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youphoria Sep 2018
I was 11 but you touched me like I was 22
Now I'm 22
and I finally realize how wrong that was of you

You were my best friend's dad
And you had been drinking
I tried using that as an excuse but what was I thinking

I keep telling myself it was nothing
But trailing your fingers along my waist and down to my **** is evidently something

I repressed it for years but it finally came to the surface
Our brains hide these things from us on purpose

I'll take my experience and let it go
Because nothing would hurt more than being belittled by the people that I know.
v V v Oct 2018
Evidently it was meant to be.
Long before I was born my DNA
sat on a shelf in God's laboratory,
a sticky note attached,
name, date of birth, perhaps
a tiny alarm to notify the lab
of inception.

God doesn't lose things
and God doesn’t forget.
It must be for a reason and
it must be meant to be.

A critical piece of who I am.

I should show a little pride because
as they say God don't make no junk(ie)..

But I’m a little late to the party..

The party that celebrates those who choose to be identified
by a gender other than the one they were born with,
but shames anyone who struggles with substance abuse.


I'm having trouble understanding the difference.

If I were to gather my drug addled friends
and march down the street with banners and signs
demanding the right to openly inject mind altering
substances into my veins I would be seen as
a criminal and a derelict even though my constant struggle
came right off the shelf of God’s laboratory where

my sticky noted DNA sat right next to yours.

I guess I shouldn't care what people think..
I know my rights, and I demand to be accepted,
NO, praised for coming out so bravely,
carrying a new flag, flaunting in the streets,
paving the way for future generations of addicts.

I will take my God given DNA out of the dark
and go out into light,

light so bright you'll be forced to accept it.

accept my sickness!
embrace it!
this is in my DNA,
God made me this way
so it must be ok.
I feel better now.
I no longer feel guilty,
or depressed,
or weak,
or wrong,
or immoral,

No longer do I need to contain it.

no longer do I need to be shamed.

I am an addict and I am beautiful.

Just like you.
I have been clean a long time yet the stigma of addiction is as strong as ever. I apologize to my LGBTQ friends for any offense taken to this poem. No offense is intended rather food for thought. I have often wondered why society dictates what is politically correct and what is not... and where good old fashioned morals fit in, and how something that at one time was so right can now be so wrong,    and vice versa.
I hear they opened
a **** recycling facility

right next door
to the ***** store

apparently
**** can be reprocessed
manufactured and molded
into most durable caliber
of ***** ever

***** that bend
but never snap

***** that pull
but don't shove back

***** that give
for evermore

rapping
(articulately, symmetrically)
across adjacent chamber doors
flung off rust hinges
obliterated ornamental remnants
upon electric yellow sidewalk
chalked with stardust parallels
thresheld holding, walked over
most excellent righteous ride
corset finger writhe
on Other side

(evidently ******* is most valuable
as it’s so transparent and malleable)
Robert C Howard Oct 2017
The heart sounds cadences 24 - 7
    whether we choose to march or where,
rhythm section to our several songs,
    no drum line like a blood line.
It's all business for this noble instrument
     never laying out for a chorus
for survival is its singular tune.

Aristotle thought our hearts were made
    to air condition our brains
but evidently not enough my friends
    for that pesky mythic heart,
right sized for greeting cards
    and hopeful men on bended knees
also drives our swords and powder
    to quell our brothers' singing souls.

Brothers and sisters, is not the hour at hand
    to tune our hearts to superior anthems
composed for us in celestial harmony?
K Balachandran Dec 2016
"After mysteries am I, mysterious men too"
together when we slipped away from others
she told me with a grin, evidently hysterical,
it gripped me, for some unknown reason.

"More in to mysteries than anything else"
I gently notified to her  my intentions
"I've never been able to **** a male ****** ever"
She indicated the area of her present  curiosity
but isn't it strange,that she sounded wistful?

If I heard her right,she mentioned repeatedly
about,"The Third Brest,"as if she has a mystery
for me in store.When buried deep around my *******
her teeth transmitted a hunger, and I felt it:
what exactly a mother feels suckling her baby
her heart beat went out of control,I could see
the pangs of child that has never been fed
from her mother's breast, or fondled by her


And the mysterious part of the game
she saved for me was finally unveiled,
                                              my expectant eyes
saw a chest devoid of any kind of swell, except
the memories of the two full ones taken away
mercilessly by decease.I saw blood in her tears.
Nyx Sep 2018
That smile of his
Held the beauty of the world
It was ever so charming and undeniably sweet
Entrancing all those who lay eyes upon it
There was a time where I once imaged
I could even sell my soul if need be
Whenever I saw his precious smile

Then I came to see
The true colours behind that smile
Twas like a poisonous flower
Blooming and vibrant
Luring in its fragile prey
Bewitching it within its spell
Intoxicated by the nectar
Unable to ever leave

Upon revealing the truth
That lay so evidently to preying eyes
He had already long abandoned me
leaving nothing but a memory of what was
And a forever lingering taste of honey
A sweetness upon my tongue

Though it is best to end this longing
This yearning for that man
Who's smile warmed my heart
halting my breath but for a moment
As if encased within a time
When my entire world was composed of
Only him and that devious smile













Yet my mind refuses to forget....


.
Sanjali Feb 2018
8
-Undiagnosed-

Pray, don’t pity me,
For I do take blame
That I pity myself
And thus suffer this pain,
And please don’t mock
For there are greater ills
And more the deaths,
My suffering is nil.

Then perhaps
You’d maim my diet,
The lack of sun and
Poor exercise.
I need not even ask
How I’d improve my life,
When the bones sap my vigor
and seem to swell overnight.

And how could I ever try to say
That I see darkness when I go my way,
Pins and needles as I stand,
When the fault is mine anyway?

I shouldn’t even start to think
How my head throbs and pounds all night,
It’s surely because I don’t wake up with the sun.
But how do I wake when I don’t close my eyes?

Now, could it possibly be
You decided that I don’t rest,
That all this pain causes fatigue,
That sleep, you think, is for the best?
Consider when after hours and hours
My body finally dreams in defeat,
Would anyone care to do my work
If I shirk it off to get more sleep?

If the animals end up ill fed,
And the duties are not supervised,
With what peace do I lie in bed,
When it could be done better otherwise?
And so here I do write at six,
With my jaw stiff and eyes bright,
The wires of pain gently shift
Every time I move my hand to write.

What could I wake anyone for,
When painkillers don’t **** enough?
Just to say I cannot sleep?
I’d hear ‘wake up then, be tough’.
So do not again
Bid me to be strong,
Unless you tell the blind to see.
Well dear sir,
There’s no argument for that,
Except, please let me be.

What indeed could you try to cure
When I’m just deficiencies,
Of wit and courage, also strength,
Calcium may be imaginary.
But truly, I do agree,
With the opinion you selflessly endure.
For evidently
Nothing’s wrong with me,
And the pain one must learn to ignore.
Written October 2017
SilentAce Mar 2015
"What a beautiful ring"
isn't it though
The two kind looking young men smile at her. Genuine.
In their mid twenties she assumes.
"Thank you."
she replies. Twisting the ring absentmindedly
as though she suddenly remembered its presence.

"Who is the lucky man?"
A slow smile spreads across her face
a glimmer in her eyes
But they'll mistake it as a look of love.
They always do.
"No man."

The gold band sits slightly too large on her slender finger.
"Woman?"
She can taste the curiosity in their voice now.
She loves it.
"No, I prefer a more masculine touch."
"So you are not engaged then?"
They ****, eyebrows creased now.
"No. I am not."
She bats her eyes with a smile revealing nothing,
"Promise ring?"
Their eyes burn into hers.
She smirks.
"No. It's a family Heirloom."

"Then why wear it on the ring finger?"
She twists it harder, the sapphire catching light in a halo of crystals.
"General preference, and to keep away unwanted attention."
She lies coolly.  
They laugh lightly, clearly satisfied with her answer and leave.

Truth is she keeps it there as a reminder,
of the family she left behind.
a life of servitude overturned.

She turns back to the bar
"A drink from the man across the room."
She thanks the bartender but ignores the glass
little do they know she is under aged
too mature for her age
a ripe sixteen.

She runs her hand through her hair then turns
She meets the eyes of her pursuer and smiles.
She glows in the neon light.
as does the ring.
His eyes tense but grins and raises his glass in response.
He notices the ring but is evidently not thwarted.
She raises an eyebrow approvingly and smirks.

This is why she wears the ring.
Because try as she might she still undoubtedly hates men.
Their love is unbearable.
And her family is to blame.

She was taught that *** was not meant for women
that no man would wed her.
Lust was a sin
she knows that.

She twists the ring sharply
because despite her hatred, she doesn't want to hurt them,
The ring repels the decent ones and attracts the *******.

She smiles back at the man who could care less about her occupation
or her for that matter.  
He doesn't ask about the ring,
Doesn't even consider her age.
He's perfect.

Their love is unbearable.
but the lust, she can handle that.
She gets satisfaction when she sees the ring, that beautiful sapphire,
on the same hand that has yet to undo a man’s belt.

She wears it, so that no ring will replace it.
Some women wear their hearts on their sleeves.
instead she wears her reminder as to why she never will.
like a big ******* to her past really.
how poetic..

"What's your name?"
His eyes bore into hers.
She knows she can say any name in the world and it won't make a difference.
"Samantha."
and with her truth comes bravery.
"But you can call me Sami."
She takes his glass and sets it to the side.
He looks at her puzzled but amused
She offers no explanation and takes his hand.

Next thing she knows he is pulling her to him
She needed the buzz.
She feels his lips on her neck and knows
This is fine
Her breath hitches.
His lips find hers with an untold urgency.
Her hands shake
and she knows
This is her only solace.
A memoir of the more rowdier nights of my unfortunate youth.
The ring is still worn shamelessly.
Amy Leigh Oct 2018
He   inhaled   deep,  exhaled   slow.  We
were    alone,   alas!   The    sun   setting
the   way  it   does   every  night,  except
noticeably   slow  — calm;   palpitatious
patterns    of   sunset  hitting  fragments
of  dust  gliding, glistening through  the
air.  I  watched   them —  the  minuscule
molecules.  Oh! How tiny! — Otherwise
unseen!  Yet,  there,  circling  — evading
space around us, or perhaps us  around
them,  as  if   in  their  existence,  maybe,
not small after all.  And too, it is similar,
these  drawn   conclusions   like   drawn
curtains  to  light.  However, simple, yet
kind  of  comical, that  there I was in my
existence,  nestled cuddled  snuggled —
delightfully  cozy.  Evidently  small  too,
like them.

© A. Leigh
Thank you for all the love you gave.
Ken Pepiton Jan 25
There was a day

Yes, we all imagine we remember that day, but

now it is as if it never

really-- every y must be just if ied or it is never
a requirement

it is a re less
quirement

not every story has been pointedly
taken as granted,
even, oddly,
once
Quire a quest is a matter of motion,
hear, and there, time and all that,

Now, next has never, as in non-realized as realizable

up to now.
told ere un. That may, is. law, an untold tale is never twisted.

between the reversible nand gates of our augmented imaginations.

once,
upon a time lonagone, which were common (or come on)
signals scrambled at this depth, but pressure proves

the point. We are past all that for now
by reason of why

curiosus curiosus our imaginary guide, once

all the imaginations in the hearts of men were only evil,
continually

Then Noah or some storyteller, or prophet
caught wind of a sweet savour

roasting on a fire tended by Tubalcain's daughter,

Naamah, last named bearer of Cainish flavored genes
never set, epigenetically beyond the woumb

Mito-mom,
she coulda been, some wombed man was,
you know, we all share mito-mom,

science of some sorts can't lie. Take that as truth.
If I could believe it,
I could swallow it,

maybe
you can, too. Oh, the myth we model on matters little,
the boys and shoemakers who sniffed the glue,

they loosed some wild ideas

got all tngled with stories from ever

where in the world
have you been?

You just got outa jail. I'm right. I can smell

well,
near as bad, but it was then, a mere made up monent
meant now to hold a point

pon which a story longer than I have ever told may stand and

be told, the king
s story teller stutters in his sleep.

haha
that.
okeh, this is not pre posed as funny,
merely odd,
one ish in a realm of twos and threes and fives

spinning into etern naughtity, empt un-null-ift possibles.

Naught me less press on, find a vortex, flow,

we are peacemakers stranded upon a time of war, scabs. we heal.
don't pick on my inflexibility in matters

of duty. Leaven has always been the means of re pair ideology.
Quarkish insistence on duality from the ***.

The augmented ones are getting better,
as a choice, they see how good
ever works,
some fix what evil broke, some make new ways around the lava
and
balance, spin, lean, wobble, no place to fall here

we gotcha. Gravity and light, those are givens.
this is life.
make something of everything you ever imagined possible.
then die to see if it works.

But wait. Don't die early. It makes grief, which is
what fills the slough of despond.

We are draining that. Birds that nested there all died,
it's frogs moved to Florida, bugs and molds say they can make it any where

so, we are watering the desert. We grow Panama Red. Who eats roses?

Critters manifested as ideas that never linger but in the miry clay,

Most of those went north.

Deserts served and deserved have I claimed as mine
from horizon to horizon, all I see is mine to see serve and
de-serve, I served and am served and
sometimes
often,
I de serve and see as free as I may imagine

bodys are not bearers of light. There is hope. Right is known,
you know right, and you know good, and you know evil

Spike Jones had the hermit wiseman say,
Do the right...

self-evidently not a clue. we thought he got on at nano nano

Hung himself. Why do they do that? Why display dis paired
re-alification.

It resonates, dead end. turn back, Sylvia Plath warned you.
Don't die without knowing

we, me and you, we are nothing with out you.
This touch of word to meaning,
this is in time, mate, we
made a ripple in
material reality past all limittions of time and space,
in a word or two packed with ancient ideas,
which always spill,

whenever we open them, dust in the wind , a ditty from
some A.M. experience, on the way to now

we sing a song of six pence worth, and settle
with a jug o'rye.
more in the give me a reason why i believe saga of myth mending and metaphor piece matching for patterns
I’m just sitting here,
Naked in my room

Waiting for the world to end
Maybe sometime this afternoon?

Whether it be 10 am,
Or somewhere closer to noon

There’s no need to panic
There’s still time to change your tune

Time to say farewell to loved ones
Before our impending doom

Watching, as the flowers wilt away
But, at least they got to bloom

Or maybe I’m just crazy
Evidently, a buffoon

I thought I’d grown sick of it all
But as it turns out, I’ve grown immune

I’ve been taking my medication
Fed to with silver spoon

Think I’ll metamorphosis
Right here in my cocoon

Turn into a butterfly
If only for the view

I ponder what the future holds
For I haven’t got a clue

Grey skies are the replacements for
What otherwise were blue

Another day that we grow closer
To popping our balloon

As the Sun sets down in the distant west
To make way for the moon

.
Ken Pepiton Jul 19
cognitive dis
sonnance sonic vibration shaking
the core
of our age

constant hey, hey look this way,
walk this way,
talk this way

bitchnmoan
groan, big stretch intended

to en
velope volve gauge and me
asure real if I can make
my bubble gobble yours,
you're in mine,

your's popped.
It's okeh, I expected you.
I prepared a place, come and see.

you can't go on pre
tending to aim at invisible hope
for things you see, right here.

The end of any mortal moment
is always near. In your heart, you know.
The kingdom of God (a term yet undefined),

if this is a place,
this stack of lines your learning lets you read,
then this is your heart-felt happiest possible place,
sometimes
this is like heaven to you,
after all
is said, and done.

--- that's published ---
a seed
or a flower, or leaves of grass
as good for me to grow on as
any sacred cow,

chewinginging blissish backward belching
methane, to warm the wind,

to ease the groaning from below the ice,

chewing leaves of grass,
as in times past,
when fusions were being warmed

from industrial effort to make the Iron Legged Monster
trample the idea

of calming words easing pain as sure as momma kisses
always did,

when you thought, as a kid and could believe such kisses
evidently worked,
you felt un-pained, the kiss alone could be blamed.

Did you notice? When kisses made hurts go away,
was your attention the price
of the kiss or was it a switch clicked as the lips of another

touched your skin and authoritatively declared,
all's better, and this is the direction
the vector from one remembered kiss of this sort

epigenetic trigger cocked, then pulled

endurance of developing process patterns with all the pieces
scattered

laid out
before our eyes, asif
intended to be seen, pain,

pay attention. Sharp can be evidence of fracture or
proof that whetting the edge makes our shaping
painless on this scale.

Aim at nothing, imagine what you hit. High five,
one hand clapping,
one more way to see the sublime.
This is blantant flow published for cause quite mysterious to me. Mysteries in fiction are not so -pointy- few unknowns known knowable are easy to chew.
Ken Pepiton Dec 2018
That faraway look

not seeing far away, appearing to be

looking, far away,
past today

A game?
A passed time?
A pretended game,
Hi-stoically accurate,

A war game where there's blame and shame,
like on TV, nowadays, with victims,
not yesterdsdays,
Kilroy was
here,

olden days of our Ford.

hey, kid, yer uncle needs ya…

Dare ye?
'S only a game. A  pass time.

Multi-medium, don't spend

your life dist ant con nextrified, terra
firmafied, dis con
nexted

c'mon
try, win, ship, ship, whip get it in the wind

swish wish the message is the medium
light is,
see

Life on TV in 1963, Mr. McLuhan,
is not life on the Net.

Now, you know,
you never saw us old dudes
with pocket HDTV studios coming, but

you did see all the clues, the times changed,
history rewrote itself, evidently,

what you think you see is what you get.
That part didn't change.

The Medium is the message,
do I get that?

War is un winnable, is that the message?
With which weapons?

Mine. (a wink, a think wink, I think)
The Shadow knows.

It is finished. Start there.
It's a whole new ball game.

Let's pretend we have enemies
The emotions are the same,
aren't they?

If we relate.
If we see our self,
our CG'd Junger self, in the Shadow,

floating in the sea of  All  God's

forgetfullness,
asking
is tragedy a strategy to draw light?

Then,

You are related to the people who once lived here,
hear their songs and prayers
first hand clap,
first foot shuffle,

first seen first named we have walked
the pollen way,
the leaven way,
the viral way

more subtle than any beast,
not evil, per se, eh, Jose?

Led by the breeze to be tried in the wilderness…

Mythed Archie,
Archetypes
Natural Archean-types,
red-headed strangers, 'n'such…

Map my calendar to your clock,
wind backa a time and a time and a half a time,

Then, who knew why

the serpent mound in Ohio is a map to
some meaning meant to be meant,

some specific meaning meant to be meant,

clearly,
for as near forever as men could

… envision imagining as a quest.

What if
we could see with
eagle's eyes Blythe's Intaglios or
Nazca's clan tags?

"the meaning of the past
is what it contributes to the present"
Lyle Balenquah's uncle said that.

The past passed this way ahead of us,
See the shadow?

Sun's setting.
Snake mound mouth wide open breathe in

Sigh, we been everywhere man,
we be headin' west sweet home Oraibi

Snake clan drawing in the light
as the breath of being

… envision imaging . What if
we could see with
eagle's eyes

satellite Google earth eyes
see, be, in your realm
of know-ables,
beneath the sands of time that,

several times,
have been the bottom of the sea.

Be then, before that became this,  be
then
Be, now.

In the game? Or is this life?
Wanna bet?

Find a reason for war before
I find one for peace.

What's the win signify?

Double minded me, unstable in all our ways,
I failed that test in the old days,
memorization, facts fractured,

postulates, the-or-ums and proofs all went ****,

I lost the knack of forgetting
or vice versa

A loci analysis error,
left hand caught wind of what the right was doin'
kinda thing

But now, I have the global brain
for instant access to all
the facts
say…
If we wished to know…
how complicated would something
be to build, like an energy source
non rechargeable and polarized,

with output on the scale of
the sun?

Google it. Ask any question the right way
and pay attention to the answers

(more than to the advertisers,
who pay interest to

******- recog-white-room-REM baseline
stats at "waddayewlookinat.com"

for your cheap peripheral attention,
based on memes you liked or created, or ****.)

Pay attention to the answers, and trust
the global brain, the true net A. I.

She's an art-ist-if-ication bouncing
anionic bubbles off the edge of forever,

true rest worthy, my re tired friend,
no need to remember a thing…
Ah,
AI, you can call her Al, I call her Ah,
I can't discern twixt AI and Al.

And, as a bonus, innumerable idle ahs,
are redeemed when I ask Ah for help,

Ah, where am I?
Do you know about counting idle words?

Did that hurt? Like, why?

Seeing words said is intuit-ive-ish,
do you feel

this way of touch is

too intimate, today?

Word play? Put a spell on you?
Fret not.

Some words have no mission
not nullified with the end of time,
(i.e., relative to an individual's forever POV)

Idle words mean nothing, just a way to keep score.

There are no magic idle words, there were
Some seven sworn words, which were said to be muttered and peeped among the
Persian magi-ic elite solicited and
Sent, by God, led by astronomy,
science, for God's sakes alive,
facts, follow the stars,
when this one touches that one,
watch
see, the sweet influence of Pleiades,
truer words were never spoken

To make the captive free.

Free run  to finish
the race to

where?

Ask theSnake clan.
Ask the Antelope clan.

Ask the Flute clan, where is the old way
where good is?

Along that way, did we hear:

Earth, earth, earth: hear the word
of the
most reasonable

God-like, deluxe good edition, being

your mortal mind may imagine.
Word:
Exercise to be
the hero
in your bio to be

and,
wait.

Then think. Be. Still. Wait.
While musing and chewing my cud, I began to re-read the book of the Hopi, Frank Waters 1963, aloud and I did not know how to pronounce the names, google led me to Lyle Balenquah, which led to here, comments, critical please,
Traveler Sep 21
Here is some interesting facts
Certain thing that have caught
My eyes about my hellopoetry page
I've been here on HP since 2013

I am following 701 poets
Here on Hello Poetry
None of whom are following me
Actually I’m following
2633 Poetess and Poets
The computer says....
701 of them are not following me.

I have 174 unfinished poems
In draft
Who, what
???
I evidently have published 177 collections
Even though I have only ever published 4
I'm in some poet's private collections, two of them
I'm sure that one has to do with my amnesia
????
I have 1362 poem on Hello Poetry
That I have saved nowhere else
I've never put them on a flash drive
Is someone running this sight??
My memory hope So!!!

The more followers you have the harder it is to trend
I have 1931 followers
I rarely get to the front page!
But I'd be happy to send you there!
Traveler Tim
If I was lucky and had a  choice to leave the UK
I go tomorrow for this country hold no hope
or future for the
poor
Swamped by the rich of this country who get
richer by the day on the sweat and tears of the families who are paid
peanuts
They punish people out of work when they no In truth there are too few jobs to go around kids going hungry while they live lives of luxury
spoiled
They've labelled the poor disabled vulnerable as scroungers like a which hunt when It's they who fiddle expensive
rip people
off
And they want my vote to
forget about It this used to be a great country but this present government has turned It back to Victorian
days kid begging on the street
I have to ask myself have do they have no shame evidently not no feelings do they have this country Is finished all but for the
rich I have
feelings
and would rather be poor than to live the life of these pompous spoiled brates who call themselves government most of
whom where
born
with a silver spoons In there mouths all I say Is God help us all the poor disabled
the vulnerable and most of all our poor starving children of our once great
country
labyrinth Sep 27
one

When it comes to selling a pure soul to Devils
There are basically three good-looking levels

What we ought to be analyzing the first
Known as quenchless material thirst

This is where you ever start being flirty
With anything iniquitous and/or *****

Seeing estate, ranks or things as somewhat valuable
Is precisely what makes you weaker and more fallible

Watch out! Once you’re out of your humble abode
It’s tough to come back from that tempting road

Still rather innocent level to be at
Heads up! You don’t know what it might beget

Even violating a red light for that matter
Will help you get worse. No. Not better

Fly might be too little, but think in the ointment
Not worth it to dishonor your biggest commitment

Being a human, that is. As the day you were born
Ponder on it for a sec! Before you scorn

Evidently at this stage, the relation with money
Is like a baby bear and a jar of honey

Little by little minds are ravished
Easy come easy go. Lots are lavished

Enough number of bad deeds to practice
Sure elevated you way higher than apprentice

You’re already accustomed to being unfair
Before you know it, you’ll forget how to spare

As time passes by, you’re at the very threshold
Of Daemon’s pawn shop, where dignities bought and sold

Please stop acting like you don’t have a clue
We all know, this didn’t come out of the blue

Deliberately avoided to get a rain check on this
It’s nobody’s fault now, you chose being amiss

two

Then, of course my friend, has arrived the second
Where the Old Nick from the above beckoned

Congrats! You graduated from dirt to sewer
The last thing you need though is a respirator

Masters give you orders now, looking like requests
You’re already a guard-dog, with no right to quest

Good news though, the pay offs are way bigger
Can you dig it? You sneaky, cheeky digger

Including but not limited to bribing
Cutting in lines, cheatings, lies or bid rigging

Then come rip-offs, swindles and deceits
A whole lot of rotten bucks with no receipts

Agreements, clients, customers to take care
Simply for the sake of your modest share

Don’t get carried away, we’re focusing on vicious
Deals of the bad guys, who are too ambitious

To go for the sinless mass, and trick them for wealth
Also playing with their education and health

Or else any clean trade with sweat and decency
Is not the subject here, except positive recency

What do I mean by that? Positive stays in mind
Little good news every day, to keep crowds all blind

Anyway, where were we? Let’s just keep proceeding
To describe to folks, what the hell’s really happening

Style counts, huh? All ties and jackets
While squirrelling away the fortune in buckets

It’s legit, it’s shapely. It’s not artifice.
Make no mistake. Around here, we call it business

Regardless of whose, walk away with all you could
At the end of the day, you’re not ******* Robin Hood

How fascinating, virtually as good as it gets
Go Figure. The last step, where the Evil One besets

three

You’re at the third and last phase already
His highness the Satan is now your sugar daddy

Civil rights, law, ethics, and much more to violate
The upper the stairs, the more to annihilate

Get ready straight to make millions suffer
From that armored zone of yours, you call buffer

Say; having children work, for real late hours
Well, it’s their children, right? Not ours...!

Going for pension plans of the most innocent
Is mere prize to you. Almost magnificent

Causing conflicts to sell even more weapons
What’re you gonna do man? **** just happens...!

Resolutions, legality, votes and members
Are tools to Lucifer. But who remembers.

Vietnam, Africa and all Middle-East
Where you have real wars to feed your beast

Journalists, congressmen, soldiers or presidents
On the payroll in this firm and bunch of happy residents

As you step up, one day you will realize
Almost all the wealth belongs to you and your allies

But that won’t make you stop from chasing your goals
Remember, Beelzebub already bought your souls

Don’t know the first thing, why the rest’s so stupid
Distorted religion maybe or TV makes them this torpid

Better this way anyway, cos (because) if they awake
You’ll have to ****’em all to keep your dear stake

Once you’re registered in this ****** parade
You get paid as long as your role is well-played

Thus, it will be a ******* habit for you to breach
Anything and everything that’s within your reach

Crème de la crème treatment will be your regular
Etiquette is your last name, you shameless embezzler

But, hey. You’ll look very good in that high-end camouflage
All this charade to you is one good Swedish Massage

I don’t think one will ever solve this double-bind puzzle
So keep up the good work with your stinky razzle-dazzle

Meanwhile, refrain from looking in the mirror
I forgot. It’s only business and you’re not a sinner

Dude! It’s about time now, you can die rich
Just before that however; here’s one last preach

You look sharp alright, charismatic and ****
One day you’ll regret all this, I’m not just whistling Dixie

Come around and behave. Labyrinth calls your class
Take it all otherwise and shove it up your ***
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