The level is twice as deep, so it’s twice as cold, passing the heat & fire,
I got & felt, get up & feel, get up cause it’s real, got up & ****.
Some do, some don’t,
**** around & start & riot, spit up some lyrics, too late with that emergency call.
I’ve tasted martyrdom, it’s holier than ******.
A-lot people crave in their yearning, but they all stay bluffing, hollering at the moon, all alone.
You’ll be nothing but bone & ashes, with Grandma
the only one remembering your name.
Monks singing in my ear, ‘**** mystic, ******* ****’. So, if they’re at least attractive,
they’ll be sacrificed on our holy shrine.
It’s easy to be smacking fake poets, gypsies, monks, mystics & muses. My own death is at the back of my mind. My gun is loaded.
Feeling no pressure.
You’ll be next to Dante, next to Baphomet, witnessing Milton reciting, its the best place & it’s within your destiny.
Bleeding in in vain, hating is in my nature.
The ones who can transcend here & in the now can talk about, can’t stand yourself, I understand, it’s hard to come to grips with how you ****** it up & missed your boat. And that’s within life & not even forty yet.
Once upon time, you were an idol, you’re not even a rival now, it’s a crime against humanity, trust me, destroying you is that easy. Put don’t any pen for any blank paper that you write anything on, no one cares & the only reason you have anyone around is out of pity or a quick session. I get it, you’re ditty, I’m musings, you rock boys that’s borderline ****, I rock royal europeans. You’re getting smoked like rolled **** in this realm of reality, I’m not perplexed & rest in the thought it’s supposed to be, like how women ain’t meant to be like you. Terms of you, its easy to glock & aim. Sure you got some skill in the style you live, in the way you create art, you may call it yours, but I call it bitting. Don’t puff out your chest. Accept it & move on. Surrender. I made it out of addiction, instantly learnt how to transcend, you’re the same since sixteen. Unable to part from your past, we all die one day, it’s not a crime unless if they catch me, if they rush my home in the morning, Demons & Masons will storm the station in the evening.
I’ve been peeing in a cup since I meet you, your body has no value, your soul has nothing of value, thoughts spit out junk, emotions of a dying old lady who hadn’t lived. When I raise my knife, I’m going to cut some skin & if the ***** thinks I love her, the ***** don’t know me.
It’s
been
written
God
doesn’t
like
ugly.
Don’t even try eating makeup. I got your friends popping their head at my very thought.
Mean mugging don't mean nothing.
My confidence is in the loud,
your insecurities are in the public.
I’m too legit, the Mystics know the difference between me & you, me dying that’s ludicrous, no respect from me, I’m vet, if I’ve got to do some silence, its only a minor setback, I’ll be right back with Demon, Transcending Enlightenment & a six-pack.  
Your thoughts are not legit,
mystics relate to me, some are younger than buck,
pimping is easy,
no one is thinking of you as a person, so stay of the tip of my ****
https://www.amazon.com.au/Inherent-Sin-Darcy-Prince-ebook/dp/B07FR5FW42/ref=sr12?ie=UTF8&qid=1535754370&sr=8-2&keywords=darcy+prince

I am a Queen

who looked to a Prince
for the respect of a King

Never again

shall I take this crown off
to appease a man

who wont stand beside me
while I wear it

To poetry,
There is all kinds of women out there, women in the physical form, it’s only their personality is there difference is & where I value, soft spoken voices, touches over poetry curves, breathes & gasps, eyes like stars I gaze upon, addiction to romance, lets us talk in deep discussion, if not, let me glare deep in the eyes that you own, experience life together, let me experience you, love is a deep concern of mine. But such concerns I cannot commit to pen & paper that produces poetry. Love, bleeding into one soul as neo-enlightenment.

Rare people are exquisite, it’s too bad they’re ignored and
pushed to the side. Perhaps it’s a reality they present or they’re
natural ability to alter one’s life for holiness of mysticism,
leaving meaning and dreams to be lived in reality. From strong
winds, the flowers pulled up and turned into butterflies. It all
sounds sweeter than honey. For that, they can all provide the
opposite. The capacity to live. They hold the capacity to do evil.
Perhaps they’re made to be alone, in either isolation or in crowds,
though it’s sinful to ignore them.

Does death permit an individual to pass
on being apart of this world, while alive?
I’m I an eternal lost or avoiding a predestined life?
For I know who to create from nothing, flame life,
while provide reasons not to smile. Marking marks
and jacking hearts. Is my mood based of having
one foot in this world, while the other is in mine?
Many of us pursue impluse solutions, while in a
breathless fashion, pass what is made for us.
No one can ever find true beauty in poetry or art,
it’s not seen in everyday life. To what is made for
us, can only be lived. For why I’ve I lived in passion
and to have no pairs of eyes noticed? Or is it the
burdens of being an introvert? I have kept a front
for this world as I cry in the metaphysical world.
https://www.amazon.com.au/Inherent-Sin-Darcy-Prince-ebook/dp/B07FR5FW42/ref=sr12?ie=UTF8&qid=1535754370&sr=8-2&keywords=darcy+prince

I believe it was the sawdust of summer when I found your voice in a shadow of a song it reminded me of my past hurt. You sang so beautifully of lilacs and photogenic water, you build harmonies powerful enough to save angels in a storm.

Quickly I caught on and held tight to your butterflies you called lyrics. You spoke of love like you had a doctrine in it. I thought for men love was a learning curve. You proved me wrong. You did not just create music and magic you birth colors out of sound and called them stories.

You blurred the lines between reality and fantasy. I bet your music is similar to the way God speaks. I bet you discovered a guitar inside of a black deity and the piano inside of a white devil's broken heart.  

Prince, I bet you can play anything even the fossils of flowers.
Your music is an endless drug, a purple high. Listening to you made me feel like all four seasons cuddled up with a kiss.
Tell me when did you get tired of playing love songs?

When did balancing the moon and a microphone become all too much for you? Who choked the life out of your vocal chords? ****, I would give almost anything to hear you live again! To wear your songs in my ears like Heirlooms.  Oh Wait, I think I get it. Is this how you go beyond means of self to teach us dead silence is music too?

I crave my own fairy tale
I want someone who feels like poetry
To rid the hopelessness from my romantic heart
And share with me a happily ever after

I don't need a prince or white knight
A pauper or squire is all that I desire
I don't require a gallant quest or noble steed
Eyes that are just for me is all that I need

I'll write my own tale to fill your storybook
Every page a poem of waiting
Till one day they are no longer of longing
And are filled with ode's to my one true love

“someday my prince will come”
cinderella sung that...
i believed it to be true

my prince never came
no prince ever would want
a servant girl