We’re stronger together,
Boy, girl,
Man, woman
Them, other...

Why would you think you’re superior?
Why would you think you’re spectacular?
Our histories are woven,
Whether we like it or not...
There’s no time for malice that widens our rot -

Because this is where they want you; under their thumb in their cot...
But when you speak up, with nothing but the truth– they’re shot...

And this is what we’ve got...
Act now or flop...
No time for comfort in your clan,
Measure this wing span...

We can still fly out of here if we want...
Stop judgements based on immediate response...

Or watch each other die,
In sweltering springtime, spying through stick masks of spite...

Look at me now but don't let me go
We both know we stooped too low;
And when our souls hurt and our flesh is aching
Are you surprised our love is breaking?

I didn't want to be here
But I just thought you'd be nearer
I don't want to fight
But all I do is out of spite.

I'm not meant to build you up
I'm only here to build my art
And I'll be your teammate
When you don't love me just a little too late.

And what's the love for a soul you thought you had
As a friend when our hearts are broken and sad
If it's now out of reach
And in the contract there's been a breach?

Legs around your waist,
Your face against my face
Isn’t it great to feel loved again?

To be killed for and died for
And everheld and cherished
And life to feel as dreamy as death again.

Isn’t it great to outwait the doubts
And second-thoughts.
On and on, til too far-gone to realise when

I went too far.
And that’s none of your concern
It never was,
But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel better
when I was a little less different.
Do you feel safe at all when I’m not there?
—
Alone again and -worse, still-
Without you.
As I sat down outside,
Between two worlds
Waiting desperately to be home again;
Two separate people spat at me from moving cars
And I only laughed because they missed.

someone who, age-wise, reached beyo[ɑ]nd
20 (quite beyond), but this extremist co[ɑ]n—
—science of a wicked armed
comic book vigilante keeps my mind thinking some—
—times, like: "wish I get to meet someO̲ne
who'd revise this inco[ɑ]m—petent wight into one
surpassing assassin"
[not a hitman, big ******* difference]
so there's a solid why in this ***
existence
["hell's waking up every ******* day & not even knowing why you're here"]
————————————————————————————————
but also 'cause some-thing I wa[ɑ]nt is o[ɑ]bscene mob ****
and tsars with their ***-lickers done
away with, since these swines live off wro[ɑ]ngs (a heap of wro[ɑ]ngs)
that's a base they get their filthy lives built upo[ɑ]n
get your vice-ridden hides
out of your private planes & whips
or your ******* ace retreats
like someone on an invitation list
come in sight & taste some lead
as if it were a plated dish
["come inside"; also, "sight" in the sense of "gun sight"]
or you may get iced, like a dra[ɛ]nk in heat
in ways way more creative, ******
the kind excited by pre-RPG "AC"/Jo̲hn Wick fight sh#t
[3A "Assassin's Creed" games, which have wicked counter kills & coups de grâce]
so it's art of violence, like that **[ɑ]stile rhyme piece
in which I have a despo[ɑ]tic swine fixed (to death)
["punishment of an autocrat"]
or like that wicked bass-musique-led symphonia
made by We Are Magonia
speaking re[eɪ] musique, for a scene in that way, my pick
like a vis. representation de—
—picting me, would be a midtempo-bass-like beat
["my pic."]
hold up, wait a bit
like a meal-serving guy the da[ɛ]maged phiz
of which is like: "PA received"
["waiter beat"; "PA" - "physical assault"]
I was saying stuff like "you may wind up slain by means
way more creative in plA̲ce of ju[ɪ]st
being shot down", like a ba[ɛ]nkrupt biz
["shut down"]
how 'bout a grave blood leak
initiated with an a[ɛ]mple streak
of slashes & stabs with a serriform saber, which
would be followed by
your knees & necks perforated with
bolts from a ******* crossbow? (nice)
my imagination tends to go crazy sick
when thoughts of mine get occupied
with elimination sh#t

you spoke with your back turned
like nothing was wrong
the kettle sat screaming
its blistering song

your eyes crack with thunder
I don’t look away.
I taste every stormcloud
and swallow the rain

you asked if I loved you
then smirked at the floor
i said it too slowly,
you moved for the door

We fought in the hallway,
your knuckles went red.
You hit without blinking
and meant what you said.

you find every fracture
then press where it stings
You say, “it’s devotion,”
and tighten your strings.

You lean in, now limping,
your voice raw and rough.
We clutch like survivors
who'd suffered enough.

Your hands then remember
what you never confessed,
you kiss where you hurt me
and ask for the rest.

but still, when you’re shaking,
and all fury’s gone,
I gather your pieces
and whisper a song

I stitched up the silence
you gave me to keep
and rocked us together
til sorrow found sleep

We curled in the ash
what didn’t survive,
and found even ruin
leaves something alive.

im so angry
my emptiness
my loneliness
my everything
all my emotions
boil down to rage

why must i have such high expectations
of myself, and why must other have
such high expectations of me?
im not built for constant brain tearing,
splitting, spearing forwards, to stab the wall
with the sharp edges of my frazzled mind

im a live wire
fizzling against the ground
begging, reeling, praying
for someone to touch it
to spread its angry, fizzing electricity
through someones heart.

as i continue down this path
drinking and smoking and pushing myself
to death
the teenage dream
my rage will push me to new heights
pull me up to great things
just to spite those who wronged me.

my throat is stabbed with my own dagger
my chest rise and fall slower
my eyes are covered with grey clouds
my brain though numb begins to shout
blood flows with spite
through blood I will continue to fight

Unyielding, raging pride and spite,
A death-grip on dignity,
The indomitable will
To get off his knees and
Punch anyone who touched him
Because it hurt to move.
I get it. I've felt that grief.
So I looked him in the eye and said;
You want to fight?
Fight the floor. Fight gravity.
Get up. I know you can
Because everyone cries,
Everyone ****** themselves,
Swears and sweats and
Lashes out in panic.
That's okay. I've seen worse.
Grab my hand, don't let go.
You're going to fight gravity
And you're going to win.

Who invited the instigators?
I didn't,
Did you?
They don't work,
They don't write,
Unless it's a comment made out of spite.
Social medias were built to throw around blame,
If you like spreading rumors, may I suggest Facebook?
Wherever you do it,
Don't do it here,
You're one poem,
Can't be a line attacking people you've never met.
I'm sick of all the strays,
If you come here, come for art,
Come to write.

to ones wronged or irked by some stupid bullsh#t
and who may have an itch to do some ruin—
—ation, e.g., shoot some bullets
all the imprudent bullies
and corrupt ****** contributing to in—
—justice will do as ones to subject to a punishment
[mafias & agents of authoritarian regimes]
and if you are one of 'em
a few words regarding your funeral
[if there will be one]
hope it will be at odds with the usual
it should be a carnival to the bone
whether or not that is suitable