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TIZZOP Dec 2020
sweaty forehead, a gory past
wildly glowing eyes of oblivion
shivering hands, sirens, bars
freedom, imprisonment, razor blades

peru, coca farmers, chemicals
smuggler channels, route 36
franklin's face on crumpled-up paper
rattling coins, benjamins, stacks

gotta make it or take it
gotta sell or abuse it
flashing louis, abundant future
sweaty forehead, ****** present

biker chapters, brothers, funerals
tommy hauled jim's coffin
rick carried tommy to his grave
cut-offs, gats, one call: ******

despair, hatred, vengeance, omerta
mortals remain silent, angels don't
rain of blood, a puddle of codes
turf, plots, streets, blocks, gangs

cults **** cultures, weapons replace
shelter in a group home; the stabbing
"shaun got heart, he a furious one --
can use dat dude, pay him up"

black, white, african-american, chechens
territories of unspoken laws
intimidated witnesses, gay mobsters
lured teenagers, deadly magic of power

the old ones impress the new ones
newbies will turn into soldiers
**** or get killed; headshots of fear
numbers on the forehead, blueish

unwritten are the rules of some
bribed politicians, skippers, knockos
the one who wets, will be wetted
others prefer the clarity of faith

organized crime, rats and kingpins
multilevel marketing, elevators
glass towers, late and secret meetings
route 36, the white magic of death

it's all in the game

"The only thing that burns in hell is the part of you that won't let go of your life.
Your memories, your attachments, they burn 'em all away. But they're not punishing you, they say. They freeing yourself.


(Quote from the film "Jacob's Ladder")
TIZZOP Oct 2020
orange smoke fills the air, like mist
goons and traitors occupy all tables
a small bar, downtown, silent quarter
whole ones and racks, bagged, airtight

the zippers of the bottega shine golden
24 k, 24/7, creatures of the night who
are made of struggle, gore and greed
deception and loyalty: the brotherhood

hour of the thieves, year of white marble
350 million a year, a neeeedy enterprise
sick profit, blank sheets floating loosely
shark collar and tattoos, loaded *******

sounds of the past in an air breeze, secretly
old butch is swallowing a paper message
leave no traces, mind dem ears and eyes
wild roses and escalades, the night glows
Sammi Yamashiro Aug 2020
What do my memories taste like? There lies on my tongue—
An atomic bomb:
a purported speck, with no chicken pox skin situated upon such.
I spat it out; I wobbled on and on, stomping the microscopic intensity into the sludge.
No one sees; how pleasant…

My shoe’s underside slit it— a paper cut broiled to the infinitude degree—
Preposterous conundrum! Slam!
I fulminate! I screech, the needy baby I am!
My guttural heave strews in the wind:
deformed limbs on the newer generations, an abysmal thread.

Supposedly bland, but then: a guzzling bleed from you and I gushes on and on; but oh, was it needed!
Listen to my writhing! Soak in my curdling roaring!

I am the mafia mastermind, but I plead to guilt!
The vandalism cannot be grated, but I will
revamp, spot clean, and hunt for a vaccine.
I cannot cure a scored scar, but rest assured:
I will endeavor to solidify the clot.
Maria Mitea Aug 2020
It is Friday morning,
I feel like a robot lubricating its joints
with peanut  butter and jelly cookies,
repeating its movements over again;
jumping, running and extending into
the big robotic world with the hope of
reaching out to humans.

Driving to pick up Hilda, a soul
that needs a ride to heaven,
her husband a former mafia driver, in his homeland, lost his car and driving license,
as the virus came and switched  his brain on shootings and killings he witnessed,
in his youth days, when worrying more for money than life.

I hope for no shootings today,
Friday morning, and
The sun didn’t show up in the sky,
It can be too much even for him shining every day, not an easy job warming up
earth’s feet when striving for a happy day.

It is early Friday morning,
The dog had no time for barking,
I feel like a robot that has been overused,

Waiting in the car,
I succumb to dreaming and export myself into a passed homeland life, were on Fridays evenings I laugh and wear cherries 🍒 behind my friendly years when Apollon comes with his sweet kisses.

My client arrived, she moves like a robot too ... I drive ... we reach in heaven as we start talking and crying, ...

Hilda opens like a flower to the sunset, while she is telling her life story,
and how much pain she carries in her feet and arms, cut off at every sunrise by her mother denial, shootings hit her heart,
I pray and hope for her husband to be well,
and forgiven by Gods.

Hilda’s storey wakes me up to being a human, ... between tears and pains we find our laughs, ... After we cry, laugh and feel the pain, me and Hilda we feel like two humans on Friday morning.
Thank you Hilda!🙏✨
Vianne May 2020
"ɪ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ, ᴛʀᴜꜱᴛ ᴍᴇ. ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪ ᴀᴍ ꜱᴇʟꜰɪꜱʜ. ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴄᴏʟᴅ, ɪ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ Qᴜɪᴠᴇʀ ɪɴ ꜰᴇᴀʀ. ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴇᴇɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴄʀᴇᴀᴍ ʙʀɪɴɢꜱ ᴍᴇ ᴊᴏʏ, ʙʀɪɴɢꜱ ᴍᴇ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴀʙʏ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴇ. ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴠɪʟ," ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴠɪʟ'ꜱ ᴛᴏʏ. ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ʙɪᴛᴇ, ʀᴇᴀʟ ʜᴀʀᴅ. ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴍᴇ ꜱᴀᴛᴀɴ, ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴍʏ ʜᴏɴᴏᴜʀ. ʙᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʀʏ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴄʀᴇᴀᴍ ᴏᴜᴛ ɪɴ ᴀɢᴏɴʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴀɪɴ, ɪ ᴀᴍ ɴᴏ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴠɪʟ. ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴍᴇ. ɪ ᴀᴍ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ. ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀᴅʏ ɪɴ ᴅɪꜱɢᴜɪꜱᴇ. ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏɴꜱᴛᴇʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ 100 ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴀʟʟ ᴘᴀɪɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴀᴛ ᴏɴᴄᴇ. ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴛ ʜᴇ ɢɪʀʟ ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴀꜱ ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ɢʀᴏᴡ ᴜᴘ. ꜱᴏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛᴇᴀʀ ʀᴏʟʟ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴍʏ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ, ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴇᴇ. ɪ ᴀᴍ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ ɪɴᴛᴏ 1 ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇꜱ. ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀɪɴ ɪ ᴛʀʏ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴅᴇ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏᴋᴇʀ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ ɪ ᴡᴇᴀʀ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇᴍ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ʀᴏᴄᴋ. ɪᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ꜰᴀᴅᴇ, ɴᴀᴍɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ᴅᴀʏᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ ᴅʀᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇ "
Emi Mar 2020
Caught in a trapezoid of emotions;
Distancing their commodities to serve manly duty.
Time is of the essence, evolution participating.
Feelings ditched with a standard glock;
Rays of sunshine succeeding,
Composing the lack of empathy.

Young as a stack of cash,
Drawn out as an empty ATM.
Apologies aren’t accepted, nor tolerated
Whacked upon belief,
We are soon found beneath the reef.

Besmirched by peers,
We live as we live; die as we die.
We fight as we fight;
And we lie when we lie.

Crimes often exposed with loyal servitude,
Preaching the terrified beyond their years,
Crying their hearts out they ache,
Searching for their lonely little tear.

We aren’t the gratification you seek.
We aren’t the heartache you need.
We aren’t the thrill of the century.

Our lines are slick as they are easy.
Resist if you must; defend you will.
Once on our hit list you’ll surely be killed.
Carlo C Gomez Jan 2020
How did things ever get so far?
It's curtains for you, Sonny!

Bedroom curtains
With a ship and anchor pattern


Yellow ones
For your mama's kitchen

It's not personal, Sonny
It's strictly business...
Jordan Hudson Jan 2020
No need for the crime and the hate we all can share
You know we all kinda do breathe the same air
Be nice and just sacrifice the rest
See fights just hurt and take what's left
Give it away or give it back
Stealing ain't great it's whack
Mafia rule is a gathering of fools
Just work for what you get
No work then that's it
What they give
No need for thieves so quit
Work for God that's why we live
Work for what you got *****
Grab a *** and ***** and dig
No need for the crime and the hate we all can share
You know we all kinda do breathe the same air
Be nice and just sacrifice the rest
See fights just hurt and take what's left
Give it away or give it back
Stealing ain't great it's whack
Mohamed Nasir Feb 2018
There's a flower in between the rocks
Undesireable unless one seek the flower
In cravices in the shadows of ***** towers
Procure trade on whims of nameless men
Openly or in disguise she thrives due to
Demands, in decadence of her world
The underworld enslave her soul
Like the geisha in *******
Decries a social stigma
Imposing upon her
Remove her off
The streets if
you will
Back sprouting
Amongst people and rocks
Enticing yet perceived as weeds still.
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