"duped" poems
Yet another day of pain was put behind,
She lets out a sigh of relief as if the beast
That stalks her is duped for now, once more.
The last Metro train that night, slows down,stops.
To return to her regular prison she gets in hurriedly.
Emptiness bares it's fangs, that looked sweet in fact,
In comparison with the experiences of the day gone.
A suspicious bundle on the floor stirred at her touch,
A frail women almost frozen,living dead, eyes sunken
in sockets." How did you end up here?" she quarries.
"I fainted, didn't eat anything, for the past few days"
"Mother, you need to drink something hot quick.
Come with me I'll take care" her eyes get moist.
Then she smiles thinking how fortunate she is.
"My share of sweet misery is here to teach me
practice humility, even in an empty compartment"
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
Sun at its peak, everything outside is so bright,
but her room is giving a horrific sight.
She stands in front of mirror wearing his favorite dress.
Her reflection looks back at her, asking
"who are you?"
She touches her lips, closes her eyes.
"You're a freak and I love it. Can you be mine?"
She opens her eyes wide,
as woke up from a nightmare,
or maybe it was only a haunted memory.
But something is breaking inside.
She picks up lipstick, paints her lips red.
Looks damaged but but beautiful outside.
"I love you so much. You're the best thing happened to me. Stay with me forever. You're my life."
She walks towards the side table.
A suicide note is waiting there to get read.
Burning it with her lighter, she smiles.
"Why are you so depressed all time? What is bothering you?
Why you get this anxiety? You got me baby. Its all fine."
She turns and makes her calendar marked 6th of July.
Putting all pain behind,
she lefts a sigh of relief as if the beast,
that stalks her is duped forever.
"Why are you so possessive? I hate it.
How can you have a lot of Internet friendships but no friends in real? You gotta change yourself."
She walks through the door.
A new life is ahead her.
"No you don't have to change yourself this way. Don't be childish."
She is going down through stairs.
"There is nothing normal with you. You always exaggerate things. Sometimes I hate even myself to be with you."
Suddenly she hears a phone ring coming out of her room.
Her stomach drops.
"Things are not working out baby I'm sorry..."
She is going back to her room.
"We must get separated."
Her hands trembling, her heart making a one last wish.
"Why did you cut your wrist? I hate you even more now"
Mommy's text was there that she might get late today.
"You're a freak. Get out of my life."
She smashes her phone into mirror.
She is done with being all fine.
She is not going outside now to show the world that she is strong.
Her screams filling the room.
"I love you please come back."
But only echoes are there laughing back at her.
And here she goes
writing again a suicide note.
Jul 7, 2018
Jul 7, 2018 at 11:50 PM UTC
Everyone complains about the "system",
how it is rigged, manipulated and controlled.
But they do not take a moment to listen,
or to take a moment and break the mold.
Work out and do not eat those fries,
then you will say goodbye to those thighs.
Work hard, work long, and get the paycheck,
take a chance and stick out your neck.
Become what you despise,
or stand and rise.
Because you can lie down and die,
and let them walk on you,
curl up and cry,
and let your whole life turn blue.
But your failure is your own fault,
not the systems,
you were not locked in a vault.
You have been duped,
or you are duping,
So stop singing the song the dupees sing.
Updated from my tablet which my white upper class parents bought me to prepare for my pre_paid college*
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 12:05 PM UTC
The honey in the lion sounds like a delicious thing––
a gentle balm capable of subduing
the cruellest of monsters.
According to the stars and tattooed,
you fancied yourself king of the jungle––
lazy in hot African afternoons.
Golden and tawn with sleepy sun-gold eyes,
shaggy mane, muzzle red with
the blood of a gazelle.
Did you think me such easy prey?
Or was I so much fermented honey,
only a sweet intoxicant.
Sun warmth seeps from jungles of cold concrete.
I mistook your gargoyle wings
for those of a guardian angel’s.
I overlooked your rough skin, your
crooked hawk nose and your skinny ribs,
and assigned fine things in you that didn’t exist.
So duped, I acquiesced to your slimy kiss.
Your mouth a neglected cemetery,
teeth a row of mossy tombstones.
Vampire. Incubus. Your seduction like grotesque death.
You named me tempest in a teacup,
but I was the eye of the storm.
Until the night the eye was eradicated,
and the storm blew in,
striking me dumb with your sound and fury.
But no spattered blood and no spreading bruise
to be found in the pattern of the kaleidoscope.
No cause for alarm.
Today I am lost in a picture show,
a beautiful world coloured by nostalgic past.
Women’s lips the vivid red print of a velvet valentine.
Head in the Clouds, I fantasize about a certain scene.
Because you think violence is ****
retaliation – ********** in my dream.
Give me an eye for my eye,
for all the eyes you plucked, from women and breadwinners.
Give me blood running down your back, sweet as honey.
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 5:37 PM UTC
Relaxing peacefully on her lap
Her fingers ran through his hair,
And,speaking soft, soothing words
Waves of calm caressed him there.
Delilah used her feminine wiles,
Honeyed words dripped from her lips,
A sense of serenity enveloped his soul
From her tender fingertips.
The secret of his amazing strength
Was reluctantly revealed to her ears
Leading to open the floodgates
Of times of sorrow and tears.
On her lap he continued to rest,
Unawares of her subtle scheming;
Carefully his luxuriant locks were cut
With scissors sharp and gleaming.
Little could Samson have known
The intentions of her black heart,
Her cunning and overpowering charm
Hit him as with a poisoned dart.
Samson’s strength suddenly left him,
As weak as a kitten he became,
Delilah had truly duped him,
Although it seemed to her a game.
As hard as granite was her heart,
No true feelings of love were there
Else, why would she hurt him
With no chance of any repair?
His life had a very sad ending,
Of this most people have heard,
It’s recorded for our perusal
Within the pages of God’s Word.
The lesson to be learned
From this ghastly episode
Is that disloyalty is as acid
That the heart can corrode.
Like a wilting yellow lily
Under the sun’s searing heat,
Samson’s strength melted
Into a pool of utter defeat.
Remember this we should
And be careful how we act
Lest our deceptive hearts
This drama we re-enact…
Jan 19, 2012
Jan 19, 2012 at 1:45 AM UTC
I asked if there was anyone there remotely my age,
and she said yes. I had just dumped all the money in my
wallet into trying to make my savings not negative.
It didn't work.
I walked over, stepped inside,
and saw teenagers. She told me,
there's a guy outside and he's twenty.
I got ******* duped by a kid.
Her parent's left, unwisely.
I met another half-black person,
a 15 year old girl who had dark skin
and hated everything that resembled
"blackness" or "black culture".
She even called herself white.
Here I was, outside drinking grape soda
out of a hello kitty mug,
discussing radical feminism
to teenage girls-
**and ******* five shots were fired**.
Not even 15 feet away, behind the garage.
[A fake 100 was exchanged, to which distaste was shown,
also this sentence is in parentheses,
and technically doesn't even exist].
So now there are teenage girls crying over gunfire,
hyperventilating, the high school boys jogging-
people in a swarm heading indoors,
and me.
The stupid-fucking-tragic-yet-benal artist,
running in his stupid ******* circle,
trying to decide if he should go inside
with the crazy juvenile people, or see if he can get shot,
because he already lives life awaiting some
stupid ******* narcissistic tragedy
to wipe him off the map.
My opportunities had rushed away already however.
I walked inside and sat on the couch hugging
one of those puffy round pillows and laughing
maniacally. It was intense after all.
Kid Duper tried to relate to me.
I know she didn't get it.
No one ever really ******* gets it.
Understood, maybe? No one understands.
I left shortly after with a copy of Fahrenheit 451.
I was told I could borrow it.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 4:02 AM UTC
why is it that whenever we–
women–
show the slightest sign of anger or strength
we are presented with one of two masks:
the ***** or better yet,
the Joke.
why can’t we demand anything
without being called fickle or foolish
while a man can do the same and be called
Boss?
why can’t we choose to look like the calla
and not be chastised for pettiness,
for wanting to feel pretty?
after telling us that we’re duped and doped by media,
we’re labeled with a laugh
or the scales of a serpent when we want
to to bite back.
you chuckle when i bare my teeth,
you tell me that i’m cute when I’m angry.
I dare you to tell me why.
i am not a *****
i am far from a Joke.
i have skin and bones
hands to work with
eyes to see and most importantly
i have guts.
i am human.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
A little guilt goes a long way
Even the sturdiest oak can be made to sway
Figments of people duped by atavistic views
Waking up from bouts of fervor
A most sadistic snooze
They repose like overgrown fountains of youth
Their dreams rusted, forgotten and that’s the truth
In a lonely forest, oaks fall with the loudest screams
A somberness aided by clouds and defective sun beams
My soul has finally given in to moralistic cracks
For now it’s about as clean as mud pies and tire tracks
I’m wobbling down my lifetime from crutch to crutch
Wondering when to finally whisper **** I’ve seen too much”
So please, return me home, send my spirit way down below
To lands of rusted dreams and toss-turned pillows
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 4:23 PM UTC
The chances are never perfect
I am disappointed
because the world has never stood up to
what is ideal
what is right is hidden behind the veil
Innocents are tested each time
and the fight goes on.
Bending the rule,
using people as tool
dead and alive
making every fool
and the normalcy
spreading this sickness
over what is going on
so wrong.
Moving on
getting over it
forgetting every little bit,
we stick to our lives
protecting us
what possibly how
we can also be duped
and save ourselves
from becoming the national news.
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 12:09 PM UTC
time changes
and I realize the world needs my LOVE.
so I want to write more love poems
and infect heartstreams,
bursting valve seams, repairing flows.
carrying capacities need expanding,
deep breath felt.
simplicities stacking, and all else is.
decension, the reflection of ascension,
is being dug.
the perspective has always been from above.
time to root down, bury down, dig deep
in the ground and bring the LOVE down.
in the darker side, where light struggles sometimes,
here, this minor level, that many feel is
real,
this place needs the panting of love
to be rained down.
souls duped to believe
evil is abound.
cycles are always dark and light
and layers are thin.
pay closer attention to the place
where to the two meet again,
that point, moment, peace.
listen to its speech, the flow of a new
sprout on a tree,
the fungus sprawl through its wood.
stretching its love from underground,
above, to feed and seed and heed
the lessons here.
biodiversity, nourishment, interdependence,
just being loving. nurturing,
to your self, the total inclusiveness...
our carry capacity for LOVE is infinity.
eights will flow infinitely, so we just let it be,
walk easily, stop and discover those on our path.
discover the magic of home.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 4:34 PM UTC
,...now
whatcouldyoupossiblywant¿
you're rea _ ch _ ing _ ou _ t
when-we-both-know
that door's ******* | shut |
all. those. times.
you { ****** {me {in
just to spit> me >out >
oH; you're_wind//ing/ it/ up
again
& i'll dive 》right 》in
cuz\ **** if \i
can
@lovemyself
enough
to ]] resist ]]
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 2:19 AM UTC
Sara L Russell 17/3/15 at 13:25
What will they say of you in future times?
Were they duped by your duplicity
or did you fall on your double-edged sword?
Was the devil we knew any better than the unknown?
The future has a way of arriving early.
Are you ready now, for what it yet may bring?
Will you be knighted, or, benighted and beleaguered,
Fall fallow by the wayside of your ways?
Will the name of Cameron carry on,
Whatever else is lost or left behind?
Will David slay the apocolyptic giant of global warming,
yet terminate the service of National Health?
Was it wealth, or a poverty of emotional maturity
that led to such flotations and privatisations?
what sensations did you feel, did you reach referendum,
did you feel the earth move?
We never saw your manifesto made manifest.
We, the voters who voted not for you,
yet saw you rise, anticipate your fall.
Do promises count as any kind of plan?
And the future is arriving post-haste,
like a present waiting to be unwrapped.
Elections have a way of arriving early.
We are ready, with a big sharp X.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 9:35 AM UTC
"...from dust thou art..."
It was one peaceful evening we were having,
ruined by a message; distasteful and disturbing,
a misunderstanding? no, never had been..
.but it had always been the easy way out...
it was an overflow of misunderstood courage...
someone shouldn't have had the face,
but really had the chutzpah to reach out...
one that stood up to the last moment
to gird, to break, to wreck.....and won...
to be...to feel they belong,
this, could be allowed no longer...
this must...has got to stop...
here comes the CLOAK of non-acceptance,
it quickly spreads overhead,
but repugnance PERFORATES!
to be duped anew,
ah, brings back to life old hatred,
for those who think they know better,
but never again, to swim in bad blood...
feelings to be repeatedly exploited,
this, can no longer be allowed....
this...has got to stop...
ashes that were hidden,
ashes that were forbidden,
ashes i didn't feel like seeing
an urn of ashes i firmly refused to hold,
ashes i firmly refused to be anywhere near me.
and now, they suddenly ask,
where to take the forsaken urn?
they can just pollute the river
let the ashes flow with the current...
or, be indifferently blown by the wind
atop a mountain...
for God's sake, why not just buy a vault for the urn?
give the ashes the much-needed peace it longed for..
and let those who were once denied and deprived,
have their own share of much needed peace...
ashes may be carried away
by the sea or the wind---
but there's only one known place:
to the ground we all go,
cremated or otherwise...
so, why fuss on where the ashes should go?
"From dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return." *
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Biblical quote, from Genesis 3:19'
"Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return."
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
bone traitor.
Skin viper
Edge Stealer
Ridge maker
Health reflector.
Mirror- you liar!
Rogue on the scale...
Signs that my brain has duped me;
Floating oily in the
Basin
Phantom aches
Blood test lies
Powdery remedies pressed almond abandon all cows
Bean curd body snatching
**** the doctor to get a clue
Girl in pain this isn't me so-
Who the hell are you?
Aug 5, 2017
Aug 5, 2017 at 11:18 PM UTC
Ooooooprah...
it is time for us to
have a little chat:
i have heard you say,
on video, that opposition
to Obama is based on
racism. Haters gonna hate,
you say.
i disagree. While surely
there are some who feel
this way, since America
is such a big and diverse
place, i think you have
discounted a much more
appropriate reason for
opposing the O:
incompetence.
If not that, how about lying?
If not that, how about hypocrisy?
There are more, but my space is limited.
Do any of the above do
anything for you, besides
racism?
Keep in mind, Oprah, that as
a percentage of population,
white folks still are the majority.
And you are now filthy
rich, thanks in part to those
same white people, some of whom
dislike the president.
So...being pro-Oprah and anti-Obama
are mutually exclusive?
An awful lot of white folks
helped you get rich, does
that mean to you that they are
race traitors? Are you trying
not to be?
Race sure does seem really important
to you. And yet America (even
white America) elected a black man
twice to the presidency. It wasn't
important to most Americans what
color he was.
They are mad now because they were
duped by an incompetent lawyer. And
now they know it for sure.
So when you, Oprah, fall back on
race instead of logic, you are
playing your last card of desperation.
It has no merit. You know that.
In fact, Oprah, to my mind
YOU are the racist.
The only other alternative i see is
that you are ashamed of how
wrong you were supporting him,
and too prideful to admit
it.
But you certainly seem to think
that white America owes you or
the president some debt other
than our money and our
dwindling rights.
Because you think that you both
are superior.
That is called racism, Oprah.
Look it up sometime.
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 6:48 PM UTC
It’s funny how these things end
Love stories and happy endings
I’ve never been the sappy romantic
And from the beginning I could have never predicted
These feelings that have grown just for you
A place in my heart that beats uncontrollably
With a ferocity unmatched by any others
Already I know I’ve become the fool to be duped
Sometimes I get scared
Sometimes I get lonely
Sometimes I get confused
And then I remember the day you held me
And you said, “We’ll be okay”
I’ve watched you carry your burdens
You’ve seen me shoulder mine
We’ve not always been the closest of friends
No secret bond to share in the closet of skeletons
No fleeting glances that could be hidden
No secret love that has been written
We’re not Romeo and Juliet
But when you walk by I still find myself smiling
I tell myself I’m not meant to feel
Not like this
And not for you
So I have to lock my heart and thoughts away
To a place where no one may see my dismay
I tried to fight it
Tried to ignore it, pretend like you weren’t right there in front of me
Too afraid to voice my feelings
Too afraid to not be loved
Maybe one day though I’ll find the courage
To live with just being friends
Just talking could be a start
Laughing and joking
I could be okay
Never asking for more
Still I’ll always find myself hoping
In the shadows of the stars
That you’ll grab my hand and smile
Before leaning in to whisper
Will you be mine?
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
feigning performance
pleasing the convinced, clapping crowd
of duped deafs
Dec 3, 2011
Dec 3, 2011 at 9:42 PM UTC
Are you, this body
of five elements?
Are you the mind,
five senses weaved?
**Or are you one with
the one beyond?
the , eternal, infinite -
consciousness?**
Why keep me
at arm's length?
Don't you know,
like you,"I am that",
There aren't two
but just the one!
Don't be duped by
this illusory construct!
When time gets ripe,
cosmic wish, its dice casts,
the game changes
comes the big crunch!
between 'big bang
and the final crunch'
you fight your wars,
momentary, who wins?
the play continues
in cosmic time schedule,
even Einstin couldn't-
envisage the game as a whole!
Aug 5, 2012
Aug 5, 2012 at 9:36 PM UTC
It's the next best thing!
It's a scream!
It's got a screen!
and a million little buttons
that won't ever do a thing
to erase that feeling
that you're feeling.
why you are always waiting.
like the Rockie's or the Canyon.
like Columbus and the the great depression.
like Woodstock and world wars.
like the Illad and the Odyssey and The Beatles.
something more than
The consumer generation.
a definition through epic episodes.
a defining moment.
The revolution has been sponsored
by manufacturers and broadcasters
and warmongers and pundits
and people getting paid to tell you what you think.
and what do you think?
Why are we content with being incomplete?
unfinished and beat?
What the **** is so Comfy about that seat?
You are not generation X
or Y or Nothing or Nowhere.
or any of these false names they've created
to make us believe we are less than we are.
we've been duped.
the youth is not the future anymore.
It's firmly in the grip of the old and accomplished.
Your fate is their whim for a dollar.
Your life is fuel for the fires.
crass entertainment inspires your desires.
And well, **** that.
pull the wires from your brain
and we'll fight to regain.
what territory they've taken away.
Make decisions for ourselves today.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 2:32 PM UTC
Do you feel nostalgia every time you walk into the room,
as the pillow talks of our make believe? Tender kisses,
biting desires and creases of time stuck in the sheets.
The echo drops of dripping walls, the yearning calls
of passionate eyes—burning embers of your red skin.
Blushing lips; a crushing weight of the burdens I try to shake.
One screams a name, or in turn whispers it's calm in the first hug
of embrace. The shape of bodies, outlined reminiscences on a bed.
Oh-the sense of appeal, peeling away an oozing flux of one's
*** appeal. Branching out into words--your'e barking up the wrong
tree. No harsher than the bark, but a bite to force you to leave.
Duped by the words lost in kisses; I meant to say lead.
To places of touch; a rush of the brushing eyes...you've swept me
by your night gown's sight. My love for you, inside the like of it's
silk fabric. Covering your face under the blankets, but the glow of
your skin—you could never mask it.
Strength lost in the weakness of love. Making two for the best
of one, as when the two flesh become one.
_Now that's making love._
Jul 10, 2022
Jul 10, 2022 at 3:42 PM UTC
Demagogues of our society; daftly delivering
disarming delusions of decrepit delights.
Dealing in powder, rock and liquid death,
demurely doled out in droves to the
willing unconscious, dysfunctional deviants
of the land.
Blindly offering devotions, flaccid devotions
to plastic, white collar deities; giving new
definition to internal deformity, through
decelerated dejection.
Desperate and emotionally dismembered,
defrauded by quick, cheap decadence,
debauchery, and mental decay in many
deliriously delicious forms...pick a flavor,
name your poison!
Delegate your defect, as those with
doctoral degrees in defunct traditions
do deviously delineate their demented
designs...for our future.
DejaVu?
Perhaps, but in fact, it is we
who sniff, inject and drink up their drivel,
decidedly and dutifully depleted of
intellect by way of dubious data.
Duplicitous dullards...sanitize and
deodorize their fiendish lies...as we,
WE do nothing!
Not enough of us dumbfounded or
dumbstruck by their deceitful smiles.
Full of dread and deep dismay, by
the statutes of the day...I, for one,
will dream of better days, when we
shall defeat these diabolical demons.
But for now, down beaten, downtrodden;
we will continue to be denigrated for
the duration.
Clever dissection; dumb as they want you
to be,
disparity of all creativity...individuality...
and all of your rights...controversially.
Our disgruntled displeasure doomed...to
fall on dormant hearts...and we,
debilitated and daunted, lives dismantled,
are now forever haunted, by our freedoms
demise...by days we could question
their smiling lies.
Demagogues; Big Brother...such delinquents
dosing up the masses with a deluge of powder,
rock sedation and liquid elation...pick your flavor,
name your poison.
At the end of the day WE are ONE...duped,
defaced, defeated...and to continue on this
road, our final denouement will come
disturbingly disguised...as DEATH!
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 3:40 PM UTC
They say the neon lights
Don’t often burn that bright
Splintered from my urethra
Swollen in this hex
Devoured by the Eve
Brought to justice by the guilt
And when they said
That all I had to give
Wasn’t worth a fitful look
I’ve been duped by sedative
The artificial power
Has swollen in my head
Wrapped around an ice pick
Can be found my fleeting shell
As our defunct cohesion
Masticates my head
Disintegration will lay me to my bed.
That sweet nectar
Lingers on my tongue
An inebriated hour of reverie genuine
A claustrophobic detainment
Incarceration with power windows
As your effigy is left behind
These shiv grasped hands
Awaiting exertion, transpierce my eyes
Upon introspective re-inspections
Ichor transmogrifies
Necessitate me
Remain vacant here
As our defunct cohesion
Masticates my head
Disintegration will lay me to my bed.
Feb 19, 2012
Feb 19, 2012 at 10:11 AM UTC
danke, und scheiße geruch um beachten! (if ungrammatical then ensure you do not waver to correct me, but speak as correctly as possible and leave me to my insolence and gratify my mistake as championing your correctness, at least thus i'll be glad to make you see what i too wanted to see with my imperfection the suggestive).
western society has taught me
that i'd be better off
not having educated myself -
and that reading philosophical
books is considered a mental illness;
such heightened literacy rates
i almost clamour to buckle
in marking journalism a synonym of propaganda.
no, of course i'm not happy where
i live, i what's deemed a civilisation or
an exportable social model,
a place where you say the word Kierkegaard
and people think you've said gonorrhea,
so the French kiss outlasts oral *** -
tongue here, tongue there, tongue up your ***
you're a credible ****** should it matter,
while all the menial tasks for the unruly
have been exported to made in China -
i ****** Poland for ever wanting to join
the E.U., thank god they didn't adopt the failed
Euro currency - the diversity of the project
would always fail - no slingshot Indians
or bow & arrow akin mattered
when the other Indians gave us the Taj Mahal...
wise too i would be as an Ewok... and a Vindaloo...
wait a minute, why am i writing
like a reformist coloniser? i've been duped!
i learn the english tongue i suddenly
become nothing less than a coloniser myself;
might as well be a viking in york
or a norman at the battle of Hastings!
otherwise i'm a concubine on a mechanised
dildo-throne while the irish are Yuppie
with psychos of american Wolf St. scenarios
awaiting the 1980s discography of
a lucid John Peel commentary.
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 8:18 PM UTC
She called me 'sunshine'
For a moment, even I was duped
The illusion of warmth filled me
But she was a liar
Or a stranger
I have yet to determine which
I am not the light reflected in the moon
I am the darkness that surrounds it
I am the darkness
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 11:17 AM UTC
Eight months ago we parted ways
Like a ship parts the water
When slicing through the sea.
Now when I close my eyes at night
I dream some wavering dreams.
Sometimes it feels we're inseparable
The way the ripples of your fingertips
Would embrace the warmth of my hand
And my problems would magically wash.
Or how I could be so timid and nervous
Your presence would impede my expressions
And I'd struggle to snap out of it.
Maybe it was the beautiful blue in your eyes
That would wave when I looked at you
And sometimes I'd forget to wave back.
Or even just simply hanging out with you
Knowing the hours that would follow
Will be filled with nothing but conversation.
And how my odd sense of humor
Somehow seemed to make you laugh
and smile, quite an overjoying sight.
Sometimes I can't stand the thought of you
When I close my eyes at night
Because you left me to look like a fool.
False promise given to a hopeful heart
Built walls greater than those of China
That aren't the easiest to move past.
It all seemed like an elaborate plan
That was constructed by a con-artist
And being truthful happened to be the con.
You duped a vulnerable soul
Who ventured outside his body
Because of this risky. . . decision.
I learned a caring sense of compassion
Is an unrealistic trait to look for
In someone who is kniving and selfish.
Because to walk away from someone,
with what seemed like little to no regret,
who walked into your life
and made any sort of an impact
is as heartless as Kanye West.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 9:44 PM UTC