the path lays trodden;
a milestone, leads to nowhere;
somewhere down, a leaf floats -
mid-air - to the whims of the cold breeze,
afraid to touch the bitter ground.
the soldiers are afoot;
marching to the sound
of static, broadcasted by their
unreliable leaders.
the innocent seek asylum -
flee from states of unrest;
the power seems absolute -
hardly dynamic;
pistols aim for the heads;  
warheads aim for the heads -
of nations - all trying to outperform  
each others’ retribution;
panzers guard the rogue bases,
like hellhounds, starved of souls.
mothers kiss their babes, ‘--night’,
then wipe their hapless tears;  
fathers beg for their sons’ lives,
and their daughters’ honour;
God exists only in afterthoughts;
ceremonies shroud in silence;
children become too self-aware
for their undemanding ages;
schools shut their gates -
push them further into the nightmare;
tell them they don’t belong;

one of them’s had enough…
pushes back.

i was there when it happened:
when the clowns fell off the bandwagon -
when the curtains burned down,
and the farce ran out of fashion;
when the savages dispatched -
their army of assassins.

i was there, when the world stood still
in a void so deep no beauty could fill;
when the mountain of lies -
crumbled back to a molehill;
when the rubbles rained like hellfire,
and truth had lost its will.

i was there, when the wrath of the masses -
echoed the streets, and shattered the glasses;
i later reflected, on the root of the violence -
there wasn't a good defense for the upper classes.

i close my eyes, and wait for dawn;
lay half-asleep, with the curtains drawn:
agamemnon's doom, forever lives on -
i'm still here -
and the show goes on...

The circus is back in town
But who’s in charge?
The ringmaster? Or the clown?
And while the freak-show’s at large,
Fighting over the crown,
And deciding how much to charge,
They watch the rest of us drown

Sometimes even in the middle of the night, sweet thoughts of you saunter throughout my mind. Sometimes I let it wander, and I wonder things which I'm sorely reticent I should be thinking..

I dream of you sometimes, whenever I end up dreaming at all. I wonder still what these ideas mean or what importance they hold; what purpose they possibly condone and implore, like a veil of undeniable curiosity drawing lines in sand that beckon and ache to be crossed either way.

Sometimes I wonder what depths these thoughts and feelings may behold beyond that pale fog of what is and "what if," and sometimes I let my mind escape the frail boundaries of reality and imagination just to feel that solemn place even for a brief moment. It pierces me deeply and caresses my very soul to feel your presence even without you beside me.

Thoughts of you whisper dearly to me in echoes of visions of things that have never happened. But I still wonder, even in doubt; I still imagine, even when I deign to ignore what pleasantries it instills to think of you in every fathomable way; and often when I do, my blood may never stand still..

In silent verbal graves, my heart wanders into things my mind has shown it, and it anguishes to understand what could lie beyond the gateway of this world to the one beseeched from within my head.

How simple it could all be for nought, not so far from being as fragile and fleeting as a mere idea, that the moments where I lie within the shadows of deceit to ultimately awake away from these thoughts and visions would be the only thing keeping those dreams to hold me in feigned tranquility: a place I'd rather never awake from to begin with.

I think of you, often, dearly.. I think of you, and I always wonder a million things: every part of your mind and soul. I think of you.

But I think to myself, most of all, if I'm eternally alone in these thoughts; and the night becomes lucid, and I sleep in trifling silence devoid of any dreams at all.

Still, I think, of you.

another **** nI̲ght in
this room in which you sit with li̲ghts off delightless (no light)
anger inside begins rising as this dA̲rk-ridden mI̲nd gets
preoccupied with hA̲rd-hitting, violent
electronic beats & also senseless toxic thinking
(no means to dump it than writing)
so unacco[ɑ]mplished & spineless
like slugs, but not O̲nes you sent flying
in the course of gun-utilizing
but all you're good for, just like an alliance
of vigilantes fighting org. crI̲me rings
and being a quartet, is typing & rhyming
["good four"]
besides, 'course, like performing the type of dance wI̲despread
among Caribbean party femmes, whining
["wining"; the Carribean dance known as "wine" & "dutty wine"]
about stuff you ain't fI̲ne with
self-buried alive by the time a **** fI̲ght is
not even started; on to[ɑ]p
of that darksome life stuff, like a wa[ɑ]nton nutjo[ɑ]b
bumping broa[ɑ]ds he swives o[ɑ]ff
your mind gets hau[ɑ]nted by thou[ɑ]ghts...
["thots"]
————————————————————————————————
about this ro[ɑ]tten world rI̲fe with
injustice-multiplying ******, blinded
by their fI̲nances, license
allowing those scU̲m to do vI̲ce deeds
and the fact of being unpunished, plus mindless
web skites in chase of society's liking
all those po[ɑ]p-trap artists, lifestyle blo[ɑ]ggers, IG mo[ɑ]dels
[by "pop-trap artists", I mean both pop artists & trap artists]
whose underlying jo[ɑ]b is
keeping our minds less co[ɑ]nscious
of unjU̲st things in this world; auto[ɑ]cracy with or—
—ganized crI̲me on the rI̲se, which
means corruption is thriving; works of A̲rt simplifI̲ed, which
goes to no[ɑ]nsense sometI̲mes, yet
both are things the larger slice of the highly
evolved kind is alrI̲ght with (so what?)
who in the world where the larger slice of the highest
biolo[ɑ]gical kI̲nd seeks fun & vI̲ce needs your li̲ne kit
that, while not tip-top, just like an alpI̲ne peak
is way above plain? like one occupI̲ed with rock-climbing
who needs that if your stuff is nothing but silent
and features no boasting 'bout riches, dope, boning?
like a simplistic club trap
tune the pace of which is buck slaps
per min. (give or take) & to which a young lass
of Western CBG makes her freaking *** clap
it's a pretty dumb track
[twerk music; "buck slaps per min." - "100 beats per minute"; "CBG" - "cultural background"]
that this world's going down, like an airshI̲p that's go[ɑ]n' crash
a sentient kind, though so nutty & childish
["naughty"]
that's why the world seems like a gargantu[—]an kinder—
—garten with media posers, stU̲ck-up bad guys, &
ching-blowers buying bananas fixed ta
[that valueless piece of work presented as "art"]
[and purchased for $6.2 mil by a media-attention-seeking bozo, I'd say]
walls for the sum authorizing
to buy around 9 mil rounds of firearm ammo with the
addition of around 400 gU̲ns that I'd highly
advise utilizing on a hU̲nt spree for vI̲ce-rich
creatures, such as mo[ɑ]bsters & tyrants
[you may check a long note on these lines left under the last one]
with compliant lA̲p dogs of theirs
I'd say, just like an attic nigh bare
of belongings, thA̲t billi[—]onaire
doesn't hA̲ve much upstairs; & such highly gaga affairs
as that are despite the fact that somewhE̲re
out there conditions of living
may be regarded as a nightmare (so what?)
such finances-trifling when there are ones winding up dying
'cause of an aliment crisis (so what?)
which is mostly a result of armed co[ɑ]nflicts ignited
by marbles-lost tyrants (so what?)
how many of pro[ɑ]sperous gU̲Y̲s give
a **** regarding stuff li̲ke this
apA̲rt few ones forming this
mad world's philanthro[ɑ]pic minority? (so what?)
that's about it
yeah, let's blow funds buying fruits fO̲r six mi—
—llion go[ɑ]ddamn bucks O̲r some-thing
like that to keep satisfying that horribly
big ego, enlarging it mO̲re than it
already is, than help ones downtro[ɑ]dden or those in need
————————————————————————————————
there's no[ɑ]t enough words to e[ɪ]x—
—press how mU̲ch this **** world is sick
like a set of li̲nes on some morbid sh#t
indited quite lurridly
semantically loaded, &, rhyming-wise, swarming with
multies constructed nigh perfectly
————————————————————————————————
as if you're a stud in an **** with
an abundance of whorey chicks
f#ck all the wanton... mobs, tyrants, plus loyalists
of theirs,  inasmU̲ch as it's morally corrupted authorities
being alright with abhorrent things
with the now-said in mind, the soundest reply
to such an abnormalcy
is, as if you're 'round a few ***** with an urge to ge[ɪ]t
spanked red-hot, to strI̲ke them bods forcibly
["𝗯ooty-𝗼bsessed 𝗱egenerates", where "*****" means "prize"; "butts"]
just like the bloodthirsty re—
—gime of that Assad schmU̲ck overthrown in ju[ɪ]st
11 days (**** it, you sordid b#tch)
every physically fI̲ne-fettled pE̲rs. who gives
a ****, to whom justice is mO̲re than ju[ɪ]st
a word, should get thE̲mselves wiser, get E̲xercised ta
a level of an effective fighter; find sympathetic partners
who'd be helping with acquire—ing intel, prepping o[ɑ]ps a—
—gainst evildoers & executing them
get intel, prep your offense, get tO̲O̲led up, then
go hunting

[THE AFOREMENTIONED NOTE]
Caliber-wise, the most common types of ammo used in the next 4 types of firearms, which are pistols, SMGs, assault rifles, & ****** rifles, are the following: 9mm; 10mm; .45 ACP; 5.56x45 NATO; 7.62x39; .308 Win/7.62x51 NATO. Here's (all time) average prices of brass rounds of the types mentioned (taken from southerndefense.com/ammo-prices): 9mm - $0.29/unit; 10mm - $0.47/unit; .45 ACP - $0.44/unit; 5.56x45 - $0.43/unit; 7.62x39 - $0.45/unit; .308 Win/7.62x51 - $0.67/unit. $6.2 mil ÷ $0.67 = (~)9.253.731 brass rounds of the .308 Win/7.62x51 type.

Let's say you have $6.2 mil. Given that a unit of brass ammo of any of the other types mentioned is cheaper than $0.67 & that ammo of those types should be purchased too, you can purchase 8.9 mil of diverse brass rounds for less than $6 mil. Keep in mind that if you purchase some or all of the rounds with steel casings, which are cheaper than brass ones, then you'd have even more than 9 mil rounds. Let's say you've purchased 8.9 mil of diverse brass rounds for $5.9 mil, then you have $300.000 left to purchase firearms.

Most firearms cost $400-$800/unit. $300.000 ÷ $800 = 375 firearms. Given that, caliber-wise, you have diverse ammo, you shouldn't purchase only $800 (or more costly) firearms. Let's say, for the sum mentioned, you've purchased around 400 firearms, which can be used by at least around 200 expert assassins in operations against mafias & agents of authoritarian regimes worldwide. Don't know about you, but to me, that's a highly better way of spending $6.2 mil than purchasing one **** banana for that sum.

Of course, to go on such a hunt spree, you should be organized way better than just having firearms & ammo. You also need other means & equipment, such as money, trustful allies, intel on targets, transportation, a place to stay, knives, firearm accessories. Just in case, I don't try to promote a criminal lifestyle. If there's any lifestyle I try to promote, it's a vigilante/evil-fighting one.

Read from bottom to the top!


                                                         to fall of its E
                                               waiting                   D
                                 ­        curve,                            G
                         ­         unjust                                   E
                               an                                             •
                       such                                                      
      ­              on                                                 ­            
              lives                                 ­                               
          our
    live
We

it terrifies me sometimes…
the ugliness that smears the world -
with shades of despair, and evils unheard.

there’re things you hear, and learn, and know,
and wonder how mankind could stoop so low.
your fury knows what must be done, yet -
powerless you watch the madness grow.

the night is no longer the custodian of evil;
we see it day in, and day out.
the morning news, the afternoon bites;
come evening, you’d rather gouge your eyes out.

the screams of anguish of a woman bent over -
on the tasteless floor, her innocence devoured.
the wrath of a community, on the back of one man,
who dared speak his mind - his life is over!  

the game of politics,
the lies, the trecheries;
men without jobs - or homes -
living on the streets.
an animal slain to please a God,
as a child watches,
only to repeat.

yet it all goes on,
as though a **** in the wind.
the world tells you,
‘grow up, man! grow a thick skin.’
i wish i could tell you otherwise -
a story not so bleak.
but there…
they probably beheaded a son before his mother,
as we speak.

The black man – like a pretzel on the grass –
is sitting vilified because of race,
and option less, he has to let it pass;
pretending not to sense he's out of place.

Another couple point, and laugh, and stare:
fair skin and hair proclaim their easy life.
A honeyed world means they don’t have to care:
their actions cut him like an arctic knife.

Behind, the sacred stone and glass stands for
a fruitful tree of life that’s meant for all,
but cherries are too costly for the poor.
Sweet learning for the rich, though they are dull.

It’s up to you and I to fight against
all orchards that we think unfairly fenced.