What do my memories taste like? There lies on my tongue—
An atomic bomb:
a purported speck, with no chicken pox skin situated upon such.
I spat it out; I wobbled on and on, stomping the microscopic intensity into the sludge.
No one sees; how pleasant…
My shoe’s underside slit it— a paper cut broiled to the infinitude degree—
Preposterous conundrum! Slam!
I fulminate! I screech, the needy baby I am!
My guttural heave strews in the wind:
deformed limbs on the newer generations, an abysmal thread.
Supposedly bland, but then: a guzzling bleed from you and I gushes on and on; but oh, was it needed!
Listen to my writhing! Soak in my curdling roaring!
I am the mafia mastermind, but I plead to guilt!
The vandalism cannot be grated, but I will
revamp, spot clean, and hunt for a vaccine.
I cannot cure a scored scar, but rest assured:
I will endeavor to solidify the clot.
How I'd love
to spray paint the words
upon your white picket fence.
I will destroy
I retract my statement--
we don't rhyme
where I'm from.
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!
Desktop Site: https://notapreciousgem.wixsite.com/tickledpurple/blog
Mobile Site: notapreciousgem.wixsite.com/purplemobile
It was Halloween night but I had no candy.
But I did have an air rifle and it came in handy.
Because I had no candy, some punks started vandalizing my house.
Just because I shot them with my air rifle, people called me a louse.
I pumped the air rifle ten times and shot one of them in the *****.
The **** juvenile couldn't walk back to his house, he had to crawl.
I put pellets up their ***** so that a valuable lesson would be taught.
Before they vandalize another man's house, they will have 2nd thoughts.
But the cops came to my house and I was the one who was placed under arrest.
Apparently it was illegal when I shot them in their *****, ***** and a girl's left breast.
Sadly, shooting the girl was an accident, I shot her as she was walking past.
After I got out of jail, her dad paid me a visit and put my arms and legs in casts.
There was a valuable lesson that those juvenile delinquents learned.
I shoot people who are vandals, that's why none of them have returned.
The love you paint in my heart,
looks more like vandalism than art.
Lean not on to me
O' dear one
I am weary and old
All day in the sun
The heat and rain
Abused and vandalized
Pinned with pain
My branches shade
To one and all
Now too old to stand
I am ready to fall
No leaves, no greenery
Only dead branches stand
Birds just pass by
As I am stuck on this land
An woodcutter showed
No mercy today
Chopped off all branches
And took all my pieces away
Now I am just rooted
Like an ugly dying pole
Wishing for a great storm
To release my tortured soul...
Respect the nature, respect our trees, if they ain't around, there will be no breeze. Don't just kick on a dying tree to make it fall...look carefully, it may just be alive like our grandparents.
Let me be the drop of ink
On your ivory canvas
Mark you at the center
Came your subduction
Not a claim against your sovereignty
Rather passionate vandalism
From a guest stopping by
To your milky temple
This morning, I went into your home
And hung up all the cobwebs
That I had collected.
I dumped a bucket of dust
All over the floors and kicked it
Into the air, making it hard to breathe.
I smeared the mud from my shoes
All over your brand-new carpet, thinking,
"I've done this before, and I wonder
If he will still forgive me;"
That's when you came walking
Through the door with a broom in hand,
And open arms for this vandal.
I suppose I could plead innocent to this crime,
But that would be lying.
After all, I knew exactly what I was doing
Each and every time I took you apart,
Ripping your self-esteem and sense of security down
With every cruel word I threw at you,
Like a game of darts with your heart as the target.
You tell me that despite having broken up with me,
You can’t possibly forget me because all your demons have my voice.
I suppose you hoped that would spark remorse within me,
And serve as some sort of proof that there’s evidence of what I’ve done.
But darling, I don’t think you understand;
That was my intention all along:
To leave an imprint in your life.
I’ve always been enamored by graffiti on public property.
I suppose destroying you
Was my way of imitating that;
Leaving my mark on something that
Wasn’t mine to begin with, nor to end with.
If it’s any consolation,
I’m not proud of the person I’ve become.
But at this point I’m afraid
It’s too late to try to change.
hey guys sorry for taking so long to upload the second part of this series. i'm kinda proud of this one, though. as usual, feedback is always appreciated.