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Satan's consigliere,
Immoral-contrary, the '******' in Mary,
The 'chaos' in theory, the gassed-out canary-
Imperious, ******* nefarious; battle-weary,
Serious schism like Arius' controversy,
Offer no quarter, devoid of the sense of mercy,
Drink when I'm thirsty
The blood like wine and I dine on the swine I enchanted, like Circe.
Some random verse....
v Jan 6
(The one where I’m feeling sorry for my cheating ex-girlfriend.0

We met the grim reaper on my 18th birthday.
He arrived to the party, uninvited,
dressed in ribbons
and legality
and student loans.  

Driving a silver Sudan
Eminem turned all the way up,
He hard braked in the turn lane next to us,
Skillfully smirking, words pulled back on his tongue like arrows.
ready to strike.


There I sat, cross faded in your passenger seat, crying for the 50th time over how Brockhampton is like
The best thing to happen to rap since Odd Future.
Singing “who’s got the feeling” at the top of my lungs.

I got a kiss at every red light.
No matter how quickly you turned away

Back then red and orange traffic lights were our dancefloor
We stood glowing in our favorite colors
Making up for every touch we could not share at prom.
I thought “god, if this barres me from heaven I’m already here with her.”  

I’d heard he always shows up at the worst times.
He, the reaper.
He’d really been there all along
In the smile of the lady at iHOP who invited us to church
In the down turned edges of mouths on waiters faces when I say,
“no, sir, we’ll be paying together”
I saw two girls kissing in the corner tonight and I only wish you were here to see it too.
I beg you come be with me.
Careful pitches “See these examples see what we can have”
Blue blood runs dry when their hearts are still soaked in red,
so no the money isn’t worth staying for.
You’re suffocating in red and right and trump signs.

She’s screaming baby, my love, pretty girl,
You are just too far,
and I am just too lonely.
We spent hundreds of days hating ourselves for loving each other.
Maybe we were too busy hating ourselves to actually love each other
She cannot meet me in the middle when she shackled to the start.

She reminds me of the reaper,
He lives inside her.
In the memories of being called a ****** at Christmas dinner.
Between picking out pears in the grocery store.
In the happiness over a haircut.
Happiness from my hands

Our breakup was not clean or neat or wholesome
It was all tears and excuses and hatred.
I still should’ve been there,
You’re the only one who understood how badly loving me hurts
I know it’s hard to love me.
To be good enough for me.
I haven’t figured out how to be good enough for myself either.

We’re Joking about how you mother thought we sat in circles
Whispering secrets, braiding
instead of pulling hair.
Now I watch as you pull yours out
Because ******* it you’re trying.
White people get away with killing kids all the time
Why would this be any different?

I’m in your passenger seat again
Asking what’s wrong, please answer me.
Where have you gone?
I’m pounding on a sealed casket
Pounding on the earth you lay beneath.
She is silent.

We held each other in pools of tears
Repeating that one day it gets better.
One day.
I feel guilty for living that truth
While you are stuck.

Yet still,
I will smile every June 11th
And wish you well.
I hope you’re still swimming
The creek we loved picked up quite the current.
BoogzThePoet Jan 5
Patience is just a padded positions of parallel pandemonium.
Are you paranoid? Or pacing through an appalled parity of the pre-script prerogative.
At this time, the prosecutor pronounced a plea for your partner after you followed protocol.
After provoking your protege to pull the pistol.
Prolonging the purseument to a plausible place.
Persevering a personal pioneer.  
You beat them all, huh?
Against every phenomenon.
You picked through pleasant park for the play to pilot off.
I can see you becoming more pleased now.
Pleased with the plan to plus one while poetry just isn't enough.
This letter P can fill the void.
It's a letter with possibility.
Politician. President. Principle. Prince. Promise. Professor. Producer. Professional. Provider.
but i can promise you,
***** rules them all.
Surely, there is a purpose for all this psych.
Primarily prevailing the precious power of those positions.
Keep the Peace. Acknowledge the positivity peeling from your parents.
Personal growth comes from the perspective of experience, personality endures from your inner peace keeper. Find the peace. pain free. paradise is within.
You’re afraid of heights and I of depth
The fear of not having anything to fall back onto
Or the fear of not having something to stand on no matter how wreck-less you allow your mistakes to be
Depth goes in all dimensions, doesn’t it?

It doesn’t stop at deep dark waters
It continues its way through my veins
Through baseless strength and unstable reasons
The look of darkness that finishes into nothingness

It stops at undoubting resilience which I cannot reach

I still like looking into it though, it thrills me
A second, a push and it’ll take me to that resilience or into nothingness
But it scares you, only because it comes from a height
It makes your stomach turn and hands weak
Not of what’s inside of that but of what it takes to get there

It was sometime between 11:30 pm and midnight

You’re afraid of heights and I of depth
You know, the one that stops at undoubting resilience
One which I cannot reach
It makes me sick and my chest feels hollow
My fingers look for grip
And my legs usually shake

But last night I wasn’t afraid
When you pulled my hand back
as I leaned against the edge of the wall above Thames
There was this radiance in your eyes
Brown, which people don’t talk about enough when they exemplify the beauty of eyes

Brown, the depth of which I hadn’t faced before
But I refused to be afraid of
Uncertain if the depth grew with my fingers shaking or your stomach turning

Your brown
Of how its succumbed with restlessness when you’re drunk
Of concern and constant pressure of not losing control of your shield
But still so pure
The hue which deepens when you talk about the person you love
Repeatedly, because you find words insufficient
And of how sometimes you leave traces to the problems you never speak about
The colour that grows deeper the more you look into it
The colour that nurtures the light of the laughter of the people you care about

The brown that falls asleep in complete innocence
Letting down all your guard during so
Slowly, part by part
The one which looks at me with sub-consciousness when your arms pull me in
The gradient that tries to make sure I have company till I pass out
The depth of which I don’t know if I’m scared of

2 hours later it was almost 2 am, and

You’re afraid of heights and I of depth
You know, the one that stops at undoubting resilience
But last night I think I wasn’t afraid
There was this radiance in your eyes
Radiance bright enough to show me the lighter side of depth

It grew brighter with every acceptance of your feelings
And darker with the realization of so
A shade darker every time I tried to draw meaning out of it
Dark to the hue of your afternoon tiredness
As you gently traced delicate lines with your fingers on my back
And softly locked our bodies together, your breath warming my neck
To no fall, nor any height
No stomach turns or shaky legs

It’s way past dawn almost 9am now,
My sleep breaks to realizations

You’re still afraid of heights and I of depth
But last night your brown carried me away
I was still afraid of depths as much as you were of heights
It’s just that your brown was almost a glorified one
One that gently looked at me with assurance

Your brown
Brown, which people don’t talk about enough when they exemplify the beauty of eyes
The brown that I looked into as the sunlight illuminated its light
Your morning brown
Your lightest brown
Which hardly lasted a minute
The best hue, gradient and gold that it could turn to be
Looking around with a blur
Only until it grows back to its darkest shade,
Deeper than the waters last night
Putting your guard back on

It’s way past dawn almost 9am now
My sleep breaks to realizations
You’re still afraid of heights, and I of depth
I’d say you know the drill by now
But this morning, the branches of your umber grew back onto me
James Khan Jan 3
Poetry dead as the eyes of Zapruder,
Died like a dog with a touch of Neruda,
Karma gone viral like digital Buddha,
Fashion takes heads like it's Henry of Tudor,
This psuedo-future
Tri-an-gulates like Ber-mu-da
With lies to delude ya,
The corp'rate computer-
Gestalt as a flamin' sambuca
Pickin' off culture like Kennedy's shooter,
The hard-wirin' router,
The U to the K stealin' hope like a looter
Like Herod of Judah,
Now pray to the idols of plastic and pewter
And get out ya ***** for the system to neuter,

This state of emergency,
Moral uncertainty
Pavin' the way for a global insurgency,
First-degree ****** spree,
Hope needin' surgery,
Shot through the heart for embracin' diversity,
Pain leaves a stain so I scrape off the verdigris,
That's how I roll and I medicate herbally,

Like I said ******' earlier
Make cigarettes herbier
'Cos modern disturbia
***** out the heart, splits apart like Serbia,
**** as ****, like Trump only surlier-
Crooked like Satan's tail (only curlier)...
I'm extending it as and when I can be bothered. I liked the rhymes and the humour, thought I'd repost...
Sam Tate Dec 2018
There's a house with no roof,
On a street with no lights.
A young man lives there,
Aged beyond his years.

He has a car with no engine,
And sits on a seat with no belt.
The car jumps forward,
It roars, quietly.

He passes cars with no drivers,
And sings a song with no tune.
His phone rings in his pocket,
He answers, then hangs up.

He drives purposefully with no destination.
The sun blares down with no warmth.
He'll never forget her image,
But can't remember her face.

Etched on his face is a smile with no joy.
Ahead, there's a bridge with no rails,
He accelerates the car to bring it to a stop.
He begins in the end.

There's a house with no roof,
On a street with no lights.
A young man used to live there,
Aged beyond his years.
Sam Tate Dec 2018
Oh, how I wish to replace the white filter,

Pressed, firmly, between your lips,

As your gentle hands craft the last cigarette of the day.

To be stained by the dark shade of your cheap lipstick,

If I am lucky, you will hold me too tight,

For just a moment too long.

The moisture will ***** your skin with indignant purpose,

So I can steal a drop of your crimson blood,

To taint my snowy white complexion.

Though it will only be a moment,

Before you cast me aside,

I will remain sane,

In the knowledge that,

For one brief second,

As you dragged the nicotine deep into your lungs,

That fleeting instant of ecstasy,

Belonged to me.
James Khan Dec 2018
Advertised signs and corporate lies
Inaugurate mindless surrogate highs,
Disguised as good advice,
(Ad-vice, get it?)
Make the notion of pride apologise
As the brands demoralise
Cos' only the grandest qualifies
When your life has a price
And the sight of a poor man horrifies,

Ettiquete's medically dead,
So the tombstone said
And the epitaph read 'Yo' Mama' instead,
Underlined in red
With a doodle of Putin
Shootin' himself in the head,

So step up, reprobate,
Celebrated elevated secretary of state
For the corporate cavalcade,
Spreadin' your **** from New York to Adelaide,
Proud from the sounds that the cattle made,
When you play your mainstage outrage,
Aim for the front-page,
Take your ****'s - wage,
**** the rat - race plague of the modern age,

The shoe fits, ***** so kick up the hubris,
With your clueless views
You choose to refuse the truth,
To suffuse the youth
With overproofed showmanship,
Show that **** to the kids
And wonder why under-twenties are cultural invalids,

Midlife-crisis starts at nineteen,
The magazine pipe-dreams,
Fine-toned IPhone
High-flown social cyclone,
Popular demand; a brand, bruv
So shake off the dandruff,
Ownin' the grand stuff  
(for love and money)
At least 'till you land rough
And bought up in handcuffs,
Now stand up and face the Man-
judge, jury, executioner,

Funny how it ends
With the death of common-sense,
**** your family, your salary is viral trends,
The curved lens, the great pretence,
Scheherazade parlour tricks and **** the politics,
When six figures sit in the bank, who needs friends?
Edited and metered a little better for flow.
K Balachandran Dec 2018
Lost bearing, a bird,
Slams against window pane;
Nature’s guards forced down?
Chloe Dec 2018
You’re so desperate for love that you latch onto the first person that shows you any kind of affection.
That is not called love, darling.
It is infatuation.
You sit in a web of lies, treating a person like they’re someone you despise.
You are not in love,
You are drowning in infatuation.
You are so obsessed with the idea of a person when you don’t even know who that person truly is;
And I may not know a lot about love but I know enough to know that that is not love.
So pour yourself another shot of ***** and complain about how no one loves you.
No one will love you because you won’t give them a chance.
Your idea of love is so warped, you do not own a person because you love them,
And they aren’t required to make you their world.
That is why you are in love with the idea of love;
And you are doomed to be in a relationship with infatuation.
You cannot accept your flaws,
To be honest, you probably never will.
You will live in a world being lonely,
As you cry, saying, “I just want someone to hold me.”
All the drugs in the world won’t take away your pain.
So, keep throwing your chances with someone down the drain.
Because you do not want a person to love you.
You want the idea of a person loving you.
But that isn’t what love is about.
You want all of the good times.
You can’t handle the bad.
You only want someone who only gives you attention,
The attention you didn’t get from your deadbeat dad.
So go home and be sad.
Manifest this life you wish you had.
But you won’t allow anyone to truly love you.
Because all you care about is infatuation.
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