#target
everything was set into place just like I planned
I found myself the perfect spot to hit my targets
without them noticing me from a higher up distance
I can’t be seen though or I’ll blow my cover
from afar there are two people in a isolated area
a great place for me to carry out this lovely mission
without any witnesses interfering
I take my “bow” out of my suitcase and start to reload my “arrows”
I line up my first shot to the first person’s frontal lobe
with one push of the trigger
my love magic pierced through one of them with ease
the other screamed in a great terror
but don’t worry they’ll meet up with them soon
as I quickly reload my “arrow” I see them run away in fright
they try to signal for help but I can’t let that happen
with a quick shot my love magic went through the back of their head
now both of their souls can finally interact in another life
“did you carry out the job “ my boss said through my walkie talkie
“affirmative sir” I replied
with each mission I carry out I do it with love
even if it ends with me being on the wanted posters
Jan 3, 2025
Jan 3, 2025 at 9:50 PM UTC
My body is sixty percent water,
and I attempt to float with the oil,
coasting with closed eyes and mind.
But I am sinking to the bottom of the glass,
where cold, hard rocks bruise with the truth,
and I press my hands to the glass to keep myself standing.
Although the rocks ground me,
the submersion chokes my throat.
If I crack the glass with my bare hands,
the acid-laced arrows will lacerate my back,
and I will be a trembling target fading into mist.
but the gentle breeze will greet me with open arms.
Apr 2, 2022
Apr 2, 2022 at 9:06 PM UTC
If I can't make something into logical sense via concepts, then I make it spacially sensical by knowing certain aspects of a class have repeated.
E.g. in my brain I label a verse with tabs pertaining to a previous line of thought.
E.g. like playing target practice.
May 5, 2021
May 5, 2021 at 8:47 AM UTC
With the point of my arrow as sharp as my jaw,
my draw back and backtalk are equally as piercing.
Apr 25, 2021
Apr 25, 2021 at 6:52 PM UTC
Faltering plans
An indecisive mind,
Consistency in itself is an art
An explosive start!
Followed by;
Fumbling fingers and idiotic ideas.
What next?
Do we pitstop like Hamilton?
We were in pole position.
Reassert, focus and keep on track.
We are the drivers of our own Destiny...
Apr 3, 2021
Apr 3, 2021 at 6:45 PM UTC
Focus on your end result
To feel more energetic
And engage your inner powers
From your system cybernetic
Yes, seek for goals and targets
You are built to be magnetic
As a self-correcting expert
When you act more cybernetic
Cybernetics helps you truly aim
But only if you have a goal
So don’t go with the current
But grab your life and take control
Do those actions that truly count
Stay calm and not frenetic
Keep your eyes upon your dream
Use your system cybernetic
Oct 21, 2020
Oct 21, 2020 at 10:51 AM UTC
Encephalon is the flagitious syndicate target
To imprison the saintly and resistant population
In the research agenda which is classified
We are selected guinea pigs in a nightmare
To the unethical secret operations
Unknown to many, is the silent suffering
Of isolated victims living amongst the community
Satellite surveillance includes electromagnetic harassment
That burning, thought stealing, control of limbs feeling
I was done by the hoary Navy's sonar
Poor dolphins washed up Cornwall's beach(1)
After sonar echoed in my right lughole
Mind control technology has evolved
The community are recruited by false propaganda
Thats the local police, council, library, not restricted to neighbours
Old style Cointelpro is in play
Discredited, slanders, and victim blaming
Who can we share with but other targets
Nobody asked which human is for "use" in trials?
Jun 24, 2020
Jun 24, 2020 at 10:37 AM UTC
The civilian islanders living on Guam have only 14 minutes to flee North Korean missiles.
What will they do when the enemy birds are fired?
So few minutes to get to the shelter.
Will the shelter be enough to protect them?
Nobody will know what type warhead the missiles carry.
Not till it detonates and unleashes devastation.
Some people don’t care about the threat.
They chill out at the beach surfing or reading.
Or go to a barbeque and drink ice cold beer.
And go to a club with a pretty lady and dance close.
Who cares about a fat madman’s threats?
If he fires a single missile it will either miss or be splashed.
Then his nation will be reduced to ash and rubble.
North Korea failing to exist except only in memory.
Adding to the list of dictators and regimes that were ******* insane.
This latest one targeting Guam due to the American base
Apr 5, 2020
Apr 5, 2020 at 1:33 AM UTC
satu tangan menutup mata
satu tangan menutup telinga
belikatku bertahan kaku
tiap pijakan pelan, terseok
belum leluasa ku berlari
terpaan gelombang yang sudah-sudah
masih meninggalkan goresan dalam daging
dibantu merangkak, tapi dipaksa berlari
caramu mengenyahkan biru yang masih menyelubungiku
takut
pada lidah sangkalan beradu
bukankah lancang mencipta imaji semu
lalu menggantungnya pada tiang-tiang garam
berharap keras, tak begitu meleset pada manusia
sadar, tak se-Esa
namun jika Bapa memberi
siapa yang bisa menutupnya?
target apa, begitu mendesakkah?
soal pembendaharaan rasa
apalagi rancangan
telah kuserahkan padaNya
aku dungu & tidak mengerti, seperti hewan aku di dekat Bapa. Tetapi aku tetap didekat Bapa; Ia memegang tangan kananku.
Mar 14, 2020
Mar 14, 2020 at 7:48 AM UTC
And when you decide me as your world,
And when you see me as your screen to trust
Every minute, Every hour
Shower droplets of visual love and touch target
To refurbish our love, time and again
Nov 6, 2019
Nov 6, 2019 at 11:29 PM UTC
Looking back
When you said those words they held some weight
And I laughed it off at the time
But I went back to my bed that night
And my mind began to race
I know you've painted a target on my back
If I was more oblivious to people like you I would not have seen it
But it's bright red like blood
And rather noticeable
I should have known better
Every laugh and smile comes with a price
And it's never cheap
So when you said those words
All I heard was the price
I will not pay your ransom
I am not interested in those words
And while you were technically correct
You were also very wrong
So believe me when I say this
If you ever feel so bold as to use those words on me again
I'll make you eat them
Sep 25, 2019
Sep 25, 2019 at 12:32 PM UTC
Daring to say words,
Laughing thoughts cause tension,
Like jester's,
knighted into dreary stanzas and contortions
Where are all the mild men?
The one's who count for days
Who swindle the swindler,
The very breath of a man,
Is but...
Don't you?
See the target out there Charles?
Hit that and life will build you a shelter
Charles God has no shelter
No target to hit
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 7:54 PM UTC
I want succeed so bad, I want to see myself saying if I make this millions this month, how much will I make next month.
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 5:52 PM UTC
The death rattle, hum and sway
rising from the dirt, and ashes
the storm now closer, every day
as thunder, lightning, flashes
Tie the lashings snug my dear
and bind your leathers tight
rising above the pain and fear
at morning, noon, and night
No release and no anger
it's business every time
inconsequential weather
just rhythm and it's rhyme
You hold the reins in grasp
always have and always will
you're the locks on your own clasps
going for the win
the ****
Apr 19, 2019
Apr 19, 2019 at 11:06 PM UTC
bullet in my brain,
even before you shoot me
i’m already dead.
who cares!
Apr 10, 2019
Apr 10, 2019 at 3:13 PM UTC
I am the Target that is placed on a wall
You are the arrow shot from a bow
Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 8:27 AM UTC
वही दूसरी दुनिया का दीदार बाकी है,
आँखें मूंद कर अभी एक सैर बाकी है।
अभी माँ की गोद में सर रख थपकी मिलना बाकी है,
चाँद तारो की बारात में जाना बाकी है।
पलकें भारी कर मूंदना बाकी है,
नज़रों में एक ख्वाब आना बाकी है।
ख़्वाब जो सोने न दे,
ख़्वाब जो कही खोने न दे।
भगाता है तू मुझे अपने पीछे,
रुक तुझे जीकर अभी पुचकारना बाकी है।
बुलबुला नही है तू जो हल्की हवा से फट जाएगा,
अभी तेरा आंधियो की सैर करना बाकी है ।
सोता था कभी तुझे देखने के लिए,
अब तुझे देखकर नींद लेना बाकी है।
Feb 19, 2019
Feb 19, 2019 at 8:10 AM UTC
It’s me, the one nerd
Yes, who you used to throw your
hand made paper planes when I was concentrated in the books,
then pass your homework like I was your personal tutor
And made me cry on my way
back to home
It’s me, the fat
Yes, who you did not consider for cheerleading team just
because I was out of shape
And made me cry on my way
back to home
It’s me, the gay
Yes, who you used to beat up in the locker room for being
attracted to the same gender.
And made me cry on my way
back to home.
It’s me, the differently abled
Yes, who you used to punch,
slap, toss
anytime you wanted to do so.
And made me cry on my way
back to home
Listen to this, bully
It came to our mind, many times
to **** ourselves
because of the humiliation and the pain. but at our home door, we stood,
wiped the tears
because can’t show mama
that we were weak
and dad that we couldn’t stand for ourselves.
we did survive through, alive
but with remarks and scars
and with a shattered heart
-ache
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 6:07 PM UTC
Hands leaving passionate marks
for a crying nun
that has sinned her life away.
Let her pray instead of running away.
Let her cry warm wasteful tears.
***** fingernails explore
the filthy nuns surface.
Tracing bruises
and spreading pain
from the spanking received
for being too needy.
Forming nuances of red
on the prime target.
Sweet syrup fingers
dripping down the arms
of a freshly dead man.
Defeat for the nun
who now is done.
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 4:57 PM UTC
News announced today "cop kills a man in his own home".
Mistakes his apartment for hers, mistakes him for a burglar or
an easy target!
My Granny says "I bet she is white and he was black"? She used was since Botham is dead. Granny says "cops killing black body has been normalized since forever".
Three days later the news releases her name and photo.
My Granny was right. She is a white woman with Klansman's robes for eyes looking to **** a black man.
Amber tell me did you sit in your car for 15 hours carving Botham's name on the bullet that killed him before going to his apartment?
Did you want his apartment to reflect the same color as
the red mat in front of his door?
Oh, you didn't notice that,
or did you just decide to take a shot in the dark,
while Botham was in his home resting effortlessly?
It was too dark for you to see that was not your apartment, but lit enough to see him to shoot him in his chest.
Amber, I bet your heart is cut from the same
cloth as your mother's "All Lives Matter" Tee Shirt.
Botham's Mother says his heart was made by angels.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 11:52 AM UTC
I would like to write a poem
Just to scare you so
Cause you said you were weary
Of the poems that we sow
You're afraid of being immortalized
Within the scriptures that we write
You're afraid of the things we'll say
Scared it will leave a nasty bite
The words that we pour out
Are the retellings of our soul
The life that we have created
Our personal bible that makes us whole
You're slightly disturbed that we write
But also partially flattered
Though you would prefer to be left out
In case we leave you in tatters
You told me as you read through
A poem about yourself
"I have to be weary of what I say"
Relax, dont get too full of yourself
We write from the heart
unleashing monsters of all Kinds
Through we gain a sense of control
Control of the insanity of ones mind
Through poems of endless words
Letters strung together by string
A silver tongue out to express
A mind field of eternal sins
Beautiful phases of our love
Cut out from our still beating hearts
Each poem carefully crafted
As the world begins tearing us apart
Dont fault us for our creations
For this is our escape
eternalized within this site
Filling our voids
Its the Perfect shape
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 4:56 AM UTC
I used to be a Glock 40,
my aim impeccable.
I made the decision,
I pulled the trigger,
I hit my target.
Lately, I've been a musket shot;
unpredictable,
and somehow even more dangerous than usual.
I miss the center and wind up somewhere in the corner of the paper.
Dust flies from the shrapnel
where I used to have a single trail of smoke indicating the bullet, crumpled but whole,
placing a hole where I wanted it to,
and one unbroken shell, slightly charred,
dropping near my feet.
But here I am watching people take cover
as my pieces go flying, destroyed by my own chaos,
tearing anything and everything apart in its path.
I used to be deadly but precise.
Now I'm not sure what I am.
I'm certainly causing damage,
but more to myself than anyone else...
I confuse and startle people more than strike fear in them,
and that's insufficient...
I want to be better,
but I keep going off without warning,
and people avoid me to avoid getting hit,
but they're not scared,
they're simply learning,
and I don't know how I feel about that,
maybe I'm not a gun anymore,
maybe I'm the target,
I certainly feel like a piece of paper,
flimsy and vulnerable against the onslaught of lead,
blown to bits and drifting off in the cloud of dust...
maybe I don't want to be a gun anymore.
I certainly don't want to be a target.
Maybe I don't want to be a pistol
or a musket
or a bow or a knife or a clenched fist,
maybe I want to be a person.
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 1:22 PM UTC