"entrapped" poems
.
It's here again...
Heavy downpour...
I inhaled the rain,
cloying with petrichor.
Standing at my window,
looking out...
Street lamps struggled aglow.
People with brollies walking about.
My eyes reached out to the heavens,
tracing these glassy beads
as they'd free fall...
Falling by the sheets,
the pattering hastens,
periodically punctuated
by the thunder's call.
Mind is drifting and floating,
intently listening to a
million love wishes...
Liquid beauty...melding, sketching...
In light entrapped splashes.
Raindrops descend and come,
into my still life tonight...
Won't you will me numb,
with your chilly bite...
Wide-eyed enamour...
Catching a stray droplet or two.
Riding the tail of a zephyr,
finding a place where
no trouble could ensue.
An errant gust blew
to meet with me.
The refreshing moist
meets my parted lips...
Inhaling deep in this reverie...
Into a sea of tranquillity,
my mind slowly dips...
Sigh... If the droplets were kisses...
I would savour each and every one.
If the moist wind came and caresses
I would meet it in a tight embrace
till the break of sun.
What a sight...
Almost surreal it seems...
As the light from the surrounding
lamps dances playfully...
Dispersing and exploding into a
barrage of shattered beams.
Before it gets subdued in the drops
caught by the leaves on a nearby tree...
The drops would trickle
and fall before merging,
forming stranded puddles
unable to flow...
Rippling... Splashing... Reflecting...
An image...
Borne out of a fantastic show.
An image of beating hearts,
overlapping one another...
Speaking of consequential love
and feelings so true
Intertwined...
in the promise of forever...
Slowly retrieving itself into an...
image of you...
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 7:18 AM UTC
You are my dear, decadent desert,
My summer-thyme delight; Starlight.
Tonight’s your night, for you I write.
Radiant glow, fuzzed herbal hue.
My dear butterscotch icecream.
Sore arms churn thick, slick froth - Sauterne butter.
Gentle spread melts, dowsed in sweet, sugared innocence,
rich scents, then sits.
6 years pass quickly, youthhood gone;
My black swan, a third complete.
You, sauterne butter, mix with scotch -
Fermented, demented, invented to inebriate.
Golden brew dissociates reality -
Spinny, fuzzy, dizzy, funny… gone.
Go on again, dear fawn, 6 years pass,
Pant for the water, two-thirds complete.
12 years as toll to adolescence;
Icy, creamy, dreamy, element prepared.
Scoops of soft serve mix with years past - Angsty era.
Seductive spirits, beautiful brew.
At last, my summer-thyme delight dances with rhyme.
The lime-light shines; ten and eight.
Todays the date, stuff immaturity away.
Make room for the adulthoods’ good,
Scooped generously into a bowl
Shuttled and entrapped by me,
Melting, streaming, gleaming and freezing.
You awesome angel!
My pleasure supreme -
My dear butterscotch icecream.
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 6:43 PM UTC
A final inhalation, farewell to oxygen
submitting to oblivion
a conscious lack of everything.
The very absence of air, sickening and
desolate, destitute, despairing
tearing at my aching lungs,
my vacant mind.
Call me a vagabond, a wanderer
entrapped in the extrasensory.
My breath escapes.
The empty core within myself rings in tune with the extant and extinct.
Neck arching, mouth agape
a single note transcends my lips of stone
unadulterated, unwavering, a melodious sound
building and joining in harmony to create a symphony of
life, of
death, of
everything we cannot comprehend.
Sonorous and assonant
my soul cries out
at ever-growing volumes.
My eyes begin to flicker and fade away.
God, can You hear my screams in space
in this vacuum, void of sound?
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
Secrets create,
Enemies and friends.
Can start new trends.
Reveal new tech.
Endanger peace.
Turn blue to red.
Secret whispers.
Secrets welcome.
Extra income.
Conditional love.
Regretful outcomes.
Emotional sin.
The hidden grin.
Secret whispers.
Secret sounds.
Entrapped inside.
Craves to be found.
Results in lies.
Eats till it dies,
Till realized.
Secret whispers, do not hide.
Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 12:59 PM UTC
The cherry blossoms, pink and luscious, in full bloom.
Below the koi fish swim round, round in circles.
The sun reflects off silk kimonos with a shine radiant, dazzling,
With red lips against painted white skin, blindingly beautiful.
A walk like unraveling ribbon,
And hair like ink, bound tightly a few strands bound for escape.
Untouched skin tainted by stares, clipped wings useless for an escape,
Freedom comes in the hope of riding a cherry blossom, swelling in bloom.
The leaves swirl to the ground, spiraling in nature’s ribbon.
The glares of tigers ********** her, kimono falling to her feet in circles,
Eyes of blue, green, never turning away, trapping those beautiful,
The nature of a hidden world, shaming and stunning, confining yet so dazzling.
The snap of the gold-trimmed fan weaving in and out, dazzling
The crowd with effortless twists and turns; clenched tightly, no room for escape.
A dance of untamed water in a disturbingly beautiful
Unity of desire and fright. A young bud not on the verge of bloom
Thrown into a crowd of tigers to be spun in uncontrollable circles
And entrapped by the unflinching gazes in silk ribbon.
The game is simple: mesmerize a pack with grace of ribbon,
Attend engagements that ask for a dance, tea pouring, but never dazzling
That pure smile too brightly. Fool the ***** tigers to follow in circles,
But never trust a tiger that promises a chance of escape.
Never fall for love’s first bloom,
Never become the next to lose the light. Stay pure and stay beautiful.
A kimono is only as pure and as beautiful
As the woman underneath. By cutting the ribbon
Of virginity by a friendly lamb, instead of tiger’s bidding for the bloom,
Only leads to the fall of a shooting star, gracing the sky with its dazzling
Beauty, and the hope and wish of an everlasting escape
Is crushed by the weight of a soapy rag, washing away the hope in circles.
Though the pain of the cage binds the mind in endless circles,
Though tigers ignored the aching backs and blistered feet, staring at only the beautiful,
It is better, safer to stay in the hidden world, banishing all thoughts of an escape.
Keep the tigers in a tight ribbon,
Stay young, fresh, never letting the mind wander away from dazzling,
And never fall like a cherry blossom after its first bloom.
A walk like unraveling ribbon,
The sun reflects off the silk kimono with a shine that never ceases from dazzling,
And forever watching the cherry blossoms, pink and luscious, fall in full bloom.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
You told me you loved me,
You lied to my face.
You stole my heart,
And put it in a case.
You locked it away,
So far away.
You own it, you stole it,
It can't run away.
You told me you loved me,,
You lied to my face.
You closed my mouth,
Just incase.
You told me not to tell anyone,
You made me promise.
You made me quiet,
I still broke that promise.
You told me you loved me,
You lied to my face.
You stole my mind,
and entrapped it away.
You bruised me,
You hurt me.
This isn't the way.
Why did you have to
Do it anyway?
You told me you loved me,
You lied to them.
You put on a smile,
And a façade.
They believed you,
And threw my words away.
You told me you loved me,
You still lied to the rest.
I knew you were lying,
This wasn't what was best.
You lied, you pried,
You said you wouldn't do it again.
I cried, and cried,
You still inflicted the pain.
You told me you loved me,
You lied to yourself.
You said you were sorry,
But that couldn't help.
Stop, oh stop,
You did it, nonstop.
You hit, you bit,
I just wasn't enough.
You told me you loved me,
You lied, oh you ******* lied!
You could never love,
With your demons inside.
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 9:16 AM UTC
He’s like the tide
A surfer must enjoy his ride
Dive in and swim, revering him
Forgetting what’s outside
His waves are wondrous, warm, enchanting
Adventure filled in all their crashing
The ocean though
Has rules you know, and those it cannot break
For as I try to fight the tide
I find it’s my mistake
No Siren’s Song
No tug along
Could change his constant wake
As good as it may feel to me
To bask amidst his splendor
His salty sea breath smothers me
Unable to surrender
He’s faithful as he’s always been
Unchanging, strong, and genuine
It’s me, you see
Too wild and free
To float in him forever
Does he love me?
I think so
But oceans know their bounds
So as I go beyond his flow
The follow earthly sounds
Perhaps he’d like to follow me
To soar the mountain peaks
To leave the sea, dance blissfully
With sunlight on his cheeks
Perhaps he would create with me
a world of our design
Alas he knows that sea is sea
And he can never follow
Does he love me?
I know so
Although he can’t come with me
To sandy shore, find earth’s galore
*** he is he – part of the sea
Entrapped by gravity
Sep 29, 2021
Sep 29, 2021 at 4:21 PM UTC
"Boy were we wrong! We're the oddball. We're the freaks." --- Dr. Michio Kaku
We looked at trillions of those stars and knew,
that somewhere out there was another Planet Blue.
Those were not canals we saw on Mars;
optical illusions, lensed figment memoirs.
Stare into trillions, space mind overwhelms.
Rimbaud entrapped in countless ethereal realms.
Not the goal of evolution, merely happenstance,
the search for elsewhere leads a merry dance.
Planets a dime a dozen, yet no Goldilocks Zone
produces signals bearing SETI transient tones.
Birds more subtly impact our lives,
than do the aliens our universe provides.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 1:16 AM UTC
*I want to lay bare the fire in me
before the spectators
I want to be the wisps of smoke
flying through their faces
unfettered
unfazed
liberating what lies entrapped
forever.*
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 1:56 AM UTC
Like lucid dreams entrapped
within a circlet ornately adorned
A sweetest love conceived
but can't be borne
Trailing feathers
billowing light as rain
Starkness in ink
blot reckless in heavy stain
Strings strung taut
attempting to keep all in place
Dream catcher sways
by the window, free and chaste
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 4:56 AM UTC
Listen to the silence
It's louder than before
A Lion now has left us
We no longer hear his roar
A poet of the people
His voice a summer storm
The lion now is silenced
Now silence is the norm
Read the words he's written
Listen to the voice
The lion has entrapped you
You do not have a choice
We were in his story
He touched us to our core
Now, the lion...he is silenced
And Bart Wolffe will roar no more
Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 11:32 PM UTC
***** feet
***** of them ache
they're dry
all dried out, moisture to face and digestive tract make little difference
but comfort a little sort of; maybe
subdue to replenishing
skip the pain with a drink fucken, fucken drink fucken
dust lingers in the brain, it swirls
a cloud of ground envelops the shape of u
u become covered
u have a layer,
salty,
and dry
and 'organic'
(surely bio (though im not sure what is or why are))
full city boy, suburban boy, not particularly gritty boy
along side hippies
and volunteers all tripppy
and unwashed, and un plastic
yet forcefully hemped
drunk of micro beer
and burnt brown and blotchy red
and wire-y
and dry
and matted
as if nothing really matters except for principles
misguided and randomly enforced
feel like a husk; peanut shell
insides swallowed by the mouth of the party embodied
a monsterous sweaty man tanned and thickly bearded
and beered
fat dreads fall around and surround u; a forest of hair
a circle encroaching of fuzzy pillars in fibres
entrapped inside them; feel their lingering time matted hold
a wealth of effort to become unkempt; they are bars
they are walls
and the FACE!
……………………… ………………………………… oh
looming down, wafts of armpit vapour cloud; a looming puft that surrounds
engorged by the scent as it circles u, the mouth that lowered onto u
chews u and spills bits of u
chomp chomp
protein for vegetarians; u; ur rigour ur vigour ur guts
eaten in a flurry of chomps and slurps and it crunches
and it grates
like the rocks on the ***** of ur feet it grates
u are digested
and reused
as they would like
but for them; for a collective u dived into
for fun
2 days to peddle ur wares
to progress ( admittedly through some days of regression…)
for all humans, and Humans; for fun
on monday we will repent
for the damages waged on the inside of the body
and the outsides too
for some gain
i guess on this which we settle
for always for display for fun
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 2:10 AM UTC
Of immaterial vision birthed in mind.
Of spirit annihilating the selves,
of calling it plan. The one-
a semblance scattered on deck space
refracts on reflections of the reactions of tokens
of the carnivalesque,
of the hunger artists,
of phenomenon-
which may or may not exist depending on reflective surface of the true self,
of the motion of tides,
mocks motion in body,
of obsession.
The tonality of the "be" and the "is" and the "will be" is deafened by the "I am,"
by the Ohm.
Of shuddering and implanting embraces,
of blessing on every ember of cleanliness that is true self,
of the oneself that exists above selective memory,
not draft of time arrow but the material existence of dream,
not disembodied but embodied.
Of breeding,
of circumstance and forking fourth dimension prison terms,
of crowd control,
of she wolves and their feral children,
of forceps interpolating material reality of conception,
of Dreamtime,
of pain,
of pleasure,
where they are relations-
of skin perversely hanging, dually,
gratifying and sullying-
Fraying beautiful disasters that react to invisible ripples
I, the oneself, implore you to awaken in your utility and then outside of it.
Take those boot straps and bend the bars of confinement with them.
Chisel and sculpt light into a fabrication of quantum of action.
Celebrate the ordinary and expose it.
Of stargazed caustics,
of the early universe.
I stand awake as not the expression of design
and no longer connected to Earth by my roots
but awake inside cocoon,
entrapped behind slits,
of alien cage otherness.
The Akh beseeches ownership of the Ba
I want play dice with god and end in draw.
I am Sekhmet-Wadjet who dwells in the west of heaven,
I am Sahyt among the souls of Of.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 1:29 AM UTC
my mum used to joke
that my eyes would turn square
if i looked at pixels too long.
i remember the scare
that my pupils would bend
into inky black stamps,
and my retinas bleached
from the machinery glow.
that i would wander the streets
only for children to point
and scream
while their own mothers tutted
'you still want that playstation
for christmas?'
now i'm grown up
and that vision has died,
as the streets are all littered
with others, square-eyed.
i can imagine their
xylophone skeletons as
their fingers tap fast
on the tiny blue screens;
it's no wonder we aren't
very good with
eye contact.
so
i'm sorry mum,
we've all been entrapped
in this pixellated blur
of technological time lapse.
and i guess all these
square pegs can't fit
into the round holes
that they used to be,
in a world that we cannot
remember.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC
Often, on quiet days, I wade through forest paths to the outer most regions of town. Close to the brink of wilderness where the humming sounds of cars and popping noises of God knows what can still be observed. Yet, the pure land surrounding has been blessed to be untouched and unblemished. Here, I retreat. I circle the bend and climb a hill until I reach an isolated plateau of nature reserve. Where natural phenomenon rise and cease in incessant and lullabic oscillation. As if to unplug my mental cords and to store away my worry, fear, concepts and systems. I reach a haven of unity. Although I own no land for myself, out here I can't help but feel this lost land of paradise is fully mine. However, I would like to do away with the notion of possession and self and here I can get closer to doing so. As if I were a small, beautiful water droplet being plucked from that cruel water resistant surface and to glide gracefully back into an encompassing body of water where the temperature is the state of my mind. And on occasion I notice another solemn being, clearly human, stumbling down the same path I had managed to carve and from atop the raised plateau, I can watch them. They circle and turn back, but I can't help but wonder if they feel the same as I do. And sometimes I think to approach them slowly and calmly and inquire about philosophical concepts. But I wish not to disturb what is so beautifully held in the essence of the silent forest. I would wonder what knowledge or truths these men and women had attained during this life and if it were to resonate with my own. Or possibly to share. In the town and at the refill station I dare not to inquire about such trivial matters but instead I nod my head or note the weather. But I cannot help but imagine and sometimes even feel that there is something deep within us and the space and entities surrounding us that is ineffable and profound. Yet it seems that it is lost in the thicket of ideas, concepts, and biased reality just like the sunlight in a dense, cold, unlit forest. And I have convinced myself that if we could clear even enough of the baggage we carry as entrapped souls that we could create a more beautiful, serene, and harmonious state of unity and achieve transcendent heights of being right here and now.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 6:46 PM UTC
They say she's a heart breaker-
You don't want her as you're anchor.
She drifts with the tide,
She's unstable and wild.
She'll out-weigh your ship and pull you down.
Sink you to the depths of the ocean,
Till you hear not a sound.
They say it's best to forsake her.
There's nothing in her heart,
Or soul to build fire.
With her you surely will turn to ice.
Ice that she will sculpt
any which way.
The ice queen-
The queen of ice.
They say she was truly the mastermind
The one who seduced the titanic.
Entrapped it in her tide. Sunk it to the deep ocean floor,
You could not find if you looked for.
They say many things, sometimes for a fee;
one thing they do not say, for they do not know:
She is me.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 3:16 AM UTC
I wish you would get me a diamond ring already,
I know I am still young,
But we’ve been together for so many years
It’s been five already – that’s almost scary –
Well it would be scary if I could feel
You make sure I don’t though
You scream a darkened silence at me
And smother me with nothing.
I’m not saying a pretty diamond
Would salvage you, or make up for all
But I’m not a fool –
You and I
Are carved forever.
Not that I believe in forevers –
You made sure of that one
Right after you took all the FEELING.
I’m drowning in the nothing where you suppress me
I feel like Victorian bridal doll –
Entrapped, encased, suffocating
Watching in silence, in a dress that’s not mine
No one can hear me shouting
I can’t even see me anymore
The walls cave in
As I collapse on the floor.
Being awake shouldn’t take any effort
Or leave me with laboured breathing.
Can you just get me that diamond already?
At least then I’ll know we’re in something steady.
Not that I’d ever want to commit to you
But good days don’t come anymore
And I’d like to drown in screaming.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 4:22 PM UTC
‘freedom is a state of mind’
Wars fought
Wars lost
Freedom gained
Freedom lost.
The mind is almost devoid of peace,
When a beast sits entrapped inside.
It is like two magnets of the same charge.
Conflicting and warring,
Trying to meet at a certain point.
Barbed wires of suppression
blunt knives of oppression
The head is a place of chaos
full of:
‘I’m guilty’ ‘No you are not’
‘I’m too proud’ ‘no you are not’
The oppressor just mollifies the pain of the suppressor
It is too weak to overcome it.
The head then bursts
And out flow tears, tears in a million shades
For they signify such different sorrowful tastes
The person, he sighs
An empty mind
Peaceful mind
War fought
War won
Freedom lost
Freedom gained
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 7:08 AM UTC
Now deadline entrapped!
Deadline to safe life
Deadline to take food
Deadline to drink water
Deadline to breathe air!
Now dead line entrapped!
Deadline to recharge vitality
Deadline to recharge vanity
Deadline to recharge - cover-up felony!
Now deadline entrapped!
Deadline to makeover
Deadline to sprawl
Deadline to crawl
Deadline to growl
Deadline to haul!
Now deadline entrapped!
Deadline to behold toxicity
Deadline to amuse atrocity
Deadline to submit buoyancy
Deadline to ****** and welcome grief I
It is the deadline for post modern reformation!
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 5:29 PM UTC
furry skin, fierce sight, fangs as sharp as knife.
A hideous beast frightens the night.
He growls all over the town.
The towns men are screaming "there's a beast in town!"
He screech with authority and empowerment.
Untamed and livid, that is how they perceived him.
But, I see this beast differently.
Beyond his fierce sight, I saw a window to his scared life.
Beyond his hideous physique, I saw a tamed heart.
Beyond his screech, I heard a gentle voice inside.
Don't worry, I see your unchained heart.
entrapped in that furry beast, I see whom I love.
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 1:16 AM UTC
Sinewed by the the ancient art
of tai chi, he forged the forces of the universe
to lure a dreamer into his lair. He stayed
silent as a spider; and with seamless
gliding of limbs and fingers,
he entrapped his prey like a moth
entangled in a cobweb. The sky
was bleeding then when she asked: “How
can I walk through the dusk?” “Just
follow me, I’m a pathfinder,” said
he. He whispered to her ear: “Close
your eyes my child and trust your heart.”
And to the tremor of his voice he danced
her, deeper and deeper into the night. Soon
his lips dripped with her muffled sobs, the stench
of his slobber drifted into her pristine dream;
and he confessed: “She came to me;
I’m innocent.”
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 8:22 AM UTC
~
Bala^ comments:
"alignment - any which way one can if possible to make
****** and *********** simultaneously happen,
without any best position plan"
~
*may all the gods bless you, Bala,
for waking me at 4:33 with this poetic induction
coaxed from my spinal fluid sanity
with perfected clarity
my own circadian rhythm masters internal,
the most reliably unreliable human container technology teachers,
semi-skilled in the entrainment arts for this impoverished body mine,
deem it appropriate that early morn messages of
propitious possibility be greeted immediately
entrapped, awaken me at four AM with great glee,
because these elusives^^ know exactly what stirs
this being's cochlear cockles into birthing a
poetic cookie ******** ***********
your message meme provoking, inducing,
be honest man - simply seducing, my within
by your teasing words from without*
"without any best position plan"
*not to confuse the mere appearance of a routine
as worthy of the entitlement of "plan,"
much as the poem's own vanity chooses it own alignment
the relationship, the relativity -
always the
flexing flummoxing freaking insatiable pleasuring
when your thrusting unplanned message
****** and bests my brain,
releasing a fully formed, instantaneous parrying poem
from an aroused, passing, unsanitized, second of sanity
for no better *** than this...
as per the unplan?
this tissued life,
this in and out
of punching and counterpunching continuous,
but rarely contiguous,
for we are never aligned for more than a moment,
the moment that almost always goes unnoticed,
for the heart's ***** tissues,
are mostly torn by how life
uses us roughly
so here is an aligned confession fecundity
this poetry gig, my salve,
to tenderize the daily redness,
the irritation residual of having no plan
however these fingerprints decided for you,
to present, upon completion,
this soft-spoken loud ***********
a peaking, not a leaking,
** ** ** - a screaming
hallelujah, i'm aligned!
the man found albeit briefly
a beat, a plan and its verbal, herbal,
best solution
may all the gods bless you, Bala,
for waking me at 4:33 with this poetic induction
coaxed from my spinal fluid sanity
with perfected clarity
the man and his plan, for a mega-second
his best,
unplanned but got and given,
in poetic planetary alignment
positioned
as are you and I -
the thousands of miles of distance tween us
as you read this
collage collapse
into a singular synapse
of ****** and ***********
hallelujah, we are aligned!
~
**disclaimer:
anything you say to me, can and will be used
for a poem**
~
5:55am
April 1, 2017
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 4:16 PM UTC
*En route to your heart,
I strayed in to,
the lush garden of your youth,
full of unsullied flowers,
kissed only by mischievous sun.
No man can even, think
of turning his back to this
veritable feast for senses;
it transmitted a vibe resonating,
perfectly with my psyche.
The heady fragrance emanating
from varieties of flowers did speak
of magical pleasures unexplored
I did eagerly heed,
was it by pure chance
or were there plans to allure me in,
I don't even want to know,
it suits well to my desires.
Amorous droning of inebriated bees
rang in my ears,
making me giddy.
Spring time it was
in your budding new garden,
being a pretender
who elicits the best effect
you smartly feigned ignorance
of my presence,
(As you expected, I suppose)
I lost my way and ended up
in the spirited night we shared between us,
harvesting wild fruits with a verve
we had never known before,
pleasures of many seasons
were there in store, I was astonished,
a consummate seductress you were.
a she wolf, under a sheep's skin.
but kind amorita, most adroit.
Could I ever blame you
an iridescent creature, exquisite
oh! the candor that marks your surrender!
Scent of flowers wafting on the wind,
created the effect of rarefied air
my lungs are full to the brim
with your feminine spices.
Does this happy transgression
to your secret scented garden
make me a fallen angel,
or am I a slave of your whims
entrapped for the rest of our lives?
Either way your wile wins
a knight in shining armor or
bereft of it, and naked, for your sake
I willingly submit before
the light that shines in you,
I'd make your garden mine.*
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 6:44 AM UTC
Water take no cleansing action to his detention
That has felt no remorse for the notion of vindication
Foolish mentality, child without maturity
Lead by impulse, and lulled by a narcissist
Sitting there like gravity has given you control
Ignorant individual entrapped with your own soul
Take one moment, talk, not to her but for her
Exactly what was your discourse, are you her
Did you act on juvenile inclination or fortification
Subconsciously lost to wicked temptation
Sincerely do you have a mental hindrance
I’m subjecting to name-calling because of this dance
Who are you following what are you allowing
Your letting the past mold your thinking
Don’t get defensive you made the offensive
Your know the history, yet you let lust be submissive
“Go back” that is what you lack, the thought to review
And guide your way through and accept you’re flawed
Jan 31, 2010
Jan 31, 2010 at 11:37 AM UTC