I must be easily mistaken
For a coat on a plastic hanger
Because nothing has been more familiar
Than the way I’ve been used,
Selected finickly from the men’s section
And worn until I’m ruined.

They expect me to fulfill their needs
And take on all their elements
And if I get a little *****
I’m just thrown in the wash
So I can be used again.

Your rhymes were a bin bag thrown
in the trash, couldn't even write a
         sentence, dyslexia of meaning


and ****** up sentences that
    weren't even spelt write.

Couldn't even spin a line,
   as it was meant to be straight


but your words were more wavy than
                a bad perm.



  There isn't room for a failed wanna be,

                    alone in your room *******
hard,

But your more empty than the raisin
                   ***** your trying to spit out of...

Non consequential wording that doesn't flow
down stream,
                   more like your floating bloated
breath  releasing putrid gas

that stinks more than what they were belching out.


I never insult the cadavers of dead lines,

but your words were buried even before
          you opened that hurse of dead beats.

a handful of rhymes that were more powerful than
           your buried career,

sorry you were a foot in the grave even before you
                                                   opened your mouth.


Song I wrote after I used your girl..


I wasn't the one she wanted it was you,
                but I gave her what she wanted

and that never included you..

Every thing you wanted I stole,
  and gave her fake wishes that were
tarnished but she never looked beyond
                 the moment seeing the stitching
of us was more fake than the smiles I gave her.

I knew she wanted to be with you,
   but I was the salesman of woman..

While you were the boy next door, I was the salesmen
                     showing her fake dreams..

Don't worry you can have her after I've used her enough,
          I'll even trade her in for a good price..

Ye, she'll be broken..

           But everything is always defective
after I've rode it enough...

Her crown maybe cracked,
  but she'll be yours even though she'll be thinking
of me even though your in her, I'm the length
        she'll remember but she'll be your crack queen.

Now this is enough of wording.

                   and I'm moving on to the next one.

God, I'm so gullible...

Don't be happy just because someone is giving you compliments
You're better than that

Just because you're lonely
Don't let people use you

A heartbeat- loud enough to drown out the sounds.
Gypsy rings- the ones that turn your finger green.
A fire- crackling past the perfectly pitched logs.
A silver chain- tangled and twisted like a drunken memory.
Chipped nail polish- fragmented in the shapes of places you have never been.
The lifeline on your left hand- too short for you to get anywhere that you want to go.
A faded tattoo- the one that you regret like your eleventh drink last night.
The red string around your wrist- the one that looks like trickles of blood when it is wet.
The laminated bookmark- the one you ever so eloquently placed in my heart and walked away.

She was the ****, I was the crystal
addicted to each other the moment
                                              we meet.

But every high has a come down,
                I'm the ***** needle..

She was the spoon, warming up on
               another's sleeve.

Tided tightly ready to overdose on her.

                     She was the chemical bliss
that could  be taken anywhere,  



                                         I thought...
that we were something special.

But I was used,
                      discarded.

I was useless to her, as I was unable
         to pierce the vein..

Used to many times.

So she found another way to find
              a way to make her self higher

than she was with me.

Now I'm in a come down

rehabilitated
                   and I'm struggling.