For in the end
it will be the belief
in my
potential
and the hatred
of the
conventional
that kills me.

I refuse to be a slave, Refuse to be a slave anymore God gave me the rights to be free...R.I.P To T.M & M.B. (jus 2 think tht couldve been me) 4 those who arent Paying attention I'm talkin about Travon Martin & the late Mike Brown, **** shame we're still being slaughter because of our skin tone, 2014 Last time I check Racism & abuse should be eliminate (not even in our train of thought as a people) by now!!! We as a people need to make our movement consistent boycotting anything with their pockets involved, injustice has to stop 1way or the other. Solutions should never Include us increasing the violence & killin another n the name of justice that doesnt exist ..

Please help me
I have never been so desperate
Set me free
My life's become so desolate

I don't know who to call
689 "friends" that never speak
There is no net to catch my fall
My life is so ******* bleak

It hurts too much to cry
I can't stand this anymore
I am giving up my will to try
I am emptied out to my very core

Please, please, help me.

To the one who hosts competitions…  
Which ******* gave you the right?  
I wouldn’t listen to your rules even if you paid me.  
Nor would I let you tell me how I would write my poem.  
I could write something totally not related to your competition and submit it.  
Maybe I’ll **** your girlfriend and let you read about how it went.  
She didn’t take your name when she came(just so you know)  

Who said you could take such liberties?  
I’m gonna bash your head in with an exhaust pipe  
And when it dents and gains a sharp edge I’ll scrape your eye with it  
Just one, because I want you to see…  
You wanna host competitions, do ya? Meet my little match  
Ever wondered how a lit match feels in your nostril?  
If I sparked it and let the gunpowder catch flame in your nose, how wonderful would that feel?  
Listen here Mr. you asked for this by hosting it… there’s no backing out now…  
I still have a few things to run you over with.  
**** umbrella? no splash guard? ugh… too messy…  
Ah my favorite! the serpent’s tongue.  
For that I’ll first have to break your jaw, then hold your tongue out  
Then I’ll stretch your tongue out with clamps and slice it right down the middle  
Such a fitting exercise. For you.  
You have become what you really are.  
I’ll leave your manny parts intact… I know how we are when It comes to those.  
I will tell you though, you won’t be able to use em ever again… sorry about the irony.  

Lets get down to business, shall we?  
I hate you. You know why.  
I’m gonna inject you with a pain enhancing serum.  
Then I will administer XXXX ***  
It’s an ancient technique of entertaining someone.  
Dating all the way back to almost 900 AD  
It was banned, sadly, in the last century.  
Anyway, you’re lucky I have knowledge of this  
It won’t spoil our fun… lets start with the obvious places  
Eye lids, lips, ears, finger tips, toes, arm pits, the *******, the wrists….etc….  
You shouldn’t bother keeping count, that’s my job  
But I highly doubt you’ll even live past number 233.

Power resides in action.
Please ponder on this abstraction.

The ability to carry out,
to produce great outcomes,
is something we are not without.
You can determine what becomes.

So,
why did the fly have to die?
Or,
why did the fly stay alive?

The reasons as to why
are of many, but
mainly come down to

logic or feeling.

Either or, to what extent, do you choose?
Either or, to what extent, do you lose?

Taken to the extreme,
both valid beyond choice.
But which is the supreme,
of which you will voice?

You know,
we give a little bit of ourselves
to everyone we know.
And we hope they will cherish it
and care for it
But the truth is they end up
abusing it.
That's why everyone is *******
And we all act crude
Because no matter what
We're killing each other everyday.

Here he hoped
Only to illustrate
The bone chilling
Silence
With his detached, deflated
Account of life

Fingers and nails
Bloodied from
His public outcry
So fierce
But reform never
Followed

The clamor that rang
In his hears
Was in response
To the chemical covered
Words spoken to him

He is propelled to act
For attention
To curb his sickening
Self inflicted abuse

And his affliction
Leaves sores that
Could put him out
Of life in this world

Fingers eaten by anxiety
One by one
Because the knives no longer
Relieve him

Criss-crossed with cuts
Knuckles swollen
And these days
You can scarcely find
A smile anymore

His eyes
Turn away the most
Powerful men
Like he has
A special disease

His arms
With their maze of cuts
Have a time limit
Before they paint
The path before him
In acid

Each wound represents
A chance for a new
Beginning
Or an end

He just gave in
And forgot himself
Lost himself
Down in the damp, foggy
Recesses of his mind
And lifted the dead
Happiness
And threw it out

He the "Architect of pain"
Built within his mind
The killing room