"culprit" poems
I hate Science
I hate Technology
Neither Am I Orthodox
Nor I am Fool
I am not a *****
But still I choose to hate
Science and Technology
Both gave us many things
I remember, there was a time
I worshipped both of them
They produced machines for us
They produced robots for us
Machines started building
Homes, Bridges and Flyovers
Machines helped us in
Food and Cloth Production
Milk and Silk Production
And Blah Blah Blah Blah
They made our life easier
They made our life safer
They provided better security
They provided better tools
They made our life longer
They made our life smarter
They gave us rays of hope
They promised much more
They promised more Freedom
They Promised Leisure Time
They promised better Environment
They promised clean Air, Water, Soil
They Promised Harmony and Peace
They Promised Equality for All
Both Science and Technology
Progressed exponentially day by day
But something went wrong
Someone captured them
Hijacked them and misused
By applying their ***** minds
We still have Machines and Robots
We still have Logic and Skills
But where is Freedom and Peace?
Where is the clean Environment?
Where is clean Water, Air and Soil?
Where is the promised Leisure Time?
Now we also have Nuclear Bombs
We have weapons of mass ******
We have smart tools for our Extinction
We have weapons of mass Destructions
Robots are being transformed
From Robots to Human Beings
Humans are being transformed
From Human Beings to Machines
Yes Slavery is back in the Game
Machines have enslaved Humans
Robots have been granted
Citizenship and Civil Rights
Machines have been made ready
Ready to wage war against humans
The question is who is the culprit?
Is it Science and Technology?
No. Not at all. I know this very well
But I still hate Science and Technology
The real culprits are the hungry Capitalists
Who captured, hijacked and misused
Science and the Technology for their greed
Though they have all the things they need
Science and the Technology easily surrendered
and allowed themselves to be used for their greed
This is why I Hate Science and Technology
I also hate Capitalism and Capitalists too
But I have a big question for Myself. I still doubt -
"Can I really live without Science and Technology"
Jun 30, 2019
Jun 30, 2019 at 8:02 AM UTC
Out of sight,
all alone,
when temptation
is my master.
I commit those
secret sins.
I am culprit.
I am witness.
I am Judge.
What a dilemma.
My Allah,
make the judge
strongest of
them all.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 8:37 AM UTC
by Desmond Makatu,
Your visits are unpredictable.
like a ghost, you're invisible.
The attacks are inevitable.
You come like a thief at night.
You seize me day and night.
"Epilepsy: an inevitable thief"
Cruelty unrestricted to age.
Victimising even toddlers.
Unrestricted to ethnic groups.
My life has time gaps.
Gaps, like discrete graphs.
Cracks depict thin line between life and death.
Grace bridges the gaps and life prevails over death.
Seizures still haunt me like a demonic wrath.
"Epilepsy: an inevitable thief"
Attacks are brief, bruises lasts forever.
You offer questions only God can answer.
Quest for answers is like probing for cure of Cancer.
Death seemed to be the answer but God thought otherwise.
First seizure shook like multiple earthquakes.
Followed by a pool of darkness.
woke up confused, crowd's ****** expressions said a thousand words.
Migraines raided my head, exposed to enormous pressure.
Officially baptised by wrath of seizures.
"Epilepsy: an inevitable thief"
You're a physical and psychological culprit.
Like a Yoyo, you take me into a roller-coaster of emotions.
Aftermaths of your theft are etched in my mind as if they’re on stones.
Behind my “poker face” lies devastating pains than physicals seen by the crowd.
"Epilepsy: an inevitable thief"
Watch video on YouTube. https://youtu.be/VggXerYLOHY
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 8:02 PM UTC
Let me know
What was that
That made you
To choose him/her
She/He replied
Leave it, or listen
***** is the future
Nothing more
Being an observant and a traveller of examined life I come to this conclusion. Tragedy does not happen, from the very beginning It is "Us" who pave the path within. With the unawareness we focus to travel to the destination where we don't belong. Throughout the journey we keep on dreaming with a hope of a good day making us vulnerable to the threshold, when even a single undesired word, few seconds delay, lyrics of the background music could unexpectedly break us.
Trust me we all are fragile.
Let it be simple, if we are watering the leaves of the plant and hope to grow, we get the result what we have to accept. Sometime mishaps happens, we are the culprit. How dare we expect to water the roots of the plant in neighbor's terrace and wish for the fruit to be ours.
We may smell the fragrance if the kind breeze blow towards our side.
Even we may always get the fragrance if we follow the direction of the wind.
The choice is ours.
Does it worth?
Will we be happy?
Can we hide the pain?
Always
The choice is all ours.
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 9:33 PM UTC
If happiness is from Heaven, and sadness from Hell,
I’m in-between worlds.
I’ve learned more from Hell,
then Heaven could ever tell.
Sadness etched on lips, and fingertips.
Creating it, that false sense,
of whatever Love is.
You’re always a victim, but never the culprit.
Funny to me, of "we,"
you found us first and kept it, Dear.
The voorpret we felt, as each drew near,
has now turned into fear.
Perhaps a love between you and I,
should have remained as mamihlapinatapai.
That, after all,
would have been, a happy end.
-N.C.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 3:23 AM UTC
Trip over the high density of our constant lies
We're all out to break and hurt the non-elite
Words and phrases they never meant a thing but to lure you in
This facade of love that we send soldiers like cattle
Down an assembly line to build and protect
A fake America, burning towers tumbling down
Bellowing the sweet sorrows of victims
Whose screams we replay the audio over and over
To divert you from seeing the real culprit
We are sick minded human beings with the thirst for enemies
We'll kiss everyone we meet on the cheek
And continue to fake what we tell you we'll be
We prefer a stabbing to the back
Never a full frontal attack
And we have puppets
We'll always find someone to replace the current like the forty four before
The people's memories will fade and burn like corpses caused by the Enola Gay
We''ll drop a bomb to wipe out everything mankind has worked for
Because in the end we do not need peasants
We have everything and everyone else has absolutely nothing
And 99% will lay to waste and ruin in the ruins we leave to burn
We'll pity so we can mislead to false hope
Send small portions of rations to schedule feeding underlings
Flouride in the drinking water to better control
Corruption in the oval office classified, uncovered, never shared
Always kept underwraps, never revealed just a hoax.
Lips to ears do the whispers carry.
A promise for a better tomorrow but a date will never be set for peace
So we keep telling you that it only gets better
And we'll think apologies fix everything
Truth is we meant nothing in the first place
Because we'll keep remaking mistakes that we apologize for
Misery is our job
Eating and breathing and surviving on the pain of lower humans
Like clothed animals rampaging through a corrupt society
So we'll let the people let their guard down for a quick second and us, vultures
Will devour them quick in that moment
To find you are empty inside,
We've starved you of what you've needed
Because all along, and everything we've ever done
we never realized once you've all revolted
this 1% would surely fall to pieces.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 12:59 AM UTC
This poem is green
Would you buy this poem?
This poem is do-it-yourself
backyard garden green.
This poem is save the world
give peas a chance green;
this poem is azure sky
squeezing the golden sun
all over the world green.
Could you buy this poem?
This poem is apples and oranges
farmer’s artist market green.
This poem has
leaves as pillows
and blankets as grass;
this poem is a lil’ patch of green
earth purchase me plot;
this poem is
100%
recyclable
disposable,
sustainable
(after all it has gotten this far)
You should buy this poem.
This poem is green,
its’ tyro-technics
shooting out of asphalt cracks.
This poem is a snot-nosed brat
full of SASS
(short attention span sentences)
This poem is the hope of audacity.
This poem is fumbling with bra straps
and tongue-tied techniques,
this poem isn’t old enough
to know any better, it’s wet
behind the ears green
petting zoo pellets green
willing to SCREAM green
but not part of
a gang green
this poem is all alone
with its words
Buy this poem?
This poem is green
Its envious of
solar panel studios with eyes on the price
of a venti economy
This poem is the green-eyed monster
of product placement pick-o-the profit
This poem WANTS to make
consumer obedience the easy culprit.
But really…
This poem just wishes it could sing
Won’t you buy this poem?
This poem is green.
This poem has no half-life,
shelf life or
night life.
This poem exists solely in this moment
of your imagination.
This poem has milk carton desperation.
This poem is begging for change.
This poem was stolen from all of you.
This poem is not for sale.
Buy This Poem!
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 11:09 PM UTC
From the time the heart first knew how to feel, and the eyes distinguished rain from tears, few have hidden behind the walls within me. Whether they found it a safe place or a jail cell - well, I guess we'll leave that to the imagination. No matter if it was a cell or heaven, the space within always felt alive. Even at my deadest times, the heat within coursed like it knew something more valuable was in store.
Somehow, some way, a wanderer found a pathway in. Had he known better, perhaps he would not have been in the hands of the girl with wisps of flame at her angered fingertips. The burns don't sustain, but the more that's lost, the more it dissolves all other slivers of hope left to grasp.
Fear is the real culprit, you must see. The fear I must face by harboring a false love; a fear of committing my own sins; of breaking my own promises.
I've never understood a "true understanding." Anger can be cooled by the calm, as does the rainbow after the storm. With the storm blown over, his eyes shone bright and revealed his intentions clearly - you can still love with a straight face and a frigid heart.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 9:58 AM UTC
And lights.
She looked a little pale
In the yellow light.
The spots had been
Changed to white.
And when the white
Couldn't hide her pallor,
She asked the makeup
To put on a brighter colour.
They didn't ask if she had eaten.
They tried once,
Came back browbeaten.
"Diet only for ma'am"
Her abdomen perfectly satisfied;
Her soul craving for more.
And camera.
The perfect shot
Ended with a sweeping glance
Across the set
At her hero all decked
In the knightly splendour.
She was a princess whom
He saved from a dragon.
Little did anyone know
That after a day's worth
Of angry cameras panning
Her face and scrutinising her life,
She needed saving
Mostly from herself.
And action.
This time, a thriller.
She walks down the corridor set
- Director's thumbs-up,
To hunt down the culprit
Who snatched her family.
She gives the perfect action sequence,
Complete with blood trickles.
"An award winner, surely."
She is done with the shoot
And heads home, her van.
Someone is waiting.
He had been waiting since she left
Him that summer.
Waiting for an excuse, at first.
Then acceptance.
Then forgiveness.
She gave it her best performance,
But could not fake the relief
When he approached with an apology
And a gun.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 5:48 AM UTC
Pen Can Write
Pen Can Draw
It Can Even Paint
Pen can fill Colours
In Shapes and Drawings
And in peoples Life too
Pen has Sympathy
Pen has Empathy
Pen has Emotions too
Pen can Heal
Make you feel
Calm and cool
Pen can save
It can control
The way we behave
Pen Can Fight
For your rights
And for others too
Pen can **** colours
From peoples life
And make it pretty hell
Pen can help you
****** poor's property
And make you very rich
Pen can throw
Culprit in Jail
Or can even grant him bail
Pen could be Cruel
Only needs some fuel
Then it could easily burn
Pen is Sharp
It can Cut and Wound
And Make you Bleed
But is it really the Pen
Or the Hand and Mind
Of one who uses the Pen
Pen is a Weapon
Pen is Lethal
So handle with care
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 9:56 AM UTC
108
Surgeons must be very careful
When they take the knife!
Underneath their fine incisions
Stirs the Culprit—Life!
4.2k
☺☻╬☻
Finish the crackers --- grab a smoke . . .
of Ferguson my muse will sing.
A call to arms --- God’s fires to stoke;
let Truth and Freedom ring!
Take to the streets; avenge this wrong
and hasten the end of racist rule.
Justice, though it may tarry long
will find its target in the duel.
Young Michael Brown, like all true saints
found himself craving Swisher Sweets.
He robbed a store, whose camera paints
impartial portrait. In the streets
the thief refused to be detained
and so threw off police restraint.
Though sin escaped, the Law remained
and made a martyr of this saint.
The agitators did their thing:
inflaming thugs to smash and loot,
while racists baited hooks, to string
the press. Officials followed suit.
Angels, although not always kind,
do not display this attitude –
aware of how the police mind
responds to such ingratitude.
We ought to thank the police force
for showing mercy under stress.
The culprit chose a foolish course
and made a God-awful mess.
Prince Michael met ignoble fate
(that ghetto-Christ, that righteous youth)
His sacrifice in vain --- though great,
could not impede the march of Truth.
Ferguson, our eyes turn towards you . . .
are you now able to admit
while reality rewards you
that looting and lying ain’t ****
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 5:43 PM UTC
We're sorry for that brief interruption
Someone hacked our station for a minute
We're now using some simple deduction
To try to find out the perfect culprit.
You hear static?
Hello news viewers, audio is clear?
Good, it is, time to let the show start
We've seen their boring little white lies here
Right in between commercials for Walmart
Stay tuned for more!
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 4:32 PM UTC
Sometimes I feel I don’t belong
And wonder, is it me who’s wrong
Should I lie in order to change
Or would I rather seek revenge
Fight for my life and my true side
That’s been hiding so deep inside
Or just decide it’s not worth it
That maybe right, was the culprit
What is the path I should follow
For what to choose, I do not know
Hero or foe, what will I gain
For in the end, one shall remain
Aug 29, 2023
Aug 29, 2023 at 10:50 AM UTC
You ask why I'm avoiding
Hands which frighten me.
You ask what you did wrong
After touching with self-indulgence.
You bring me back
To when I was nine.
I am a child
Begging... for you to stop.
Pleading;
Pulling large hands away.
But this time,
I'm nineteen.
I feel ***** once again,
And the tears aren't cleansing.
They are a reminder...
Of the innocence I never had.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 9:39 PM UTC
In early eighteen-forty-four,
In Cornwall’s heart; on Bodmin Moor,
Charlotte Dymond, a young farm maid,
Had her throat slit with a steel blade,
She crossed fast streams and deadly bogs,
Found her way through mists and fogs,
But couldn’t stop that fatal blow,
That stole her life and laid her low,
She walked to meet someone that day,
Just who that was ... no one would say,
Found days later beside a track,
Laid on a cart; her shroud a sack,
The surgeon, Thomas Good, was fetched,
Had in his mind, her white face etched,
Charlotte untouched by fox or crow,
Had she been moved ... he did not know,
No evidence was ever found,
But her young boyfriend had gone to ground,
Fingers so quick to point his way,
Matthew Weeks panicked; ran away,
The hapless ******* was soon caught,
No other culprit was ever sought,
The judge was just a rubber-stamp,
Bodmin Gaol was dark and damp,
The scaffold built, the crowds arrived,
Matthew swore he had not lied,
The floor gave way, the rope drew tight,
Was justice done ... the verdict right?
Jun 13, 2017
Jun 13, 2017 at 2:34 AM UTC
Pretty brown **** smeared on the floor
Birthed an enigma of the unknown,
Crapped a lot of questions to go unanswered
Leaving me found dumb with no culprit in sight
But he left me his smell.
Oh and it smelled profusely
When the dog came in and with one lick
Wiped it up, his eyes full of ***** flavor
And I, repulsed, upchucked my meal,
Sat back and watched him eat that with pleasure too.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 7:00 PM UTC
Cover of morning mist, treacheous
bring them face to face,
in the depth, green darkness of a forest.
A porcupine and a pangolin,
armed to the teeth,
ready to start a war at short notice,
both are not pleased to the least,
this encounter shouldn't have happened,
that thought crosses the minds of both,
the mist is the culprit,
but how do they know that?
If porcupine is equipped with missiles and lances,
pangolin is protected with armour plates,
both come to understand, in a second,
they stare, with no emotions in display
sniffing the air for even the faintest of signals,
they stand still, rock like, take stock.
A spell of forest seize them, tell a few things
in soft whisper, that humans fails to listen always.
Nature tell them in quick time,
the secret equation of them, in this terrain-
in smells, sounds and a hundred myriad things.
Each one reads the other's face, watch expressions,
then, in a moment the prompt of the nature is clear
Voice of the forest speaks
"Don't waste the spikes, you need them later,
Fighting with a pangolin is a wild goose chase"
"Why fight porcupine, the ant kingdom awaits"
Porcupine and pangolin, listening to the voice of wisdom,
move away quick, as if hit by a lightening
the cover of the mist lends a clever helping hand.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 4:51 AM UTC
I think the movies ruined my life
I think you ruined my life
I think im sick
I think you made me sick in the head when you left
I think im nuclear waste in a biohazard zone
I think my arms are going to fall off
I check for cancer every day in hopes I have it and
I won't have a reason to live or maybe something more along the lines of
an excuse to say I want to die because
I have this stupid body I'm stuck in
and all I've wanted to ever do was see my bones
I used to think I was in love with the female body but now
I know I'm just in love with my own
for the past three years I have been slaving to the whiteness of my bones
I have been trying to **** myself so I can be cut open
I've been looking at my blood like
I'll finally find the poison that is inside of me
I just need a culprit to blame for this disease that floats around in my skull and wakes up all the dreams I never wanted to see
I just need a reason
I talk like poetry and
I move like a mistake most people don’t understand me because
I speak in similes and metaphors
I speak like coffee is dripping out between my teeth
look I'm doing it here and I don’t know how to stop
I question like a demand and
I have no excuses for the way I move
Maybe I'm just ready to blow the twin towers down again
Maybe I'm ready to crash this body like an airplane
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 12:39 PM UTC
In a dream,
she follows me towards
The crevice of the world.
My mother, indigo raging
like a sharp scream within my brain.
I would never rid of her peculiar grin.
Her smirk, a missile, seeks out
the errors of my ways.
But life after cunning life,
She finds me settling at the root
then cuts me off.
I sit sustained here
in the moment composed
and waiting on her return.
She is the real culprit
of my shadow.
And knows this strange abyss.
I choose to keep her away
In the silence between my breath
To begin loving her from afar.
In hopes that she will one day
find herself without a curse
And out of her mad little box.
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 1:08 AM UTC
Last night,
I spent 45 minutes
In the bathroom
Because my doctor
Told me I needed more
Calcium in my diet.
He says calcium
Will make my bones strong,
And if I want to grow up
To be as big as my dad
Than a hefty glass of milk
Should do the trick.
I'm lactose intolerant.
But to this day I wonder,
Is calcium the culprit?
When an infant's bones
Are crushed by tanks,
And all that is left
Is the dust,
That you wipe away
With the palm of your
Blood-stained hand,
On an unmarked grave
Too old to remember,
But it keeps on
Coming back.
Back to a time
Where potential meant
The possibility of
Developmental potency.
Not the supposedly
High capacity for
Danger.
Like the flowers
In the spring,
Build their spine
From our breath;
Change is the
Life in our blood.
The minute an
Eighteen year old's
Parent's swallow the fire
Of an IED 6,032 miles away,
Believing their child fought for,
Change.
Verb.
To make or become different.
Verb.
To give or get foreign money in exchange for:
Verb.
To remove a ***** diaper from a baby
and replace it with a gun.
Where do you run to?
When sleep
is the only place
In a thousand miles
where you can find God.
When rest
is the only peace
you haven't felt
since they said
the war is
finally over.
When dreams
Are the memories
Of your children’s
Stardust
When you
Can’t adjust
To the lack of future
Freedom liberated
From materialism
When no
Dictionary
Has your definition
of Change.
Noun.
Something you find in your pocket.
Verb.
Something you find in yourself.
Change,
Is not something
You can touch;
But it's something
You should want
To feel.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 3:05 AM UTC
Lady adjacent waiter,
ruler of the medulla,
give me a certain angle
that'll make her want to maneuver,
make her want to consider
in the absence of his figure,
that maybe not the whole gender
is full of secret agendas,
with her left over right leg,
glass in her right hand,
a tribute to her innocence
ever since she walked in,
assembled it's, white wine
Krispy Kreme eyes,
glazed look,
lips glossed like her oil thighs,
it's finally off time
her sorority cross line,
it's happy hour,
she wasn't,
his whole crime has been a cover up
since she wants him,
this whole scene has been taped off
by her girlfriends,
it's often I see it,
alcoholic rehab,
a culprit — a demon
making contracts with my open tab,
broken bad in the bathroom,
clad woman,
For all the attention
such good first impressions,
but not you,
I feel a different aura,
I feel I'll get exposed
so I call a different offense,
Semper Fi
within my eyes
this energy —
I quiet the restaurant,
Can you hear me?
Proceed to throwing signals
Tom Brady couldn't throw,
the ball's in my court so I'm finally on the move,
crushing on you while the sky undresses,
you catch a glimpse
as the clouds bare witness,
Excuse me Miss Unfortunate,
I know I'm at a disadvantage
but I had to call it
head or tails
I'm still offering,
a chance to be your man? No
a chance to be your author?
a chance to be your narrator now or later
call me,
a chance to say “there she is”
her piercing eyes, fixes her finger on my lips
be quiet, “I saw this in a movie once”
she told me as I spy and I grab onto her truths,
excuse me thats selfish, pardon me
apart of me just wants to see that movie,
a father daughter dance,
a chance to be your groupie,
a chance to see that smile
that you flashed
like a lunar star,
meteor crash
and its back to reality,
eye connection broken
and it’s back to the irony,
a word barely spoken
and I’m back to asking:
Check Please.
Sep 6, 2023
Sep 6, 2023 at 3:12 PM UTC
First things first I gotta paved the hearse
I'm digging an early grave hopin' my soul be saved
Father tell.me why? You forbid us no one to trust
Real friends turn to bustas jealousy keeps me strapped with my four five its only way to survive
Will.I stay alive?? And make Heaven or stay in Hell
Resurrected in Satan's cell tell me am.I wrong
For hangin' with homies on the block
Drinkin' Old E to Hennessey slangin' that rocks
Stashin' loot in my socks
I had no choice to options minimal what else can I do?
Since the system is crooked I'm.crooked black
Why every crime is related to Blacks
When the biggest culprit is America I'm tellin' ya
Stay loadin' the magnums put in the air self made billionaire we ballin' climbed our way to top no fallin',
Its survival of the fittest from city to city
**** nation touchin' the hearts of newborn
Leavin' wicked souls torn I was born
For this ludicrous I'm crazy the world don't phase me
I'm trying to stack gs and grow my imagery
In a major way **** what a hater gotta say
I'm feelin' like Marley blazin' the blunts gettin' deadly
Aim my trigger steady
Crack open hearts of the Capitol hill Romanian Babylon you know the deal??
So many buried without tears so many livin' in fear
I'm.coming back harder than Malcolm X **** stardom
And if I die tonight no one will give a ****
Until they cremate me throw my ashes in the sea
Publish me and make a buck muthaphuck
My enemies that try to keep grips on me
I'm worm my free the Prince is back strategize my every move
No rules to follow just more slugs to borrow
Killin' the systems as moves I got **** to prove
Settin' all.my demons trapped in me free
Can't help it its the **** n Me
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 10:47 AM UTC
It is another one of those early mornings when hatred spews out of my body and aims for itself, I never miss. I have always been good at reaching targets, even better when I myself am bullseye.
I shoot directly for the mirror. Into my thighs, my chest, this mountain range of a body. I send my angry in a direct path towards my folds, my stomach, my skin, in all that is human. I launch bombs on my own territory like it's what I've been sent to do, like I was made to destroy what I have spent my whole life building.
I ask why it so easy to rip apart the things I've put together myself. I ask why it feels so normal to want to break down the rafters of the only shelter I will ever be able to use for protection.
I blame everything else before I blame me. I blame the girls with bodies like sunsets, that contrast my mid-day average sky of a figure. I blame the dresses that I cannot fit into, the way they **** the life out of me every time I can't stretch them past my hips. I blame genetics with absolutely no knowledge of science behind me.
I want to blame society for the hate that has been multiplying inside of me but at the end of the day I am still the one who does the math. It is still me who pours self-deprecation over my head to shower in all of the things I cannot wash out. It is still me who incites hurricane upon every part of myself that is impossible to change by nature. I am the one who detonates my disappointments like the explosion will somehow change the way I look, like the aftermath of destruction will leave me with anything but empty and wreckage.
I often forget that it is me who spoon feeds myself memories of failure at every meal. It is me who hands over guilt every time I reach for the snooze button to fall back asleep. I even shove myself in fault to depression, cover myself in darkness and then wonder why there is no light to be seen. I am the culprit in it all.
In the mornings when my mind is still circling to figure out where it left off, I point it in the direction of negative. I take all of the crooked and pile it up to remind myself of the mismatch. When I take aim at my reflection, I never miss.
I direct the ****** of my mistakes, vulnerability and insecurity directly towards my image. I have become the hitman of my own assassination. My fall into disaster is wholeheartedly my own doing. I am the best of the best when it comes to this form of damage. I never miss.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 3:05 PM UTC
i was late
through no fault of my own
at least
that's what i tell myself
just one of those occasions
where try as you might
the universe won't allow you
to leave on time
standing at the threshold
one final pat of pockets
to check i had
all that i needed
looking up
to gauge the need
for coat or umbrella
i witness
an inhumane globule
of avian faeces
viscous and creamy
in colour and consistency
exploding upon the path
two steps ahead of me
i see no sign
of the culprit
hearing only its cacophony
of enjoyment
or maybe disappointment
drifting
into the distance
Sep 6, 2022
Sep 6, 2022 at 4:21 AM UTC