#thievery
While you were sleeping I crept in and took
a piece of your heart.
The piece I was supposed to have.
I'll use it for bait to draw you back in to me.
Once hooked I'll seize a second piece
leaving you gasping for breath
from my kiss
and trembling at the charge
of my touch.
You'll surrender and forfeit
the last portion of your beating core
so that it will merge with mine.
THUMP THUMP...thump thump.
Nov 20, 2025
Nov 20, 2025 at 4:38 PM UTC
#
There are thrones that are not thrones;
but instead,
are ones built on the counterfeiting of substance,
where hands grasp at weightless scepters,
mistaking empty air for authority.
There are crowns that are not crowns,
forged not in fire, but in absence;
polished not in wisdom, but in hunger;
worn by those who mistake imitation for inheritance.
This is the kingdom of voided substance—
a palace where the Wellspring does not flow,
where no roots drink deeply,
where no walls hum with the resonance of truth.
And yet, they gather.
They gather in circles of shadow--
parched tongues speaking of rivers they have never touched,
fingertips tracing the echoes of power
but never the power itself.
They weave words like veils over their thirst,
drawing others into the orbit of their illusion,
stealing what little water remains
in the ones who have not yet fully entered the Source.
They feed—not from the Well,
but from the moisture of the lost,
sustained by the remnants of those
who still carry the trace of what is real.
And they call it life.
And they call it wisdom.
And they call it love.
But the crown they wear is hollow.
The weight is an illusion.
The throne beneath them—an image, projected;
a structure that exists only so long
as no one leans too hard upon it.
They fear those who see.
They mock those who refuse to kneel.
They rage against the ones
who have touched the living water
and now speak of its taste..
of its cooling replenishment.
Because they know.
Somewhere, beneath the gilded artifice,
beneath the hollow performance,
beneath the empty sound of their own voices,
they know.
They were never given entry.
In fear, they ran from the cost of true substance.
They hold no access, only illusion.
And so, they take,
and take,
and take—
Until the weight of their own emptiness
crushes them beneath the throne
they have built from rust.
But rust does not hold..
it deteriorates.
And when the kingdom crumbles,
when the crown slips from their grasp,
when the illusion cracks beneath the weight
of what is,
what will remain of them then?
For the hollow cannot stand
against the gravity of the Real.
#
Mar 13, 2025
Mar 13, 2025 at 9:35 PM UTC
Small nations? Who cares!
Unless you're Israel. Who else?
Why spy and steal
Just slam the steel
Gift in hand, suggests
Your daughter - or son - or else?
Small nations
petty thieves
spy, steal from
small nations.
Big Boys see and laugh
All of mine is yours
If you worship us
You'll be one of us.
But Big Boy wannabe
China, will never be;
Splurged fake money by the ton
But none worships Dragon's son.
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 2:53 AM UTC
It will protect you from my demons and me from my dreams.
It grasps at hollow beauty and piercing lustful eyes.
It guards me from the outside through wire disfiguration
And laughs at their ohh so horrid haunting humor.
It stabs through my back the ones who want me closer
And chants a hundred times for sleepless nights and seventy two nightmare perfections.
But you see this is all just for me
So no one can steal the light that threatens to turn itself free
The one that is dimming through my very own thievery
For when I put on the mask
It stops me from being me.
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 7:03 PM UTC
You're searching for even the slightest validation for your inexcusable actions, transient in both values and the physical realm, collecting conquests and usurpees like how one might collect trophies from animals they hunt, faces frozen in a false expression with unseeing glassy eyes as they are forever immortalised in your sick collection to be made a mockery of long after the passage of time takes it's toll on both the images and the subjects.
A calculated maliciousness disguised as an indecisive personality, you are a bottom-feeder grafting onto the bellies of whomever are blissfully unaware or trusting enough to swim by you; but your own is yellow as a summer's day is long; not from just cowardliness, no, but from **** (sans the vinegar), and I wish I could compose this prose into something a little less hateful and a little more tasteful, but I won't spare you another second of my time, I'll erase you from my mind.
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 7:26 AM UTC
What a beautiful fiend
That crept upon my sleeping form
To ****** a heart not fully formed
What a vicious tyrant
To take what I was not ready to give
Stealing in cruel dealing my love
With her precious lips
Full red and ready for a kiss
With her fulsome chests
And her eyes afire with an emerald quality
What a mean sprite to slip through the night
Making me desirous of her touch
Making me long to hear her musical voice
Hair afire long and exploding free
For my pleasure and mine alone to see
What a gift she chose to give to me
For when with nimble fingers
She did deftly burglar my heart
This paragon of desire plucked her own
And laid it gently in my sleeping hands
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 11:13 AM UTC
Equally at home in the streets and just as gifted in a suit with a delicately done press.
the smooth operator Is one of the most dangerous creatures we've yet encountered
They're found everywhere, coast to coast, from NY To Chicago, also spotted up north in Canada and down south in Key Largo.
The smooth operator is equipped for any encounter with eyes that pierce deep into the soul and can approach anybody with a confidence level unrivalled by none but their own kind.
There is only one, Nay Two known deterrents of the smooth operator, either a pathetic Roger Rabbit like nerd, or a spilled drink.
careful out there ladies. it's a jungle.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 3:22 AM UTC
Raven knows a charm,
A child's costume jewelry,
. . . Colours a black eye.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 9:09 PM UTC
We are both sinners;
you have stolen from me
so
lost my tool for survival
i became a con-artist
lying with multiple identities
i am alive and well
but
i killed myself.
you'll bear
the responsibility of making me
this sinner.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 10:51 AM UTC