Can't you see me through heaving breathing
a hand which grips while shouldering
A feeling wishing I could one day feel good,
but its like I don't know if I deserve & should.

Canaries never fly with guilty eyes of sorrow,
The crows will wake me too early tomorrow,
The zombies beat to parade of marching death
but I turn a corner, remembering everything she said.

We wish upon blown genie wax on birthdays,
until the day our little smiles turn to sobs and cries,
and as adults we will flame worse than toddler tantrums
and then we walk to a death to beat of our lives' drums.

Warped into the fabric of your earthly form
My eyes turn blue at the thought of the soul
Roots of worlds unbeknownst
Cower to the dread well known

Through velvet vails of perception
Burns the fire of deception
Flames spread through ivory towers
Fiery vines crawl between blooming flowers

Let me skin your flesh and break your bones
Even should the fire take me whole
In your mangled body lays a thing we long forgot

Should our forms collapse
Would we find forgotten jewels of the past?
Or should we see unmoving stones?
Choose your fate or break your bones

Match my ire dear liar
Preach of a demise so dire
Grieve my soul's innate desire
Speak of kindness, light the fire

Birthed sick since first cries
Turn the fury to the skies
Poison embedded through lullabies
Born to feed you with my cries

Brutalized, the chained butterfly
gasped for every breath,
an endless 365 days
is strangling her to death!

Ocean blue eyes bejeweled in
his cunning constellations,
began to weep and turn
into crusted formations.  

Her stitched-on smile she
displayed to the world,
unraveled at last as she  
threw out the once trusting girl.

Emboldened as tornadic fury
blasts from within,
the chain imprisoning
argent wings pelted thin!

She soars into  
waiting rainbow skies,
the groveling beast has lost,
all his battering dies!

A smile blooms on her lips
as cheerful drops spill,
she now flits among the beds
of bright yellow daffodils!

Written by D.Ann

keep on crafting verses
which ain't just a means of killing time
but, lyrics-wise
also a means of whacking turkeys
and black hA̲ts I'm versus
such as hacks with lyrics rather poorly
organized, which is why they're strE̲E̲t-gang-like
and, of course, autocratic vermins
composing both unjust regimes & crime
rings; said means of whacking, fO̲r when
my stuff's hatched, I̲t seems like
the close quarters battle chO̲I̲ce pre—
—ferred among primeval tribes
of present days northwestern states
["hatchet"; North American Indians; USA & Canada]
once again, a path of wA̲r is
picked, like how you may feel after surfing
through bA̲d news, O̲r when
you indulge in consumption
of content re injustice, corruption
["piqued"]
ju[ɪ]st like the weapon O̲f the Reaper
I've gO̲t a grim side
["scythe"]
and, like a cross gal-beater
'bout to blow off his ******* steam by
laying his meat hooks O̲n a chica
done no wrong to him, my
plan of attack is horrid; hope you o[ɑ]pps have **** hearses
plus caskets ordered
for yourselves; a nutbA̲g with swO̲rd dex—
—terity; dozen slashing strikes A̲t a tO̲rse, which
like a lush lass performing
in front of you a **[ɑ]t lA̲p dance, serves as
stimulation; then I hA̲ck off fO̲relimbs
and as a final blow
I get my target's gO̲rge slit
many would likely ca[ɔ]ll
such scene "bloodbath", but that's absurdish
for, in the scene, there's o[ɑ]bvi no
******* tub A̲s a storage
for spilled blood; it reminds me mo'
of a blood fountain (view-wise)
an assassin thirsty for blood's back to murking
————————————————————————————————
you know, knowledge & thou[ɑ]ghts about things
being either unjust, such as crim. rings
or unrighteous regimes, or O̲nes causing de[ɪ]s—
—pondence, regardless if I̲t's
something from the past or stuff that exists
in the present, are like a disease
that's why it's said unkno[ɑ]wledge is bliss
[to be more precise, "ignorance is bliss"]
that's why sO̲metimes you wish
your mI̲nd were at peace, like sO̲meone deceased
or you were in a better place
like a country scene wI̲th autumnal sU̲n-illumed trees, but...
————————————————————————————————
like an eye-catching gI̲rl with
an untactful shO̲rt rig
pU̲t on (like that war-monge[—]ring sh#tbag)
(that personifies a corruptive impact)
(of power) & acting *****
in front of an unattached het bO̲y, this
**** autocratic wO̲rld's ju[ɪ]st
****** asking for it (aaargh!)
while you already've got a tragic pE̲rs. en—
—vironment, which, alongsI̲de of the sh#t
mentioned just prior, has you turning
slowly into a ******* madman bursting
with flipping steam (loco)
excuse me if it's an indecent thing
to say, but the world of the living seems
like a giga[ɛ]ntic dumpsite (gigantic dumpsite)
for it's full of pieces of trash deserving
to be eliminated; that's why
you sometimes wish you were a master termi—
—nator serving as a real embo[ɑ]dier
of retribution, like Red Hood, Punisher
besides, as it's been mentioned prior ta
this, there's anger occurring I̲n you O̲nce in a
while, which itself isn't mU̲ch of a
scourge, unlike ex-hitmen compelled to cO̲me back ta
a path of spilling blO̲O̲d, but, a—
—kin to a cellar with a bU̲nch of au[ɑ]—
—thoritarian-regime-or-mafia-
-linked ******, some drU̲ms of a—
—lcohol, & a ca[ɛ]ndle lustre o[ɑ]—
—ccupying a somewhat evil mI̲nd of a
vengeful sO̲n of a
gun, it's a somewhat combustible story
["storey"]
when you've got not up to ***** sources
of blowing off steam
————————————————————————————————
atrocious, obscene
in self-expression, but it's just a reflection of this
corrupt world that I've been
influenced by; while the boat that I'm in
is a far cry from a floating posh inn
["by floating posh inn", I mean "cruise liner"]
more like an old brigantine
with nigh-on nO̲body bei[—]ng
on board; but even
sinking lO̲w when I scheme
my bars, I'm sti̲ll on
a morally higher ground than those rO̲gues I'm agin
like the Ledger's Joker, I deem
this world deserves a better category of crims
than gangsters & ******* ******* for im—
—proper, self-assertive regimes; a bO̲ld breed of in—
—dividuals who'd be disposing of prin—
—ciple-lacking sods blindfolded by ching
and power, like thO̲se I've just in—
—dicated; you may get your f#ck finger
and your pointer organized, sim. ta
a **** mo[ɑ]b, I̲nto the V sign if ya
know who I mean
[9 letters, the 1st one is "v", the last one is "e"]

She walks and they talk
through the food-hall,
asian cuisine on the menus
a tray to help yourself,
sits alone with
her ginger chicken
spicy and hot,
doesn't feel alone
with the strangers
chatting a-lot.

Where's there's dreams,
there's always disbelief,
clouds of silver lining
coins tossed in fountains,
ages covered in grazing,
wishing for lover lazing,
blinded as such to poison,
sprayed on every flower.

Lit up is the exit sign &
evil the twin that binds,
and for love we give a sigh
wishing moments to rewind.

A wish to do it differently,
comes across all too frequently,
Does the diamond ring sparkle
worth divorce & note hackles?

I'll tell you all a story,
of my past glories
My dad was proud
but look at him, now.
Don't believe the wishbone,
standing under the mistletoe,
Dreams will come crashing,
and the blood stops rushing.

The raven's beak smashes into the eggs,
to eat up the yolk and take one for the road,
for his mate who distracts the humming-birds,
by flying close to the nest and causing distraction.

By the time the hummingbirds realize,
what's left in the nest is a yellow slime of a mess,
their babies lost to the hunger of these evil birds,
smart, intelligent and as cold as their deadly eyes.

darken sharp wings and no love in their eyes,
they'll snap up anything that can easily die,
worms, insects, eggs & the babies in the nest,
Satanic birds, be at your wariest.

little cracks recedes in the pavement,
weeds growing between cement blocks,
the random-ness of fruit placement,
some get bruised and hard around the clock.

the mystery of cutting of the arms,
when the ***** bleeds inner turmoil,
a hair-pin's gold in every barn,
hidden within the hay and the soil.

Her gentle eyes creates my tomb-stone,
a dove comes to pick seeds of the red roses,
over time the flowers dry and rot,
like first day I was placed in a cot.

It slowly creeps in the shadows undetected
All the while everything on the surface seems fine
Even as the body fights it becomes subjected
To something sinister that at first seemed so benign

The fatal disease then spreads quickly without control
Destroying and consuming everything in its path
Even though warning signs may whisper it to the soul
The mind doesn’t want to realize it or do the math

The victim becomes brittle at the core, to the bone
Not realizing what it’s done until it’s too late
And all the medicine won’t help because they are prone
To the laws of nature and spirit as they lie in wait

In society the therapy for hate should be love
Compassion and empathy can be infused to endure
For in the final days those who ignored will not get rid of
The pain of wasted time when they could’ve found a cure