"deniers" poems
The world is full of shade and prose
And I don’t know what to do anymore
Audre Lorde said “silence will not protect you”
But I been weaving my silences into a survivor’s quilt
Because I’m tired of surviving
And I’m cold and want to use it as my blanket
Out there in that cold *** world
The world is full of shade and prose
*** workers on boulder highway
Wanna be poets writing in spanglish
White privilege, patriarchy and all
I kinda wish I’d write songs instead of poems
You know, songs about love
But no
Cuz the world is full of shade and prose
Bus stops/stop and frisk
Judgment day enthusiasts/Holocaust deniers
I am tired of “it happened before I was born”
And “I feel guilty but I did not ask to be privileged”
And when I say: Then do something
They ask me “what?”
I reply: NO
The world is full of shade and prose
The chicken never made it across the street
There is so much deconstruction
And so little relief
We will soon end up homeless
And will have to pawn the master’s tools
Or maybe just sell them at the swapmeet
For a dollar or two
I mean who cares as long as we’re in love
If at the end
The world is full of shade and prose.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 5:14 AM UTC
two little ugly creatures
astride me shhhh-oulders
residers and deniers,
opinion~haters,
into each ear, they whisper~creep,
do don't do don't you'll be sorry,*
***never~good~enough~
and~you~know~it***
*never in uni~sons,
now look how sorry~sad you are...
dear old dad
when done with the outside torturing,
slip right in and down the ear canal,
up to the brain, thought~mongers,
(what's a monger anyway?)
the voices of my depression,
you can't, you couldn't, you lose,
yo yo you lost you are o v e r,
my body snatched, my past erasing,
turn me into mongrel,
half~man, half~dead
a monger-el,
a contemptible god,
contempted, contemptible
that's the word refrain
of the men in my head*
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 12:41 AM UTC
Hence, also in another place, I am naked;
naked; In Latvia, sometimes
from the other way around the adjective; narrow
understanding of the bald;
On the rising piece of alt girl's feet
Do not listen to her empty bare feet, of nature's own *****
again; twelve same & the walls of the square
is the work that they were naked; Glory to you w/ sackcloth,
to buy a few have sprouted sacks; End of all things is taken
the form of; The naked lens of Lebanon
& one simple; simple, the pictures
by the end, simple surface is rough; & more
matter of his dreams; He saw poor; till
naked & welcome, his mind open that
It is clear that there is a plan & having
as deniers of their own to his person
naked, his clothes, stripped them of their private citizens,
out of labor in vain: he was naked;
naked; that which was evil flavorless,
unarmed, have left us; All naked & w/out
any armor protection who exposes himself
to be above; You can not be secured in some,
I was already catered for; depopulated in the man,
of course, that he set out he was uncovered
within the field, naked, in a few words;
Translations
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 8:55 PM UTC
The wrong, as always, was the right for us,
tainted trust stained with the blood
of our previous victims;
those whims of wondering what loving touch could feel like.
It burnt us, softened us to smoke,
that floated quiet out the door before dawn could break the news
and break the illusion.
We were loners,
Devoted to laying the stones of our own path,
Never held back tangles of commitment.
Without them we were untethered dreams
that broke into reality and made ourselves the monarchs
of our lowley, lonely kingdoms.
Look what those whims
have done to our crowns;
Rusty and bent they fall hapless
on our heads as we stand before
crowds of shadows cast by our egos.
There are no romances, no capes,
Princes or heroes in this land of the leftovers.
Only us
The wrong adorned as right
The deniers of the light of love
(That weakness of giving in and giving all).
How cold it all becomes when our dreams are big
but hearts are empty.
Jun 28, 2020
Jun 28, 2020 at 4:10 PM UTC
If you cannot be outraged into disbelief
No matter how evil the matter reported
How can you believe in a Good God?
Do you not say to yourself what kind
Of a god allows this-Not Mine! Does
A loving parent no matter how liberal
Ever knowingly allow his child to do
A grave injury to his fellow people?
I think not. Freedom has its limits
That our true nature is grateful for.
Let me ask would you prefer that
There were no Holocaust deniers or
That there we no Holocaust. I know
The Argument that we must Keep
Evil in our memory so as prevent it
Ever happening again. How does
The saying go: No news is good news-
But it doesn't sell papers. I am not
Against fiction just glad that it is
Fiction. But you say: What of the
Truth? When Pilot asked Jesus
What is the the truth? Jesus made no
Answer except by His silence. Yes
Silence is Golden. He did not answer
Neither should you or I. I know this.
Bu we know in our hearts what Love
Would have Be. Thy Kingdom come
Thy will be done on Earth as in Heaven
That is Our prayers that it be so Forever
Oh God Help Us to Lift up our hearts.
And When have we ever been prevented
From doing wrong by hearing about it
.its just
Plain wrong.
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 1:59 PM UTC
They came in search of incredible sun,
seduced by cicadas and an easy time;
extraneous baggage with nothing to declare.
Two days in:
Sister Rose shrivels on her browning stem;
survives on lettuce leaves and cheap wine.
Pitiable by design, knowing perfectly
she's past her beauty max.
At her feet:
The blue pool cups cured hide
of idle heat-crazed beast
unleashed from his computer belt-
a doughboy moulded to his insubstantial boat-
afloat for fourteen days!
Entwined-
my crazy brother reclines with his latest lover
to share 'delightful' elderflower champagne
through a single straw,
****** together by their eyes.
And in the shade:
mother sits it out in floral silk,
sustained by seventy deniers
and her would-have-liked ideals-
the shadow of a lattice grill tatooed across her brow.
Then as the just deserts arrive,
and darted looks are handed round,
I glower at the heat - crazed ground
and muse- 'it's time to go,'
........but they would never forgive me..
May 16, 2010
May 16, 2010 at 5:10 AM UTC
I take from the rich
And I give
To the richer
Grow
Money trees
And then watch the world wither
I've slithered
In gardens of green
Dripping red
With a purity hood
Draping over my head
I have poisoned the fountain
Of youth
To retain
My control of this endless
Monopoly game
As my capital gains
A skyscraper a day
To the skyrocket
Stock market
Locke's do I pray
Upon all to be blessed
With lavish excess
But succession of kings
My investment ******
To breed wealthier nations
Uncommon in man
Through unhealthier rations'
Invisible Hand
Do I muppet the mouths
And harp on the heartstrings
As I tug on the chains
Of the slaves
Freedom rings
And that fat lady sings
All she wants
I will cling
To this power
With eagle-lied,
Vulturous talons
Devour
The will
And then **** the bills,
Billing blood that I spill
With impunity
Robbery,
Poverty
Property
I am the law
There is no order stopping me
No cherry topping me
No global powers’
High towers
Are topping me
No master forces endorsed
Are out-shopping me
Spending spree
On the lost souls
Now to bending knee
Fall
And enthrall in the terror
Of my urban sprawl
Making maggots of masses'
Automaton dreams
Into my gilded ages'
New pyramid schemes
You can call me a liar
Truth is
No concern
To the one who reigns fire
With oil to burn
Down upon the deniers
Until they all learn
I'll recruit body bags
To preach life to the choir
And when the screen lags
Train these dogs to play dead,
Lay their own on a wire
In so doing shred
The carnage they desire
So I can play God
And with demons conspire
A masterful plan
To command the economy
Zombie hive mind
Get in line
For lobotomy
My progeny
Multiply to consume
And consume
And consume
'Til the ******* last fume
Dissipates into space
The good fortunes of Earth
All amounting to waste
With the mother who nurtured you
***** and disgraced
The four steeds
Of Apocalypse
Nothing but paste
For I win every time
I with you
Humans race
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 9:01 AM UTC
oh i'm pretty sure on the Islamic
term: denier,
it's a prefix,
dis-,
dis- -ease:
which implies negation...
the negation of ease...
but i'm not interested in this...
nope...
i know what Islam
says about the, deniers,
the non-affiliate...
what, does, Islam,
call, the wavering hearts?
you heard me.
the doubters,
i do know what a prefix intends...
but do you?
camel jockey...
really?
what do you call a wandering heart?
a Shiite?!
******* Sunni ****
no; no what?!
what do, you, call,
doubters, in the Islamic faith?
i didn't, say, deniers,
i said, doubters....
what do you call, a doubter,
within, the confines,
of the, Islamic, faith?!
am i talking Hindi to you?
you're looking pretty *******
stupid to me, "auto-"suggesting,
that i expect an Arabic reply...
what, do you, call,
a doubter, of, Islam?
i know what a denier is...
what, do, you, call,
someone, who, doubts,
the faith, of, Islam?!
i'm simply asking...
tell me, the difference...
between someone
who doubts...
and someone,
who denies...
tell me...
what, is, the, difference...
oh **** me... and when i woke up,
people implied that all the people
were literate... like **** they were!
like a bunch of industrially
farmed pigs,
educated in the "arithmetic"
of the onomatopoeia of... OINK
i'm crazy enough, crazy plenty...
i fall asleep to
slayer's... raining blood...
give me a ******* tank
and i'm all stampede...
where?
where's where?!
if the "where" is nowhere
other than death?!
the "there" is, there!
and the "there"?!
is some-where...
you don't want to be,
here to fathom!
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 9:06 PM UTC
A conveyor belt
Of pressed blue suits
In every one a snide
We cannot let
All hope be crushed
By a cruel landslide
All those fearful
Little Englanders
Primed with nationalistic pride
We must not let
All hope be crushed
By a cruel landslide
The delusional deniers
Scoff at the
Rising plastic tide
We shall not let
All hope be crushed
By a cruel landslide
Dec 13, 2019
Dec 13, 2019 at 6:33 PM UTC
Grand-offspring burning,
Man-child playing with matches,
Whole wide world in flames.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 3:30 PM UTC
import: the northern tongue bespoke of the didgeridoo with the larynx as akin. północ ze mną... reszta gnije! a ja w twym oku jak dziób kruka wydłubie prawde raz - kraka - raz jeszcze na pokaz chociaż raz! bo ze mnie nie kura... jeno kruk! czemu? bo ty swym tłumaczeniem grzechu równasz gniew naprzeciw: w okolicy reprodukcji z tłumaczeniem orgnanizacji społeczenstwa jako wedle znaku (=) ktory też jest równaniem jako krzyż... a wiec jest naprawde wiarygodne to aby kontynuować wybaczanie niby grzechów i tak naprawde praw w rubryce niespełnionych pierw zamiarów?
why then peer into the past without imagination,
and try to peer within the present with memory,
surely the present will not conjure any memory
had the opaque past any imagination,
i’d swear the burnish bush be nothing more
than what could be imagined,
not excess of skin on my phallus
as the shaft known as the female circumcised bit...
but i guess truth sidewinds while lies have the fortune
of walking a straight path into nowhere...
if there is imagination in the past i find it hard
to conceive phonetic images, i.e. letters being allowed in there,
and if future forsee such circumstance
i find it hard to let the future project images
as recognisable without a - z being recognisable first...
in order that they might be used... in order
that they might be used for ignorance’s sake if only that...
man remembers skeletons easier in terms of usage
rather than fully embodied canves of a van gogh
to say **** all... as most men do,
dating their mistresses for the first time in art galleries;
the fault of the past is that in terms of imagination it
cannot be re-imagined... but the future can be twice
remembered... given holocaust deniers...
simple... it can be simply denied because
what imagination would have conjured
reality conjured too much iron acidity of what went on;
please be intelligent when you read this,
i don’t have many readers and it’s already insulting
to ask my readers for intelligence; sorry.
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 9:08 PM UTC
no more morning glory
the cells want to refuse,
purported pseudo-deniers
of the man's compulsion
not yet six am,
the old house,
the summering congregation of birds,
correspond with each other,
their words unintelligible to the man-ear,
no doubt talking about the interlopers,
the come-and-go humans,
or perhaps,
just the lousy weather
the sunroom's lace curtains,
a patterned flower filtering viewer,
another impediment to what is out of sight,
for the fog surrounds but can't suppress,
the exterior & interior
combo of noises,
birds uttering their morning prayers,
accompanied by the sabbath choir of chorusing
groans from the untrodden, creaky floorboards,
complaining of aged back pains
from forty years
of desert wandering
and over use
they confirm the man is not alone,
and perhaps, even,
among the living
the bay's water's color,
a small hint now comes visible,
colored from the same paint can
as the surround-sound from which the
fog's discoloration was morning-drawn,
wider brush strokes cover this,
the man's small world
the brains complains, not again!
how many times will you compose,
drawing from the molecules of
this view,
no one cares,
but composition compulsion,
****** for what makes
the man breathe,
denies the deniers,
praying in the loudest thought voices,
to the principle that best defines
the moment,
(him?)
human, give thanks,
on this, the seventh day,
for the feast of life provided,
(even the reasoning atheists go respectful, humble silent)
as the man-poet acknowledges here the
*One,
who remembers,
is faithful to,
fulfills the covenant and promise,
by making fresh daily,
the works of creation*
Silver Beach,
Shelter Island
5:30am,
June 4th, 2016
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 6:23 AM UTC
i feel the young have been cheated in terms of history, there's no personality in it, there's no humanity behind it, there's no grandfather behind it, they have all been told they're essential, essentially human, they write it like they were in eden, there's no past, they're passive deniers but active censors... at least i can claim my great grandfather owned a wehrmacht dagger.
as long as he’s housebound he’s safe,
as long as he's censored
he's an export;
the paternal great grandfather was
in the wehrmacht and
the maternal grandfather
was a communist party member;
i guess the weekend starts with
a friday in a club, and ends in
b & q on a sunday combo of blinds
and toilet paper... but i guess
the highlights are gone by then...
don't worry... i'll comfort myself.
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 12:23 AM UTC
Her words will light a fire
underneath deniers, eye-to-
eye, take on the liars, I, too
have too long uttered silence
while our children quietly
despised us, we, even me
who knew, choked it down
the unclean smoke unspoken
yes, how dare we leave this life
behind for generations to bare
our crimes, and yet they rise
above to breathe fresh air
the clean O2 of burning desire
searing, shouting utter truth
to wake the world, to sing
and single out, to recognize
a lie when it is a lie, FIERCE
like fire, beautifully reactionary
aflame, to inflame, now is here
your time, rebel, my rebel child
fight for your very life, your future
children, species, for all mankind.
Oct 5, 2019
Oct 5, 2019 at 1:08 PM UTC
Just stop. Dont waste your time growing your mind on my perspective. Its similar to the colective after getting contraceptives from the medias aggressive deceptive since childhoods progressive attentive. I didn't learn anything newer than you. We both got ******* by the driver of our nations fire. Shot of ***** included to help believe the deniers when they said those kids weren't killed because of their suppliers of judgment handed down thru People, Cosmo, or Enquire. We turned a closed eye to the horrific mess just to have the light of advertisement dance its color over our flesh. We dont want to think less of ourselves after all, ego cant handle anything being its own fault. So, lets blame blacks, gays, muslims, mexicans, trans, asians, preteens and their abortions, little people, disfigured fighters, mentally handicapped, single moms, single dads, the homeless pulling all nighters, the blind, the deaf, the suicidal, the bulimic, the anorexic, the institutionalized wild, the lost kids orphaned, illegally imported, Native Americans, Indians, anyone close to the Mediterranean, or from an Island in the South Pacific sea, anyone that looks, thinks, breaths different from me. Which should be no body, but you don't seem to believe so. You can't see that deep inside, our souls are made out of substance brighter than gold. You only see flesh with that closed eye. So open it and discover the lives behind. And if you think I spew only lies then go back to the beginning when I said stop reading and quit wasting everyone's time.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 3:07 AM UTC
The tree are whispering in hushed silent tones
Their voices carried softly by the wind
Caressing the whole forest with their hymns
Suffused in their cries, the arrogance
And greed, and vanity of men
Men that were tasked to guard creation!
Their chants deafening, echoing, increasing
In brave tumultuous waves
Growing ever louder
Pushing the rivers and tributaries into the seas
Infused in the currents
The laments of the helpless
Trampled, and ravaged, and killed
With violence and impunity!
Be wary of the axeman, the hunter, and the miner
They are lurkers, waiting in the dark canopies
Waiting for a chance to **** and pillage
To **** the forest out of its wits
Until it loses its lushness and vitality
'Til it surrenders its grip from the divine earth!
Be wary of the forest ranger
For they are the ones that orchestrates
The relentless and appalling ******
That decimates lives, hopes, and aspirations
They perpetuate the madness
They are the harbingers of chaos, they are destruction
Their charm, vile and putrid
To ever allow them recite their prose would be death!
But never despair,
The sleepers have woken
Those with quiet ears slowly hears the noise and commotion
The deniers have silenced their self-serving lips
Await that moment, when the silence is fractured
By the forest, howling in raging defiance
Justice will be swift, the wolves will be unraveled as sheep!
And only then says the oldest of the trees
Can the children of the forest roam free.
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 6:43 AM UTC
I want to be better. But not the kind of better you see on the billboards advertising gyms or the ones mentioned in the hymns sung by entire choirs of liars and deniers of bad desires. I want to be better in the worst way possible.
I want to play air-guitar concerts for stuffed animals, I want to be able to smile in a way that leaves contempt snuffed out like a candle-cap. I want to be able to rap in Chinese.
I want to be able to reinvent the word 'cool', hang out with absolute tools and not just because somebody has to. I want to be able to rule my own mind and mind my own rules. I want to find my running shoes so when I go to the fight behind the dollar store, I'll remember what I bought them for.
I want to be so much more and all these issues I can't ignore be much less. I want to make myself confess how much I love my friends, turn dead-ends into new beginnings and then spend my lottery winnings on a stranger because the only danger I see is never having been able to know them.
The truth is, I'll never be the icon of an attractive guy. I'm never be able to buy a girl a drink and not have her immediately think of what kind of a clod I am that thinks that kind of thing still works.
I keep finding myself trying to rewrite my history where the cliffhanger at the end has a parachute. Where minute details matter less and I can say I tried my best and people noticed.
I will one day be better but I'll always still be me and honestly, I think I'd still sell my inheritance to put enough money down the wishing well to make the two days you were in love with me swell into an eternity.
But we both have other things to be doing than loving someone. We have legacies we have to build on the our bare backs and suicide attacks that need to be led.
And let it be said that I have not a clue-'n'-half how this turned into a love poem...
but in my head there is a world where in that time and place, I didn't need to be better.
I wasn't perfect. I was good enough.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC
Hurricane has come,
Climate change deniers hide,
In great storming eye.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 3:51 PM UTC
Twenty eighteen has come and gone,
And all I can say is, What a year!
That twenty nineteen will also be
Just as crazy is crystal clear.
Mass shootings once again
Shook the country, taking a toll
On all of us, and yet very little
Has been done about gun control.
Always the center of controversies,
Trump again tried to assuage
The public by pleading ignorance
When Stormy Daniels took center stage.
Then we learned that Trump had paid
Hush money to flings at least TWICE
In hopes to secure his chances of winning
The twenty sixteen election. How nice!
A lot of Trump's team have left
Through the admin's revolving door,
Always mired in controversy.
There are bound to be many more.
Trump has proved he loves his tyrants
More than he loves our allies and friends.
Ignoring advice from experts, he'll do
Whatever Putin recommends.
Hurricanes caused major flooding;
California was ravaged by fires.
Yet dire warnings go unheeded
By stalwart climate change deniers.
The separation of families seeking
Asylum showed a callous side
Of Trump and his team, whose inhumane
Actions cannot be denied.
Year two of investigations…
Manafort, Gates, Cohen, and Flynn
Are talking more, while the walls
Around Donald Trump are closing in.
Meanwhile Trump continues to lie.
There's no end to his subterfuge.
How many lies? Eight thousand?
And Giuliani plays his stooge.
Kavanagh got a Supreme Court seat
After a sham investigation,
Which shows how Trump maintains the belief:
What's good for Trump is good for the nation.
November saw a welcome blue wave
Sweep through the House. Such a delight!
This should end Nunes' obstruction
Of justice. There will be oversight!
We lost three prominent people:
Barbara and George Bush and McCain.
Very few members of
The old Republican guard remain.
Trump cannot stop harping on
His WALL--a waste of money and time.
With our crumbling infrastructure,
Building his "wall" would be a crime.
What will the New Year bring forth?
Perhaps an indictment? Perhaps an arraignment?
Since Trump loves to be the star,
THAT'S what I'd call entertainment!
-by Bob B (1-1-19)
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 12:56 PM UTC
They said it was a category five
Thank god its roar
Turn into a category four
Laying waste to many a life
Wiping away the property
The Caribbean’s sign of liberty
From the mishap of Grenada in 1983
10 dead
They can still look ahead
But the thoughts keep going to Florida
But didn’t think Trump kept you in his thoughts did ya
Took you a while to get the evacuation through
As the political tensions grew
And Trump declared it as not good not good
The closest you can come to trifling is by saying that Irma isn’t the result of a good mood
But enough chitter chatter because there is an SOS on the rise
In such a situation climate deniers consider climate change to be the reason as their surmise
Rush Limbaugh cannot see the truth
Because his face is buried deep in the smoke that will pollute
Hurricane Irma I pray the woman in your name understands and leaves the children alone
Because there are no sins to atone for if they are orphaned and dead alone
They’ll be on the prowl for food and money and liquor and ending up appraising the days that are sunny
But funnily anyway they are because you business ******* have increased your influx of money from the disaster stricken many
Water, air trips you’ve been taking business studies from **** Cheney
Sep 10, 2017
Sep 10, 2017 at 2:23 PM UTC
Pyro maniacs—
Weird climate change deniers,
. . . Too stupid to live.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 10:05 PM UTC
In the wake of his convention
And the primary season, too,
Would it be at all surprising
That I feel profoundly blue?
How can one devoid of nuance,
For whom life’s a win-lose play,
Be considered for the real world,
Where one deals with matters gray?
Aren’t you alarmed public service
Was naught to this seventy-year-old,
Till he sought the highest office
To boost his brand of tarnished gold?
Under a symbol endangered,
Facing crisis elephantine,
Isn’t it ironic, his ticket of
Deniers blithely mocks the green?
Can a worshipper of Mammon,
Who shamelessly on others tread,
Cheating, abusing, extorting,
Win over fans of Vermont red?
Should we really need to conjure
Il Duce or the Corporal
To reject bans, walls – hate so vile –
And tilt the states of purple?
Don’t you notice undercurrents
In the “make again” broken track,
Calling former would-be masters
To clean DC of Kenya black?
So will you stand this year with her,
Imperfect, cautious, yet mostly right,
To ensure a dangerous clown
Is nowhere near the House of White?
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 3:36 PM UTC
The Thew Of Phantasmagoria
<for Sanders Maurice Foulke III>
The Thew Of Phantasmagoria
the muscles of the brain, design bridges, author poems, obviously
the strongest force upon the Earth, whence & where the powerful
coiling of our mortal coexistence energies be stored & unleashed
muscles summon previous unknowns, establishing neural connectivity
between colliding galaxies, undiscovered planetary rings, using kinetics
to create a vocabulary for the express purpose of astounding creation
the modest only dare inquire of themselves in wondrous silence
how came this thematic landscape, new language, to escape my
optics, my ken, my viewfinder, purview, essential essence sensories?
the deniers claim magic lanterns, optical illusions, love, par example,
they ascertain, a chemical imbalance stimulates the sensorineural,
mocking those who believe the comet’s tail visible wags its orbital path
this poem abstruse, yet full of truths, a working man’s lunch pail
full of fine china chicanery, fooling those who observe only exteriors,
but we who live on bounded islands recognize safe passages available
when the thew of the phantasmagorical is debunked, acknowledging
that for something to be truly true, it must be agreed upon by two,
thus creating a language clarifying even if it’s punctuated by shadows
621pm 23-2-2020
IP lmn
Feb 23, 2020
Feb 23, 2020 at 6:29 PM UTC
in times of destruction, you need fierce force
in times of hunger, you need absurd appetite
glowin ******** have been encircling you
try to scream, but your vocal chords rupture
multi-armed street military, covid-19 deniers
9-to-9, 24/7, armies made of plastic angels
everything improvised and effective like:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DxBGzUhT-TM
TIZZOP doesn't always write, swallow dat link
as hate and anger overwhelm, GOD forces me to act
at age 13, they called me ***** Splash", so
i had to install 888 children who now my soldiers
in times of destruction, only family remains
in times of appetite, simply loyalty protects ya
Nov 25, 2020
Nov 25, 2020 at 11:39 AM UTC