Walls are attractive.
Walls are so ******* attractive.
I want to smash my ******* head against a wall.
What a ******* stupid fat ****.
See a ******* wall?
That wall.
The wall.
That’s where your ******* heads going.
Over and over and OVER.
Crimson red walls.
Concussion red walls.
Death painted walls.
******* die.
You stupid f-
Oh sorry, I saw a wall, where were we?

Experiencing domestic violence
Sitting here in the silence

I reek of the stench of fear as I gaze upon the tall, slender figure before me. He towers above me while I oppose him, weak and frail in comparison.

He takes his stance whilst the adrenaline rushes through my veins and I feel my body shiver in sheer terror.

His fists are quick to meet with my face with such turbulent, burning anger.
My head soon lands harshly on the canvas, and mere seconds pass before hammer fists rain down on me at my most vulnerable state.

The gore pours down and I taste the metallic warmth of my own blood,
the smell of carnage reaches my nose as I begin to embrace this elation.
As the abuse boils my blood and sickens my soul down to its core, I tell myself, “let them RAIN! RAIN! RAIN!"

I am once again the victim of this heartless cruel world.

As the trauma settled within my brain,
it felt like waves were crashing against my skull.
I barely held on to my consciousness while hammer fists continued to rain down on my face.
What is this creed that makes him believe that he must make me bleed, and bleed, and bleed?

Every time he sends a blow towards my liver, I feel my lungs ache for air, and I miss the taste of the wind.
Nevertheless, he refuses to slow down.
His attacks are relentless, as though he must settle this cold dispute by any means, even if it calls for him to break my bones.
My body slams against the concrete floor, he crushes me to my core, and I see my friends walking away from the corner of my eye.
If they weren't heartless, they would have checked if I’m okay
Does anyone know the struggle I endure?
I stomach the pain and swallow my pride,
I let go, and my eyes roll back as the warm blood trickles down my face.

As the trauma subsides and the dust settles, I question if he wished death upon me, or for me to lay here and cry in torment upon these wet white tiles.
I look up towards him as he just smiles,
A chunk of cold, unfeeling ice sits instead of his heart beneath his ribs.
I sit in my now cold blood and ponder,
My emotions rushing with turbulent power,
I am left to wonder if he had beaten me for a reason, or for the thrill and elatio

A cataract to truth is cloudy violence
A cataract to truth just spits at science
You wear Your home team tinfoil hat
no need for jabs, don’t wear a mask
You spend your cash as you make it fast
No time for “them” or your income tax
A cataract to truth is cloudy violence
A cataract to truth just spits at science
You live in your fog of privilege
you’re rich white trash and you’re ignorant
You’d rather lose a hand than help an immigrant
But your daddy got you shares in his business
You wear Your home team tinfoil hat
a pricey suit but still no class.
Ya Gammon, Ya Gammon
You ******* soulless Gammon.

~ I Everett

the shamrocks bleed.....Ireland's countrymen gang wars, slaying each others' dreams

I hate  political conversations
Especially ones about our dear nation
Should I start with the politician’s lies
Or society’s bias?
Yes, I am young and I don’t know much
But did you see how hard she clenched her purse?
Youths wanna be big
But don’t want to stoop to dig
Trying to look for shortcuts to success
That carries no stress
Men and women in uniform always forget life is A boomerang
they think they can play God cos they’ve got big guns
Our government claim they don’t have enough resources to help us all
but go the extra mile to fund meaningless wars
Humans have allowed their love for innovation to devour them
so much they have failed to acknowledge what they have become
People are so quick to praise loyal partners
Is Cheating acceptable and accessible now?
Politicians love  using tragedies to stay relevant
making false promises to win people over
Countries can’t fix the war on their soil
but go around bombing other countries
to steal their resources and destroy innocent lives
for their financial gain
I see you lot who embrace our black culture
but keep quiet when it comes to our struggle
You can’t choose when to be black sweetie
I don’t know why Vloggers brag about their good deeds
Don’t get me wrong, I am always moved by  your touching videos
but you shouldn’t film the vulnerable
for your views
The internet has  succeeded in painting the perfect body for its audience
that people feel they would be rejected if they don’t meet the society’s standards
We look up  so much to celebrities
because they are reflections of who we want to be
instead of using our little time for our development


Don’t get me wrong
I know and understand
©O.K
June 2020

She grabs her by the neck
And I can see it unfold
She never stood a chance
Her body slams to the ground
She gasps upon impact
Blood running from her mouth red as her hair

She reaches up
Unclear if as an act of pleading or anger
But a figure dressed dark as night rips her off the ground
Only to slam her down again

This time she lets out an unearthly moan
She spits blood onto the pavement
It glistens in the sun
A puddle of color against the blacktop

The figure grabs her again and drags her by her hair
Her lips quivering
She puts her arms below her
And as she pushes to lift herself up another blow
The dark figure kicks her in the side of the head
She falls to the ground
A sharp kick in the rips and she spits blood once again

She looks up pleading with her eyes
Scrapes cover her face with streaks of red
The tears are streaming down but she does not cry out
Another blow to the ribs and she doubles down
Using her hands over her head she attempts to protect herself

Finally relenting the dark figure stops the kicking
She lay broken and quivering unable to face it
It begins to scream
And when she turns away it grabs her face to face the lingual horrors

When I see her face next it's only a glance
But her eyes seem empty now
Glazed over and lifeless
The figure picks her up again

She makes no sound this time as she hits the ground
For a moment it seems as though she will try to rise up
The figure stands over her watching
But she doesn't move

From off the pores of pitch-black skin,
Floyd's soul saps aways,
Little by Little,
One last time
One last effort
One last fruitless plea
In tinny scraps of air
Pushed up from greying lumens
Sourly yields a quashed neck coldening ,
The sore man sighs the last of life,
The man with the loathed shade met his end

Where have the great games
of childhood gone?

Father and son
tossing the grenade

Little sister skipping
over ***** traps

Somehow, someway
we reached a cease fire
in the "eleventh hour
of the eleventh day
of the eleventh month"

Not sure which of us
was gaslighted
in the eerie orange
of shoreline blood
and the unsettled darkness

"You were right, I was wrong."
read the treatise

Somewhere, someway
an airplane missing
for nearly a century
descends from the clouds
and touches down
in an empty field

The fallen souls
of weaponry
unload on the tarmac

Let the games begin...