"dissembled" poems
Yeah it's one shot one ****
Plottin' against my enemies will soon to be killed
Bullets feedin' ya last meal
Dope rhymes sedatin' like pharmacy pills
Since hataz got no chill heads I'll drill now you leakin' out like oil spills
Or a radiator angelic caters none could create a
Flows nasty as mine poppin' a multiplicity of shells I'm one of a kind
Thoughts intertwined
****** into a demons intervention contenders in suspension from the soul lynching
Caught in the realms of heaven and hell & you can smell
The ashes burning fermentin'
time runnin' slower than molasses
My murders be classic enemies dramatic causin' static
Shoot more than Bird combined with Magic
Workin' my Johnson on the tracks tonsils sittin' as a hip hop consul underground magul
**** longer than Repunzels hair follicles
Cookin' up sigils into a *** of gold no rainbow snortin' sir nose
D'void of Funk rattlin' the earth from the bass in my trunk blazin' skunks
Abraxas I'm embracin' one of my goetias when facin' ain't no replacin'
Fools givin' chase
and to tastes of demonic faces
My flows replenish like **** laces
Blunts turn into ashes dump it out on the masses
Epidemic mase deaden your pace hazardous like toxic waste
Adversaries don't wanna face
Off like Nicolas to Travolta livin' in an ultra violent culture
Cleatin' into ya flesh I be the stalkin' Vulture mulchin' ya
'til ya
A dissembled particle blank photo in the article from curvin' emcees with my surgical
lyrical sickle stare into ya eyes as the blood trickles
Down ya body you easily brickled rhymes artificial
My soul sour as a pickle no tickles
Could move me or influence thee my legacy
Lay cinematography like A. Hitchcock in the 50s huh
Ya soon to be a death reel for thrills
Rememeber
All I need is one shot one **** forreal!!!!
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 4:57 PM UTC
Ode to sincerity
Unlike a candles flame
Wrath contained,
Dissipates not
but
grows and gains
Wrath contained
A brick in a washing machine
A moth in a closet
Wrath contained,
A plant growing
As Providence's Gardener is perpetually hoeing
With a deft hand doubt's seed Wrath is sowing
Wrath contained,
Is Suffering's Yeast,
To its expansion there's no end
The closed mouth is an open space for Wrath to bend
Sprouts of hope Wrath's malice fends
Away and blights
With its bligthening might
Grinds light to dust
Creeps under the plant *** it must
Break in the foundation it may
Once cheery now morose
Day-by-day Wrath dissembled its host
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 1:35 PM UTC
Deep below the surface,
of a sea stormy and frenetic;
lies buried an ancient relict,
once radiant but now pathetic.
It is a long ago sunken ship
the mast and canvas rotten.
The stern revealing injuries,
that are not yet forgotten.
It once carried adventurers,
looking for brand new land;
But now it's decrepit and cursed,
never to reach a strand.
But if you would look closer,
to the shattered and mouldered deck,
you would see the dissembled treasure,
that waits to be found within every wreck.
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 8:30 AM UTC
Tantamount to the crawlspace where your emotions
are dissembled,
is the animalistic focus in your pointed gaze,
Sketchy eyed with jerky limbed motions,
As elusive as you are always around,
Or so it would seem,
Their eyes fall upon you,
no doubt,
You are a vision,
That I do not and have never questioned,
There is a fundamental lack of
hesitancy in your days,
lately you have looked let down,
Thinking of you,
occurs outside the restraints of time,
I would like to be everything with you.
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 12:36 PM UTC
beneath one effacing blush
simmers veil ties liquidly i stare
fears pink with praise lusts withheld thimble shames
embalm a gift identity
daily sunny graves
dissembled life
with deeper breath akin to fisher netting cast
fog caress mneumosyne lover's misty thigh
traps me willingly
blinded i taste ambrosia
gazing at between zones believing anything again
cliches pyroclastically reborn in celebrants of ash and cynic deaths
energetic swim i stroke a butterfly in Love
instant tribadists commit a joyous toast to joy itself
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 7:12 PM UTC
I gave the box of books you gave me
I removed the box of books to ease the pain
I trembled as I carried them downstairs
to your office
you were behind a closed door talking to a false blonde
she listened to your words and nodded
What are they?
Words I listened to as you began to guide me
to work I enjoyed
As a shark circled around me, the one before me, taking me in, finding the right time to attack
So hungry.
I felt her presence the entire time
Did you know?
You gave me the benefit of your past
Set the bar for me, worried over it
and I came through for you.
Walking through the empty halls
An ominous feeling
Something is amiss
I always know
Why do I always have to have the premonition?
The office door closes, I watch you take your seat
behind your power desk
A big space between you and me
like I'm a threat to you, something to fight off
Attack first, so I don't send you flying
What are you thinking?
You words come out, fresh from the corporate factory of talking points
You're not it, she will take it to the next level
You are not enough for us. You are done.
If I am surprised on the hopeful side of my brain
it's because you dissembled, don't you see?
Now you act like I'm an upstart
Claiming what was never mine
Don't I know my place?
I wasn't hired for this
These words
I sit passively
Feeling the poison set in
My mentor, my guide
I want to drop my keys on the floor
run from the room
drive from this place and never come back
I am tied by a paycheck to the chair
How I dream of running from the room
In my mind, I have escaped from your daggers
In reality, I sit obediently on the chair as you
stop talking realizing no one is talking to you
I can't remember how I left the room
I give you a box full of invisible tears today
I return sadness
Later, you are
Slumped in your vast leather chair
Looking tired
Tomorrow I will see you again
rushing around with the other bosses
breaking heads, crushing spirits
My pain forgotten
May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 11:43 PM UTC
the worst kind of crying
is that film residing in your throat
glazing over your vocal chords.
your stomach is twisted
into tiny intricate knots, triple tied.
your eyes bead in the corners,
glistening but not dripping.
you feel that you will never
be as sad as this moment.
your brain shuts off
a failed attempt to detach itself
from the veins fusing and tightening
stars heighten without blinking.
you have become so unaware of your actual body
the sadness eats away
at whatever remains. and even then
you are much too empty
to be dissembled.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 11:58 PM UTC
Your name used to wander through my thoughts every night.
It kept me up, it made me ill and worse than that, it made me feel.
Paper sheets with scribbles of your name, pillows wet from tears due to your games, even toilettes filled up with what I ate that day.
The thought of you made me tremble, while my knees shook, my heart dissembled.
Time went by, my knees were still, my heart wasn't completely ill.
I was okay, not well, but okay.
Nobody saved me, I did it myself, with help from a book, good friends and yourself.
I'll never be cured, I still have a dent.
After all, who doesn't, after being this wrecked?
However, at this moment I can say I'm fine, not well but just fine,
Where your name used to be, there's a hum in my mind.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 12:24 AM UTC
**** you
and your indecisiveness
Your mysterious demure caught my glance
You twisted, and dissembled my sight
Wrapped up in your eloquence
Believing in good intentions
Our evanescent love lasted only a moment
If it existed at all
Your nearness to me was made insignificant by your blithe nonchalance
And here I remain
An ingenue
Fooled again, lured in by your perplexing,
Negligent attitude towards life,
Towards me
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
On our imaginary continent
people treat their bodies like Violins
to be played
mastered by stray chaos
from music un made
The paths are strewn with
strange fruit and tender tourists
our way to sea is dissembled by
sheet music awry in coastal wind
Jan 22, 2012
Jan 22, 2012 at 12:19 PM UTC
He, the rumpled bumbler,
Stumbled, mumbling, bungling
Through his self-made jungle
No mote of humility, his abilities
Were not inclusive of subtlety.
He settled for a public identity
Of propriety and normality,
Obvious hospitality but falsity
Like the nose on his face, exposed.
What a verbose, but artificial
Government official he was.
His cause was never for us
It was for that he was notorious;
How laboriously he dissembled.
But he resembled his opposition
Then took a position of submission
Until his mission was complete
Then he beat his feet in retreat
To those he knew could beat
The highest price and that was nice.
Twice as nice for rental cars
And pretty movie stars
Who weren’t too humble
To stumble the red carpet
With the rumpled bumbler,
Mumbling, no longer bungling
Through his self-made jungle.
Still no humility, a perfect facility
To take from the poor, give to the rich
And not care who calls him sonofabitch.
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 8:06 AM UTC
petulant little face
squeaks its dissatisfaction with the way
bitterness has dissembled its state of mind
its hunched scrawny little body slinks in through the shadows
thing thing
this ***** little thing
stop it you f&%kin *******
your driving me insane
tapping tapping at the door
i own the control over nothing but me
but this thing keeps softly invading me
this missing thing
this absence
when nothing is required to keep moving
when there is no distraction
thing small thing crawls in
this depraved little monster with its sharp claws
this f%&kin; little thing
beating at the door for hours
softly pounding at the gate
for days
for years
'your alone and your going to stay that way'
alone alone alone
makes my world barren
makes my heart a hurting thing
this thing will not leave me be
i wrap my fingers around its ugly neck
and throttle the life from it
but moments later
there it is tapping at the door
your alone
your alone
alone alone alone
tapping alone alone
like my witless heart it keeps beating
slowly at the door demanding
without relenting
that something is absent
something is missing
fill me fill me
tapping at the door
let me out
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 2:22 PM UTC
Vapid, empty-- pregnant with my projections
The woman dissembled
her shaking legs;
led to the ground where
cherry blossoms
blow through the field
and heaved.
We ran
disguising their war
with tiney sandals
and heavy, ambrose mist
clawing for that--
they even noticed
your scar.
My true one.
Oct 16, 2011
Oct 16, 2011 at 6:06 PM UTC
Hues mixing under a blank sky, I look at all I've done in wonder
Was that me
Or did someone steal my hand for their own poetic ruse?
You see as of late I seem confused
And stay in the atmosphere of here and there
My location wasn't given much care
Physically or mentally
And the moon im under stays blank as the sky
And I ponder if it's meant to be
Ask myself why the ink has all but dried from my well
See
I used to constantly change
Now I stay the same
Uttering words in patterns that are always absurdly similar
Pricking myself with my pen to no avail
Because the blood had too many stories to tell
Most drug on and on for mental miles
That many would cover in a single step,
But I sat frozen,
Observing like this pain was a film
But on nights like this
When I have dissembled myself to the point of belief
Something catches my eye
The eloquence of a blank sky waiting to be filled with ideas, dreams, and possibilities
And sometimes, its enough to wake me from my doubts
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 1:08 PM UTC
3 to 1 saidn't he,d never heard such calamity spit strangled text, the paper usually. usually saiding as i'm waltzing likely by the crumbled mortar stock of lewd disinterested coffee. dranking and snorting caffeine and toffy talking. scoffing at the daily bread, 3 and 1 and 3 to 2 wouldn't say at all any a thing. or nothing. crazy laugh ****** dissembled clothing a slightly ***** tramps. they're usually, 1,3,2. **** bucking minstrels in shambles of silence.
Dec 20, 2010
Dec 20, 2010 at 2:50 PM UTC
my faith is being torn, not by those of unholy, but of thoughts in my head. the thoughts of sinful words and sinful actions.
the thoughts of lustful intention, of those too close to hurt, and too far to touch.
the thoughts hurting no one but myself, because the light blinds me to where I myself can not see the dark sins that lay before me.
The sins of ****** and theft can no longer be seen, because with a holy; blinding light that I as a child could only see as a gift. I have grown and now see that that light was not a gift but a distraction to the evil that does exist, not only to ensure the devil can use the most helpless to the most independent, but he could use me; that terrifying fact leans me back to the book i once hated to read.
the one of tales of greatness and yes even death, because even Jesus himself was murdered for being hated or being a threat, just as did Abel. restore my faith in one that god has dissembled be forth a angel, a hope to save me once more.
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 12:13 AM UTC
What of the stories,what of you,what of the words or what of my dew
Lies and lies
Strangled the fliers
Witnessed it, he has admirers
Sweetness and tartness ignored
Mulberry swallowed but in the heart it sored
What would the 'dead lips' pen
When it had not the truth,son
Curses though slip off
Feelings be never any drawf
For to hate
Once there should have been love's bait tight
How dangling and dwindling
No shore was he ever kindling
Hours and hours
It takes no par
Touch not that knight
He has swords defending with might
How barren is he and
Knows not any scabbard
Those wands of enigma
That suits not the noble hands off stigma
Suitors of temper
Shooters of blood towels much damper
Is it your blood ?
Shut-up for god's sake
Let's arrange him a slumber
Mar 1, 2019
Mar 1, 2019 at 10:25 AM UTC
From every county of old
Ireland
The stones have come to speak again.
Joined together in these four walls
They tell the tale of vanished men.
One million dead, the Hunger’s harvest
A million more fled overseas.
The potatoes, on which they depended,
Lay rotting in the Irish fields
It was a hard death they endured;
Their sentence passed by
falling
yields.
The stones cry out, the stones remember
the shadows of the hunger slain.
They curse the British who dissembled
Who showed less mercy than the rain.
They cry out loudest for the children;
The bairns of that famished land.
Their mother’s arms, their only coffin.
their sole possession was their names.
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 1:18 AM UTC
Born hate-free, I was taught,
Caught up in a time when crimes
Against millions of people was fine
And the social genocide of bigotry
Was excused for me and practiced hourly
Then daily and yearly and nobody said no,
Oh no, don’t go there! Where was decency
When everybody could use names
Like flames to torch total strangers?
The danger is visible now, almost risible
But indivisible with no liberty or justice
Just issuing slams and slurs like a knife,
A way of life that helped nobody
And anybody that protested, complained
Were given their own names to suffer.
No, they didn’t stutter. ****** lover.
That’s what they called us if we shied,
Chose the wrong side, the side of freedom,.
Equality, morality, principles of Christianity.
Seemed invisible concepts to the likes of me.
Taught hypocrisy, I dissembled easily
Saying all men were equal when evil
Was universal at a “whites only” fountain,
The affronts to decency mounting, hurting,
Atrocities compounding, surrounding
Hanging, shooting, beating, killing
In a society willing to hang and ****
The Martin Luther Kings at will
For being willing to not sit still
And let the falsehood go on and on.
And then he was gone, but The South
Still pours honey from a mouth that claims
To be the right, the good, the family party.
Oct 13, 2017
Oct 13, 2017 at 12:14 PM UTC
Those eyes.
In the face of a stranger,
800 miles from home
Nostalgia gripping all being.
A pang of familiarity,
Watching the false you
Losing sensation of breath and self
Stretching and piercing deep within,
Heartbeat; Heartache?
As skin recalled the touch
Of dissembled intention
Fingertips to caress,
Lips to promise and evoke,
A passion of two souls in tandem
Reaching for something
Zenith in existence
An exchange of emotion
A gift of connection
Without restriction
Awe of existence, and depth of being
Preparation for a reaping
Of exchange, and return.
Void of insight;
Bearing the fruit
Of misplaced intimacy
Vacant and hollow the reception
A chasm of lust
Intwined with need
Selfish and unforgiving
Setting fire to the dry tinder of a heart
Only to watch the flames
Engulf and destroy
Silently.
Furtively.
Withdrawal and reflection
Feeling the cold absence of touch
From this distance
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 11:27 PM UTC
yup me too.
But of course i can't say that right now.
And even if i did you probably wouldn't ever believe me.
And even if you believed me you probably would begrudge me for it.
So i sit here.
Quiet.
Or mostly so.
And i hate the fact that i can not say THAT.
Of all things so simple.
I love you so. You're gorgeous. I know.
But would you have it, would you hear it?
well of course not. Hell no.
This has thrown a wrench in my mission.
The entire intention i had for our friendship is being dissembled.
In the silence I am reminded of all the sounds of clanging symbols.
If we have not love, what are we?
Well i have it, but i cannot say it.
What does that make me?
A quiet symbol? Or a song more beautiful than anyone could resemble??
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 2:04 AM UTC
i crawled inside a bleeding womb
feeling the walls dying around me
a fever
in my chest.
numbed legs
my pants unzipped
gaping open for the next one
to pull a piece of me
apart
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 12:08 AM UTC
Love lost: my earth trembles
falling into a million little parts.
Feelings floating: dissembled
our wounds turn to visual art.
—
Love unrequited: time lost
hearts break inevitably.
Honest thoughts pierced
curtains close: dramatically.
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 5:35 AM UTC
The cliffs that point up:
are faded grey dissembled
finger hung by the thorns
Rats scurry gnaw at the flesh
the poisonous injection
of snakes seeping
danger lurking
in each crevice.
Shadows leaping forward:
circling gown of fire:
swords made of ice
impaling the heart
the air whispers:
the shadowy feet
are never far apart
of horses that scurry
through the night.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 10:51 AM UTC
There's a Church that stands between Dudley road and Clarendon ,
a Church with a foundation stone where time has eroded.
It's a. Capstone built with firm foundation ,
and a. King of Love , who speaks out through written word has given his life for me ,
A. Crimson light ,
A lampstand. Of Gold , with two olive trees flanked on either side ,
An endless stream of olive oil to keep the lamps light .
Before me a preacher and an uncomfortable truth .
Behind the preacher lay a feast set for a King ,
That we may love him a little and pray we should with all our hearts draw near
and love him more .
Yet how easely our lives become dissembled , and
Integrity bought for a penny .
Our beloved friends ,
Loves,
quickly become Ghosts of our past , present and future
For Loneliness. And fear flee ,
Forgiveness forever waltz with grace .
Enginuity meet with the fire flys of our day ,
Dragons that unite this England ,
Fiery monsters that **** Englands green and pleasant land ,
and unite its people .
An Iron Horse of steel , Pistons of smoke bringing hope
And entegrity to these green fields of home .
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 9:34 AM UTC