"goner" poems
you're lost in the wild
you don't know where you are,
you don't know what to do,
so you're dying in the dark.
you're looking for a trace
you're looking for a place,
but all you get is this maze
you should've seen your face
you got burned, got cornered
no turns, just liars.
and when you try to seek out the exit,
you find the monsters in your closet
smiling, waiting, hungry to dive in
you can run, but you can't hide
you can try, but you'll be found
so you're lonely in the streets,
you've been sleeping there, no sheets
you're looking for a mirror, looking for a lover,
looking for a mother, looking for a savior,
but you're alone, child.
but are you lone, child?
are you gonna cry now? be brave child.
the time is ticking
this game you're playing,
it's never ending,
but try to win it.
you say you're fine,
but you hope with fright.
you curse your life,
cuz it's killing you with pride.
the door is open,
but the sign says closed
your heart is breaking,
but you got no one to hold.
so you hold onto your dreams:
bright, and thriving lights, NYC
but is it worth it? can you chase it?
can you catch it? or miss all of it?
you sit in the corner of the bed
you're thinking about life, you're thinking about death
you're thinking about your friends, you're thinking about your family
when you thought of yourself, you thought of yourself lastly.
you sit and think about living
what to do to learn? what to do to earn?
how to keep up the pace?
how to dance in the rain?
and why are you lonely in this sick, crazy game?
so you wake up in the streets
the air is warm, so you smile, and you breathe
looking for dime, looking for a rhyme,
looking for more time, looking for your prime
looking for a flower,
looking for a paper,
cuz that is what you're best at:
painting words then you're a goner.
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 12:03 PM UTC
Woof.....woof.....woof...woof....woof....wooof
Some Red setters dogs are eating Jewish people
in England
But why, do call them off, they are british people,
The are hard working, Industrious, Entrepreneurs,
Professors, Doctors, Lawyers, Bankers, Entertainers
Scientists, Writers, eminent Surgeons, Artists, these
are nice Britons....stop the dogs, stop the dogs.....
Woof....woof....woof.....woof.....woof...woof woof
Some Red Setters dogs are eating and biting some
Labour MPs all over the country
But why, do call off the dogs, No! we have a list and this list, highlighted the behaviour of a number of Left MPs, including Jess Phillips for telling Corbyn’s ally Diane Abbott to **** off”, John Woodcock for dismissing the party leader as a ******* disaster” and Tristram Hunt for describing Labour as “in the ****
and all the other hard working Moderate MPs who dared protest at Anti-Semitic stance or supported the Jews .
Woof.....woof....woof....woof.....woof.....woof...woof
Some Red Setters dogs are devouring some minor
Royal from Africa
But why, do call off the dogs. No that ****** has a big **** he's
Charismatic, intelligent, wholesome, has good work ethics, polite,
wise, charming, generous, witty and a ****** good lover and to top it all he's Royal. Now that's ******* GREEDY, how much can a
******* man have. NO! he's a goner. He is too perfect, he must be hounded and persecuted to death.
Woof....woof....woof.....woof.....woof.....woof.......woof
Grrr.....woof.....Grrrrr....woof...wooof...Grrrr....wooof
Congratulations People, we have got rid of them all
we now have real democracy, we have a real society now
Get in the dogs ... And all you useless ******* people shut up!
And report to the Labor Camps 7:30a.m. tomorrow
You're Working Class and now you ****** have to work!
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 6:45 PM UTC
an all purpose cleaner response to the
how-ya-doing-question,
as my vibe unmistakable;
the hatred in the world directed at
MY PEOPLE,
is inexplicable, beyond reason,
a hatred raw and pure in the
tiny places we humans hide it, lest
our ancient linkage to an unreasoned,
embarrassing emotion, be revealed
but now revealed it is reveled,
as the freedom to despise is a
valued thing
is an ancient scar, now freshly wounded
and the two thousand year old accumulated, callused,
surrounding wafer thin, layered upon layer of
tissue,
wiped away
in utter disbelief
cleansed,
a different kind of impure clean,
“like” an ethnic cleansing,
traceless, whisked away in a wink of moment,
a goner.
like hope, prior sentient optimism
sentenced to life imprisonment and
this sentence, and this very sentence!
written finally understanding that it is
a punishment
far worse than the quick relief of death.
c’mon, how about a few “fukk you jew”
cri de coeur, heartfelt, genuine, pointless
hate
no, not I, no, not me,
spare me the pithy comments,
the pointless sympathy, glistening
like evaporating water droplets
before disappearing, I ask myself,
not
why they hate, why it persists,
for this I understand and accept
the foulness of what we are capable of is,
beloved,
as a secret pleasure, now secreted in torrents.
no, I ask myself,
why do I write poetry,
for it is as pointless as
the hatred directed at me,
from birth, till death,
and ever after,
the humanity of poetry
just another fraud
another reason
why this man cries in the bathroom,^
not from any shape of shame,
because poetry is pointless
in times of hatred, and now we
know, recognize, it is always
somewhere, nearby, always
present and prescient,
pointless hatred,
itching to be pointed at me,
makes for
pointless poetry.
To whom shall I point my poetry?
Nov 12, 2023
Nov 12, 2023 at 2:08 AM UTC
Tolstoy was a boy,
Ibsen was Henrik's son
Hardy had a father,
And see how well they've done.
Byron was a grandson,
And Wordsworth had a wet nurse,
Thoreau had a 2 to go,
Shakespeare a bad marriage,
Austen was a loner,
Poor Sylvia was a goner,
And see how well they've done.
Joyce had a ***** mind,
Fitzgerald liked to drink,
Richler liked to smoke,
And Wolfe enjoyed a ****
And see how well they've done.
Fielding was a misogynist,
Wilde was a jailbird;
Virginia a misandrist,
And Kerouac a simple ****
Yet see how well they've done.
Still with all their drawbacks,
Look how well they've done;
Like our old friend John,
We surely come un-done.
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 10:39 AM UTC
you're no trouble, no goner,
you're just playing the wrong beat.
you're no elephant in the room,
you're just dancing the wrong move.
they got your photo for display
they must've mistaken your face.
if you think you're dead today,
it's just the start of the race.
so get up, get up, get up
no broken bones must stop you now.
heads up, heads up, heads up
it's time to press play again.
go and wear your crown,
go and see the crowd,
let them know that you're around,
make them kneel to the ground,
you're the king of this town.
do they know the pearly whites hide underneath the yellow stains?
do they know that every villain is the star of his own **** play?
do they even realize you fought your battles for them?
even realize they just sit when you stand up for them?
but they get the glory,
not even feeling sorry.
it's funny how your story is getting out of control.
you think that you are winning, but then you lost your throne.
you congratulate them on your big, fake smile,
and then you comfort yourself when you sleep at night.
'cus for a second you thought you have everything:
got a pocket full of money, got the man of your dreams,
got a blanket for a cold, hard night, got the stars,
got the job that you want, got a seat in the park
but then everything's gone when you wake up the next day
you're looking for a bed, but you have slept on the floor, hey,
where are your clothes? why does your face wear blue?
there ain't no writings on the wall, but if there's one, it came true.
there's a special place for the non-believers
i didn't say in hell, but you get the picture.
how are you gonna pull yourself together when the world pushes you down all the time?
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 9:00 AM UTC
**"you made me feel
like i was pouring rain
slipping through your hands
as slowly as can be
listen to me now
hear what i'm saying
i only met you twice
but boy, you leave me feeling....
what do you say now
after i'm a goner
screaming out you name
as your walking away
i listen to the songs
but have nothing to say...
i guess i'm tryin to say
that,
i like you
thats all i;m tryin to say
look into you thoughts
and you'll feel the same way."**
this is to a kind of stranger named NICK.
bye nick
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 6:01 PM UTC
This door leads you right
where you are.
Scents and sights arriving
here are affirmation
of dying chemistry
between you and the world;
Therefore you sense them
stronger than man ever
has. Prophecies melt for
this inhuman moment, not
Unfamiliar to your spirit.
The Barista cooks you a
liquid meal, a brat hums
your favorite tune, but the
aftermath is they all leave.
Through a door which leads
them back again.
Daughter, son
Whatever sensation
keeps them here with me
keeps you standing
stagnant
Ungasping, in need of
Gasping. A goner,
secret front-runner
This door leads you right
to yourself.
Scents and sensations
locked in our fish-eyes
Relinquish blindness, as is
your job.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 5:30 PM UTC
They walk aloof among us
Three percent of the population
They reluctantly dine with us
Quietly, stifling their frustration
They don't look back as you pass
They don't want your conversation
Empathy is just an alien concept
They focus only on self preservation
But here's where it gets strange
We worship them with huge salaries
We beg them to lead us the way
We ignore their blatant deceptiveness
We hand them our hard earned pay
If they say bail out the banksters
Or send your kids to a dubious war
We offer them our kids and cash
Knowing that they will ask for more
Stranger still
Our history has been sculpted by them
We raise bronze statues proudly in their honor
Through our plain idleness and cowardice
They can reduce this planet to a nuclear goner
"How did this madness occur?" We question
Why do psychos run banks and governments
Checking world history offers a suggestion
To why we (the population) are slaves for rent
We are simply afraid of those
That successfully navigate life
With reckless irresponsibility
Unchallenged by others strife
It is those destructive characters
We plead to take political risks
In return for obedience and cash
To buy more power and obelisks
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 3:04 PM UTC
It was my father who left me,
To discover a place of his own,
Lonely and disheartened I felt,
For a place called, "unknown."
Baffled was I,
As to why he suddenly left me,
I trembled alone in fear,
Was I a goner soon to be?
Where have my hopes gone?
Withered away to stone,
Leaving nothing but the past,
For a place called, "unknown."
Why do I feel resentment,
My father had a horrifying tone,
Had left me heartbroken,
For a place called, "unknown."
My heart beats like thunder,
As I shiver to the bone,
My father ruined me,
For a place called, "unknown."
Where will I go from here?
Too much my father had shown,
A martyr my father will always be,
For a place called, "unknown."
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 4:28 PM UTC
as i sit in the café alone, reading, and drinking hot tea
i look over and see his brown eyes staring back at me
he notices me and makes his way over to sit down
and in those brown gorgeous eyes, i'll surely drown
we talk for hours until the café has to close its doors
i jot down my number and make sure i've got yours
he takes my hands and says "we have to do this again"
and there are so many sparks between us, its insane
i immediately blush, nodding and saying "okay"
and i know it's pretty obvious im a goner anyways
you give me a sweet and tender kiss on the lips
i hear your voice telling me not to give you the slip
i smile and realize it will always be..
him
the coffee shop
and me.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 10:51 PM UTC
I was a no name worker bee
Yet I had a million bees all working for me
I was a caryatid, house wife, never had the life of a queen
Stole my honey from the wasps with the wax in their wings
I was a comatose burn victim
I could hear the nurses whisper sanctum sanctorum!
They fed me nutrients and cleaned my ******
They either didn’t care or they didn’t think I could hear them
I was alive when the lightning struck
But I was dead by second, to survive my luck
I wasn’t anything special
I was a mass produced individual
They had no names worth knowing
They had no future where they were going
And I never thought twice about what I did
The quiet megalomania of a caryatid
And then my patience turned to rampage
I took a page from Genghis Khan
I wanted the roaches gone
I hatched suburban escape plans
Because my angst was delayed
A generation late & afraid
Now in the presence of the gods and goddesses
And in the confidence of infinite this is
Another power grab a singularity
Another force to fight reverse polarity
I’m all about the lust and not the wander
I am the lingering presence of a long goner
I’m here to clarify the **** of daughters
The spider stink in the breath of fire
If we could **** for utility instead of a performance to showcase our species’ ability
Then we’d be hunted by viruses
The gods and goddesses with the instinct to extinct humanity
Chaos is healthy, its part of reality, essential to symmetry, like night is to day
When life is weighed on a pendulum
Like sanctum sanctorum
The delicate faberge
There isn’t anything to bother with on top of the monolith
I’m shouting mantras from the mountain peak
There isn’t any time to practice with a modern creation myth
A lullaby in a language I don’t speak
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 9:51 PM UTC
caveat! —bursting out as the fuse fetters away
wafting t'ward oil spills, tranquilized guns
with pace maker minds
and time to ****
sickle celled, graving shores
plead to crawl underground
through cascading bile and sedatives
that sift through these negatives
like bangled thieves
who crawl on broken knees
and lie idle under haunted bridges.
bouldered bones intertwine
or veins cut along a dotted line
caveat! cries the sayer's sooth,
for he says it scours and devours—
the slinking nightmare sleuth.
the tar is interrupted in carved equinoxes
soak in the crippled toxins
as the air becomes as thick as theophany
and tharm like grease in blood that take me in,
through ash and mud and
all the spider webs caving in
like delicate gorges forges beneath
nightmare sleuth reaching zenith
caveat, silhouettes
stretched out like oil in water
and this silicon tomb can hold me no longer
for i must break out before i am a goner
because it's a mistake that i'll never shake
your face turns opaque
and there was nothing in your eyes
but dripping flesh
wring out all your words for me
your jeers and your juries
but go cling to your crutch
your kings and your qualms
and the church that burns
in its hallow vacancy
for none can resist the urge
that thieves its delinquents from catatonic catacombs
and quagmire junctions
where the swamp will **** you in
and festering sweat sticks like guilt to your skin
and hell is a nightclub where every loss is a life
and heaven's a daydream with your neck to the knife
it needs no rhyme or reason
and every slip of your broken lip
just lose your grip and give in to the treason
would you rather burn at the stake
than suffer your cement heart break
with no reason or rhyme
it's just the weight of the season
backdrop collapse
railroads unfolding
and like a cell storm the train
is coming your way
and slinks away like a nightmare sleuth
it just takes one swipe of the claw
or one bite of the tooth
and it drags you in
feel the sidewalk sleeping
and the blinking lights creeping
above the overpass
and the cold wind reeling--
it'll be your last.
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 6:36 PM UTC
Soufflé light massages my eyes
A cool oven breeze puts out the lies
I am a Goner,
no lives
Lived this day as
boredom gallops through.
Its hooves are in need of a deep clean
They don't allow the light to gleam.
So the light lets off steam
Horses halt, dragging thief feet in hope
of defeating this power,
wishing the paper would jam
But the sun, though none the wiser,
paints the walls and the faces.
Cooks a most creative meal.
Brings the stampede to a kneel.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 5:13 PM UTC
Dylan is dead.
no, not Bob, you Philistine,
Dylan Thomas who implored us
to rage against the night;
so are a passel of poets
and penners, but not I
Emily heard her fly buzz,
well before her eyes shut; she
was a wee bit obsessed
with the reaper
Hemingway's also a goner;
guts enough to shove a shotgun
in his mouth--mostly I wonder if
he tasted blue gunmetal like I did,
and who cleaned his brains
off the wall?
nobody had to clean a red dollop
of mine, for the firing pin was askew
and all I got was a click, and a sense of shame,
and impotence more flaccid than
the one which put the barrel
in my mouth
hell, how hard is it
to **** yourself--I guess harder
than I thought, since I never bought
another rifle
so Dylan is dead
Em and Hem too, but you
are reading these lines without
contemplating your own demise
I suspect
after all, it's early spring
and a time of new things
clawing their way into the light
thinking nothing of the terminal
night -- but it's just a sun dip away:
ask Dylan or Hemingway, or even JFK
but I wouldn't bother the Belle
of Amherst
she would make parting
sweeter than sorrow, and she
never tasted the cold lead, or spoke
with fear or dread of the dumb
and the dead
she never murdered
men in black pajamas
in a forest primeval...
I didn't see their spirits
ascending, in ribbons of light,
only rivers of their red blood
soaking the green ground,
yet today ravenous
for more it seems
why would she rage
against the good night, when
her carriage waited patiently for her,
and immortality, her vessel bound
for a light Dylan and I
will never see
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 6:42 PM UTC
Liar, liar
An acquired taste
Your mouth is fire
Your past a disgrace
Liar, liar
I trust only you
Your story I admire
And your lies, too
Runner, runner
You'll do as I say
I was a goner
Since I told you to stay
Desire, desire
Nothing, is what love is
*Perhaps I'm the liar
We can't run from this*
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 5:40 AM UTC
if what doesn't **** me makes me stronger
why do i feel like i'm a goner
i still ache from pain i ponder
i don't know if i can hold on much longer
if what doesn't **** me makes me better
why does my heart feel like leather
i still feel every trauma ever
i don't know if i can feel pleasure
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 11:51 AM UTC
If you knew I love you, would your heart change its beat?
If you knew how many nights I have stayed awake thinking of you, would you think of me too?
If you knew how many times I reread the words "I will always hold you close to my heart, no matter what.", would you reread mine too?
If you knew I cry over the fact that you're gone, would you come back?
If you knew that I put you up on one of my highest pedestals, would you rethink yours?
If you knew I hear those five words in my head constantly, would you hear them too?
If you knew how many times I have longed for your embrace, would you say you long for mine too?
Our last days with each other were magical and filled with love for me, were they for you too?
That move star hug, oh you know which one. The one where you were strutting down the senior walk out line filled with people and you just stopped about 6 yards away from me. Looked me straight in the eyes and opened your loving arms, not caring about your long time buddies on the side screaming your name. I booked it down that line of loud, sweaty, standing in shock teenagers and collapsed in your arms. You picked me up, spun me around, and with tears in your eyes you whispered those five words that changed my life forever... "I will always love you.". Do you remember now?
At your graduation party I was a goner. My mother came and talked to yours while I went down and said my final goodbyes. "It's never goodbye Big Sean." You whispered in my ear as I gave you a final hug. My mother was behind me when you said that. And when we got back in the car the first thing she said was "That boy loves you, I can see it in his eyes." finally it seamed like I wasn't dreaming and someone else noticed it too. They way you look at me rather than everyone else, even your girlfriend.
So do you see why my heart aches for you to come back, to love me?
If you knew I love you, would your heart change its beat?
If you knew how many nights I have stayed awake thinking of you, would you think of me too?
If you knew how many times I reread the words "I will always hold you close to my heart, no matter what.", would you reread mine too?
If you knew I cry over the fact that you're gone, would you come back?
If you knew that I put you up on one of my highest pedestals, would you rethink yours?
If you knew I hear those five words in my head constantly, would you hear them too?
If you knew how many times I have longed for your embrace, would you say you long for mine too?
Please say you'll do...
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
It was my father who left me,
To discover a place of his own,
Lonely and disheartened I felt,
For a place called “unknown.”
Baffled was I,
As to why he suddenly left me,
I trembled alone in fear,
Was I a goner soon to be?
Where have my hopes gone,
Withered away to stone,
Leaving nothing but the past,
For a place called, “unknown.”
Why do I feel resentment?
My father had a horrifying tone,
Had left me heartbroken,
For a place called, “unknown.”
My heart beats like thunder,
As I shiver to the bone,
My father ruined me,
For a place called, “unknown.”
Where will I go from here?
Too much my father had shown,
A martyr my father will always be,
For a place called, “unknown.”
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 12:39 PM UTC
It was my father who left me,
To discover a place of his own.
Lonely and disheartened I felt,
For a place called, "unknown."
Baffled was I,
As to why he suddenly left me,
I trembled alone in fear,
Was I a goner soon to be?
Where have my hopes gone?
Withered away to stone,
Leaving nothing but the past,
For a place called, "unknown."
Why do I feel resentment,
My father had a horrifying tone,
Had left me heartbroken,
For a place called "unknown."
My heart beats like thunder,
As I shiver to the bone,
My father ruined me,
For a place called, "unknown."
Where will I go fro here?
To much my father had shown,
Had left me heartbroken,
For a place called, "unknown"
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 12:47 PM UTC
Drop the rocks
Full-grown pop in the jaw
Bleeding gold
Won't save your soul
Moving again and again and again and again
Until the pacific
Closes behind your back
because criticism smacks
kids out of whack
Morphemes-phonemes again
and again
Given the knowledge
of a recycling bin of
letters
Use them again and again
Won't save your soul
Atom smash logic replaying
and playing before your eyes
Some days it's too much
coal to mine
Mouth covered when you
step in time
Won't make your life
I'm a goner if I can't
stand on the rocks
and if the laundry doesn't burn
If the grim reaper doesn't speak
nonsense words from one
state of consciousness
to the other
Drop the bomb
Call the mob
Stock our shelves
Grow the letters
Feed all those starving
tongues
Let me tell you a story
Once the grim reaper
dressed like an old woman
and bought denture cream
just to know how it feels to
grow old
A human is an animal
Some think an olive is a fruit
A dog is a wolf on the inside
Begging to learn the trick
Speak
Next in line most wait
for straight prose
pinch their noses misguided
Want blood to bleed red
Don't want ideas to smash
their bread
Won't save their minds
from a punch in the gut
Mine closing in their faces
and their Atlantic drowns
shattered glass
encasing words upon words
owned by streams of
Consciousness running
all around
Those nonsense words
running aground
can't swim though all
the world's frowns.
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 11:25 AM UTC
i.
let me entice you to darker pleasures,
let me ****** you with sashaying hips.
and well placed caress.
ii.
flirtation is an awful habit of mine,
but I don't think you mind.
iii.
darling, you're a goner and I've barely begun.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 10:48 PM UTC
★ ✰ ✪ ★ ✰ ✪ ★ ✰ ✪
The Baby-Hole, her baby-hole!
Turn back before you lose your soul.
Those walls of pink, those gates of pearl
grant entrance to each boy and girl
who come through this organic portal:
newly-born and merely mortal.
Mystery to be dignified—
explored, adored, objectified:
the baby-hole’s expanding chasm,
promising celestial spasm,
is limned in deliquescent love
and fits the soul as hand in glove.
Beware her tantalizing pull
where poetry turns vaginal.
From depths profound, God can create
(where man would merely **********
hitting Mother Nature’s high note
as the gamete turns to zygote).
Semi-seconds’ spurting passion
years of living baby fashion.
After pleasure’s jest, gestation
thus augments the population;
teenage dads recalibrate,
unsure just what to celebrate.
Yet, if they knew the daring risk
their ***** endure, they’d slip a disc;
to realize what threatening odds
confront these flagellated gods:
(see Luke in Star Wars, [number IV]
battling fascists in the war
alone in the zone to shoot the shot
that blows the death star up. Let’s not
miss out on noting, in this theme,
life’s true conception. So the team
of X-wing pilots flew the run,
eliminated one by one
save Luke, who penetrated deep
the death-star’s ovulated keep
and overcame the egg’s defense
and hit the mark. It all makes sense.
The spheroid bursting in his sight
depicts Conception's glorious might).
Therefore, show the matrix honor.
Shoot and leave—your star’s a goner:
nurture growth while life allows you,
while your star can still espouse you.
Seek her core of hidden gnosis
don’t just set off cell mitosis…
not, that is, unless you are sure
that the three of you won’t end up poor.
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 8:02 PM UTC
So there was this boy
He somehow kinda managed to steal my heart
Without even trying
He intrigued me
I began observing and seeing more than he let on
And slowly but surely, the compassion grew
Along with the lust, desire and craving of all things him.
It's been a couple of months now
And I lay here in bed thinking about how dumb I am to have let it get this bad
How could you let someone control you
So sneakily
Without even needing the puppet strings
All it took was the touch of his skin against mine, the smiles, the glances
That's all it took for my chest to burn a fire so bright
Melting my heart
And I was a goner.
Now the chase is over
You know how I feel
And you're waiting for me to beg for more
Act needy?
I think not
I see how this will end.
Though the clouds are still grey
The rain spitting
And the storm rumbling
There is
ALWAYS
A rainbow
And a sunny day that awaits
So keep your chin up, little girl
And wear your pride on your chest
Bc this bullshitting *******
Is no different from the rest
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 1:21 PM UTC
D’evils
Devils amongst us, painted in a glisten, dipped in gold. And thus, if to them, you truly listen, thou shan’t make it to old.
A patter of steps, trailing, lurking, never rest. For if guard is lost, with her eyes, you will get undressed.
A slither of a tongue, a caress or two, scrounging around for what it is, that weakens you. May it be ambition, may it be vanity.
The appearance of it, a delusion, for something so innocent, could wield your sanity.
Like a fisherman in calm waters, peering about into the blue sea, an encounter, lies a test for thee, beautiful it is, promises empty as hollow.
Peer closer he does, a goner he may, in the waters he is swallowed.
For she lured and prevailed it be, beauty is no longer hailed, as to him, it and the devil, are now a simile.
D’evils.
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 10:01 AM UTC