and make himself happy
Mad love, it’s what the sirens called it
I guess they were right; how did I not take a hint?

But he never loved me, that much to me is now obvious
He hit, punched and dragged me, how was I so oblivious?
I was just a pawn in his mad Puppet play
I guess the joke was on me, isn’t that right Mr. J?
From Harley's perspective after everything went sour
and broken
And limping
Your perfect puppet on strings,
In time to your madness;
A tiny porcelain ballerina
Spinning on a pedestal,
As you orchestrate our final symphony.
My sweet,
Maestro of monsters,
My Conductor of Chaos
And pain,
I adore you-
My darlin,
My puddin.
and hopeful
Here I am,
By your side;
Your fondest hit
Your favorite toy to squeeze
(the life out of)
Your prisoner in love;
(Your good girl)
Begging for just a little more.
Heave me over the side
Drown me in your molten insanity,
Push me under-
To feel the thrills,
The chills,
The danger;
The happiness
Of liberating manic laughter-
To feel the helpless despair
As I perform in your circus.
Here I am,
To beg a bullet
For these lips,
That praise your deeds,
And pray for release,
For a mutual destruction,
A final comedy written in blood.
I guess...
the joke is on me after all...
Right, Mr. J?
Inspiration was Harley Quinn and the Jokers relationship in the new Suicide Squad film.
josh wilbanks Aug 2016
Her thoughts have seem to lost their ways,
A beautiful kind of strange
Reminds me alot of myself,
Like minds dervied from dark times
Eccentric little craze of mine,
Your love is unreplaceable

Quick little jolts of thought,
Undeniably we assertain
Inseperable are our wants and wishes
Not an angel or a devil
Namely, you are my Harely Quinn
She needs someone to love her better,
Like the other couples do,
To always forgive her,
save or die with her,
like the realcouples do.
She's so pale as fck,
shes was build for all abuse
and he use her like a toy
and she stills  love him so much.
shes was paint in acid bath
and her colours make guys die
and she have secrests that he dont know ...
She needs someone to love her better,
Like the other couples do,
To always forgive her,
save or die with her,
like the realcouples do.
he threw her ...
of buildings,plains and ceillings
and shes still love him
i dont undestand
why this love remain  
She needs someone to love her better,
Like the other couples do,
To always forgive her,
save or die with her,
like the realcouples do.
ps; hi Mr J i love u
a poem for harley quinn with a touch of kehlani song gansta
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