you trap me
in-between your arms,

telling me all about a secret
you have buried
underneath your tongue
for months now,

but kindness
is the only part
of me that manages
to escape from your grip.

I’m a sweet guilty feeling to the soul
Some says a cure to choler’s disease
Either to you or your enemies

I’m not meant for everyone.
The wise thoughtfully call me when it’s needed
For the fool I’m a necessity to be fulfilled

And when a man submit himself to my offer.
I’ll grant what he covertly wish.
A longing desire for relief; I’ll let his anger and enemies vanish.

Suffering has ended, one’s faith is settled
The folly will start to celebrate
While the wise will count his date

Then in the quietest night I’ll come.
That no one will expect except his conscience
The doors is unlock like someone let it open

In that same peaceful night only silence hears.
A peaceful stare all what I did
To the peaceful who is asleep
Memorizing the face of what peaceful I'll steal.

save face and leave
hold your quiet
like a secret
before thunder

leave the wound
mark the trail of my passing
reminiscent —
that we do for love
that we do for vengeance

you forgot, my dear
to **** you aim
for the heart

The point of pain
is to get you to notice
if your trigger warnings
to flee the scene.
And what’s that saying?
You want to see a victim
without help.
Who is the one snickering in the corner
pretending one didn’t eat all the cookies
leaving one’s neighbor to starve.
I see your passive headlights.
Super-flu-us of your own designs.
You only wish you could get to me
so you try to take my place instead.
How can one take another place
before finding one’s own?
Or supplant another’s home
without upending your own?
Foolish child hiding one’s own true heart
to be seen as a star
by putting on stuff that appears like stardust
blingy and bright but without any real light
of its own being created pure and supreme.
Somehow I see I’m already living the dream.
But you look and see
your projected screams onto me
and you can’t embrace what I bring
because what would that make
what you invested in saying?
Hold onto those words
to the bitterest ending
pretending the darker the chocolate
the better the berry.
It’s all finer still in the end
cuz no end is ever approaching
except the end you imagined for me
in your own dark hidden and ***** corners.
But what you don’t get
when you **** that trigger happy smile
is that the end is only real
from your own POV.
So you’ll be mulling
and overturning
with a smirk and clinked glasses
while I am always
and forever
only reposing in bliss
that you keep forever missing

nothing but emptiness.
a black hole filled with sadness
inside out nothingness
consuming me
leaving me with loneliness
i seek revenge.

“Poets never ****.”
            -V. Nabakov


Oh, but don’t we?
Our methodology might
Differ, our craft more subtle-
And yet the end result,
Escorting some poor soul
To the gates of whatever end
Awaits them beyond this frame,
Is abhorrently familiar,
Our motives no more pure-

We move in different mediums
Some artists in oils,
Others in brute force-
Working in time signatures
Of days and weeks, years-
not Mere seconds-
This is not impulse-
But words weaponized?
That is artistry refined.
We work in palettes of grays.

We need to know them
For the poison to take hold.
To work it’s way through
The bloodstream, through
Every muscle until it is absorbed
Into who they believe themselves
To be, something they can never
Change about themselves
That they are sure is visible
To every passerby,
Some fracture in the facade.

The planting of a seed,
A word, a phrase-
Insidious in its design
A dark spot on the mind
So small, seemingly
Insignificant, but the foundation
Upon which we build our
Scaffold, buried in some
Line of text, in some metaphor
That draws an indelible line
Between some worldly beauty
And a deep buried flaw
They try to hide from the eyes of the world.
It’s delicate business after all,
Planting self doubt and loathing
So ingrained that one is unsure
Whether they ever existed before
The thought that now destroys them.