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Ylzm Apr 30
Son of Ham, slave of slaves, reigned.
Humiliated, but unrepentant, defiant, and unfearing,
They asked for one of theirs to be king.
Saul, anointed and prophesied, crowned king.
David, feigned madness, fought for the Philistines.
J Christmas Feb 22
Never let anyone tell you
How ****** up a person is
Pointing at Her or Him
At them or here with
Disdain dressed
To look like despair
God damns the
Sanctimony of fools
Black robes
Far worse for the wear
Let em point at me
I have not a care
Because just like them
I am Jack the Ripper.    I am St. Paul
I sifted salt with Ghandi
And I slit throats with King Saul
I am the ****** Mary
I hear the knocking
on my door  
It may just be the neighbor
A fiend looking to fix me
Or to score.   Either way
We’ve all been here
Countless times maybe more
Its eternity that's calling  
Remember living forever?
Before you were ever born?
I've offered every solace
I've mended every fall  
I’ve turned the other cheek
And the pious broke my jaw
My work here is near done
And trust me I had a ball    
So shed not a tear
Nor curse me to befall      
For soon you will be me
And I will be you all.
Copyright 2019 John D Christmas
Akhiz Munawar Oct 2017
Anarchy was sprinting
Beaming like a conqueror taking a victory march
It was having a ball inside his veins
And then the man who had everything
Wanted nothing more but just a speck of deliverance
So they summoned a shepherd who played a tune
Which brought peace to the king and he was troubled no more *
Since that day the sound of those chords
Still echo till the ends of this earth
Mutating itself for every mortal soul
That falls in a pit of its own reality
Dejected, despairing, destroyed, devoured
Setting them free once they find it
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
And I lost it.
* 1 Samuel 16:14-23
Neither love nor psychiatry
got tricks or tenacity to transfigure me
into a drug-free butterfly.
If life and the pursuit of liberty
are such good ****, why aren't I enticed
into cold turkey chrysalice?
If I made it past the switchboard, got my minute with Raj Persuad,
I'd say I am more habit than man coz I was ill-starred
- addiction's but one player at tapioca table of my failures,
and I've never changed for the better before.
 
I'm:
not old flame phoenix burned his partridge ******* off;
not the prodigal son soon his patriarch's boss;
not the artist formerly known as Vincent Van Frog
obits tongued into  prince of avant-garde old rot;
not the Clark Kent who transpires scion of Krypton,
and when he goes cross-eyed, does his own laser eye-corrections;
not **** duckling whose **** gets worn to the bone
thru later over-exposure as a midlife crisis swan;
not bad egg that makes good under the yoke of kizmet,
blossoms into KFC bargain bucket innit;
not the kid who's cuffed 'n' cuffed whilst Childline's engaged,
yet still eschews the Cycle of Abuse - it's Satan's baton-change!
 
So wherefore drug-free butterfly that hatches
en route to a dope-kickin' Damascus?
Daren't unfold a flutter I'd hover even
over lefthand downstroke of the 'u' in 'u-turn'.
 
No re-entry to mentor here, civic harumpher,
straightandnarroristocrat whose bile is haute catarrh,
pillock of the community!
Coz we crooked men only know the way in crooked miles,
don't deserve jeers from Jesus or Jeremiah Kyle,
or the one they call 'Jerryjerry'.
Now, wings of new leaves, one's potential papilionaceous
is natural high they push at Narcotics Anonymous,
but chemical schlemiels relapse coz losers can't be cured
- ain't snapped my fingers and been less crap before!
 
I'm:
not black sheep who scrubs up Baa-barack O-baa-bama
(or even your sentimentalest sweater, knitted by your
                                                           deadest granma);                                    
not this summer's surprise cult hit,
tho' the critics at the preview concurred and had a kip;
not the Strangeways yo-yo who winds up his Folsom blues,
and credits his reformation to the kindness of screws;
no poindexter who in Freshers' week scarce partook,
but fast forward,  four-eyed ***'s Fonzie on Facebook;
not aurum de stercore success-story like the fable
of the goose 'bout to be cooked who lays a golden cable;
not the Chinese Rock star who lives past 27
- Grim Reaper Grammy outrocks rehabby ending.
 
So wherefore drug-free butterfly's eclosion
into denial or Eden, on wings 12 Steps map-pattern?
But I'm a no-show imago, cobwebbed cocoon,
monged a teenage pod of sloth to postpone more misfortune.
Hayley Siebert Dec 2016
Hark! These creatures of catacombs
Furrows and the weeping ribbons
Forsooth great beasts took a turn here
When the mind accustoms itself to violence
It bestows it….broken as the temple falling
The sword by Israel's cry!
Ghosts of the borderline!
Ghosts of the borderline!
Traumatic as hymens torn
By hands unclean by demons born
The ***** twas not consenting forlorn
Too many nights passing to the dawn


Allow when Yosef comes, his predator expression
For my milk drop flesh, he claims doth conquer
The chains of slavery he forged by Irish blood
Born from the veil of wedlock
Out of sullen sin, between husband and mistress
He took to which he hath none
Purple hues adorn the shoulder
Bare before the creases of blood
These years could not tamper the memories


So in night shade, among the ghouls
There is a hovering silver sheen
Groped by the tiny digits
I shall be its sheaf
Psychosis the cascade of reality
The distortion of time and space
An all hallows eve, the sabbath of subconscious monsters
The manic and depressive are the swinging of the pendulum
And the ****** of thy hand is the dawn of God
I fall, the intoxicating pearls down my throat
Reek in my blood, Jewish blood, Welsh blood, tainted blood
The dizzy fortitude to collapse
Will alter the reality and silence the darkness
Of faces disfigured, in death they have no stance
Thus my torment hath come to end
I give way, the sweep of the fall
Fall onto my sword…
Away from the worlds of disturb content
Away from the sacred flesh scarred and mangled
Away from the deep cavern of endless thought
To God and to my ancestors, who saw with no eyes fit to see
But see nethertheless my frail state of a tipping scale
I fall onto my sword, distressed as Saul

— The End —