Hello, There I stood Bellowed What a crazy mood! I’m pretty You’re not I deserve this You do not Why can’t you listen to me They’re not your bot This is unfair You got to accept life and its fare What do you mean I need a doctor I am just practicing self love! And that’s when you realise You’re not all What the jazz is about You’re a little speck And that’s ok You don’t need Though it be to your dismay To be put on display Or stand high on deck Of the sinking wreck.
she was a caring girl she knows a boy who always cries and it is the end of january so his hands are covered in blood she gives him soap that smells of lemon and she scrubs his hands clean he makes her feel uneasy and anxious but cleansing him is the only thing she does right he fills her head with steaming tar and leaves grisly scars over her eyes damaging her sense of vision she washes his eternally blood-stained fingers and palms the blood mixing with lemon soap and tears completely blind to her own tarnished hands sobbing, the girl reaches out to the boy in utter darkness only to find empty air meeting her fingertips it will only happen again at the end of february
Fact is stranger than fiction. Quentin sits for days trying to think of a plot, As dazed and twisted as his. And should the Tiger King take Quentin under his wing, I am sure that Quentin's mouth will be searching for teeth. (but then again, don't you think Quentin is a tad bit old?) Benevolent monarch, with peasants made of fur. Boldy he strays upon a kingdom never his. And the peasants, They have no choice Have no voice, Nothing but the strength to look the Tiger King's Advisor in the eye as they say "Goodbye".
And good old Carole Baskin watches. From a pedestal of brie and champagne: Money money money! Shower it. Just not on the tigers. No money for the peasants. No money for the ******.
There is one dark light in the firmament Brewing poison, it hangs watchfully Waiting with hunger for the first sign of breakage The first scent of vulnerability Uncoiling in slippery skilled determination Seeking ingress, seeking blood He is the sleight of hand l hung my heart on The secret lie that skinned my soul Fall of the house of hope Gutter liar looking at his next victory
Innocence you will die beneath him Every touch will rob you of sanctification In the temple of naïveté he is a streetwise hustler Born of a killing moon Drunk on theft as he cuts through defences Needing fresh meat, hunting game He is the deceit, the gaslight The rending of my sacred veil Fall of the castle of faith Sleeping well as he has no heart
I had sandcastles in my eyes Glass lilies in my hands He nonchalantly crushed them all Smeared his name across my beauty And laughed “Lighten up, baby”
But tides turn and mermaids call Now the beach is deserted Storms boil the ocean, purging I cast his name into the liquid fire And end this “Namaste, baby”
There is one dark light in the firmament Amid clean clouds of evening it coils in contempt He shall not see me, he shall not touch me For him, no more my blood With the screams of ravens l have flown again Turned from his flowing bitterness I found a little light of promise New belief in the budding of me Resurrecting tomorrow As l will it so mote it be
I was preapered to fight all my life, but against who? Brave beast like soldiers that are match to no one or just plain cowards?Why would I waste my time on these humorous synonyms, that cant even survive a day without aplause and their ego stroke.
Its funny, its humorous but its the harsh truth,I think you would die of laughter if I told you that they arent just your neighbours, but the rulers of this world. Brittle as nails, efficent in their work as snails, Its not even enough to call them natures biggest fails.
We laugh at our own despair, but it's funny how some things never change, we are all slaves without any chains.These charlatans found a way one day, to control us without any brute force, but by their brain.And here we are today, some are on the streets begging for bread,some live their lives by a comercial tread.