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kenye Oct 2014
Je ne sais quoi
Yeah,
she don't got it no more.

They aborted it from her
when they sold her the
the false perfection elixir
that soul'd her out

Hook, line, and sink her
gut her,
fillet her.

Ctrl-alt-del the fetus,
the sacrifice of the inner-child.
Molested into the machinery of Moloch

He butchered
the absolute heart
of the poem of life
out of her body.

She stands naked
goddess-less
kicked into the prison pit
of existence

Now she's like *everybody
.
She's nobody.
This is an excerpt from a song I wrote from my Soul Punkera. It's titled "Fashioning the Object" It is influenced by an art exhibit of the same name I saw in Chicago a couple years back. It really changed my perspective on the way our beauty standards are flawed, and the disenchantment of the suffering models are put through to obtain perfection. A lot of the Soul Punkera itself is influenced by Ginsberg's Howl. So I make several references to it.
CC Sep 2014
Shimmer highlights
Glitter heels
Make me dress
To his appeal
Make me a magnet
Of attraction
Objectify me
A distraction
Let me be an unholy thing
touched
Besmirched
On your whim
Be my prince
On my bed
I’m sleeping now
Between your legs
Saint Malady
Patron of the honest house
Enter through the backdoor
And let it be nothing more
Michael Grace Aug 2014
There's a creek I used to see
When I was young
I'd go there to think
It calmed my mind
See the girls were all yelling
And it made it all cloudy
And the boys were all calling
And it made it all rowdy
My mind was a castle for them to play in and stay in.
I wasn't tired yet but cried from all the savin

There's a Brook I used to go to
When I was older
I'd go there to kiss
It gave me more time
See the boys were all touching
And it made me afraid
And this one boy he cared
And we held hands and stayed
My heart was a labyrinth for them to search in.
I wasn't wild yet but tired from all the ridin.

There's a river I used to go to
When I got a little older
I'd go there to lie
It treated me kind
See the men were all looking
And it made me so scared
And the one boy he left
And I had only scars left
My body was a object for them to play with.
I wasn't dying yet but wild from all the givin

There's a lake I still go to
Now that I'm older
I go there to sink
It lets me pass the time
See the people all are passing
And it makes me look down
And I've been alone so long
And I'm tired of changing
My soul is a tomb for them to lay in
I'm not dead yet but dying from all the cravin

But in the winter it gets colder
The lake freezes up
No one sees me as I walk holding my cup
I breathe it in and someone whispers to me deeply
"Honey we're all flyin through life, so stay an evening"
Austin Heath May 2014
It wasn't a guitar solo.
It was a guitar and me going
******* on each other;
if it seemed cacophonous
that's because it was
supposed to be.
One of us is going to destroy
the other eventually.
Am I supposed to love a guitar?
See, I wake up next to her,
and look into her eyes,
and it's only love I see.
Warm skin in sunshine beats
factory made in China.
The curves of her shoulders,
or the lines that form her smile,
versus the curves of it's body,
the blades that vibrate at every end.
I painted it yellow, but when I see her
I feel it. Warm.
Me and that instrument are enemies
till either of us dies.
No, I do not love an instrument.

— The End —