"hitman" poems
We believe we must be gregarious.
In communal bonds families annoint
One another in a precarious
Need to follow one leader at the point.
Individuals are not relevant.
Momentary solitude makes us run.
In silence we find nothing elegant .
Time to search for innerpeace has begun.
"Oh' Catain, My Captain," cried Walt Whitman.
The captain is dead. There's no one we need.
We don't have to group to stop the hitman.
The single flower's a rose, not a ****
We, need to be I, hear this confession:
Farewell friends, I am my new obsession.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
It is another one of those early mornings when hatred spews out of my body and aims for itself, I never miss. I have always been good at reaching targets, even better when I myself am bullseye.
I shoot directly for the mirror. Into my thighs, my chest, this mountain range of a body. I send my angry in a direct path towards my folds, my stomach, my skin, in all that is human. I launch bombs on my own territory like it's what I've been sent to do, like I was made to destroy what I have spent my whole life building.
I ask why it so easy to rip apart the things I've put together myself. I ask why it feels so normal to want to break down the rafters of the only shelter I will ever be able to use for protection.
I blame everything else before I blame me. I blame the girls with bodies like sunsets, that contrast my mid-day average sky of a figure. I blame the dresses that I cannot fit into, the way they **** the life out of me every time I can't stretch them past my hips. I blame genetics with absolutely no knowledge of science behind me.
I want to blame society for the hate that has been multiplying inside of me but at the end of the day I am still the one who does the math. It is still me who pours self-deprecation over my head to shower in all of the things I cannot wash out. It is still me who incites hurricane upon every part of myself that is impossible to change by nature. I am the one who detonates my disappointments like the explosion will somehow change the way I look, like the aftermath of destruction will leave me with anything but empty and wreckage.
I often forget that it is me who spoon feeds myself memories of failure at every meal. It is me who hands over guilt every time I reach for the snooze button to fall back asleep. I even shove myself in fault to depression, cover myself in darkness and then wonder why there is no light to be seen. I am the culprit in it all.
In the mornings when my mind is still circling to figure out where it left off, I point it in the direction of negative. I take all of the crooked and pile it up to remind myself of the mismatch. When I take aim at my reflection, I never miss.
I direct the ****** of my mistakes, vulnerability and insecurity directly towards my image. I have become the hitman of my own assassination. My fall into disaster is wholeheartedly my own doing. I am the best of the best when it comes to this form of damage. I never miss.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 3:05 PM UTC
Sugermans ****** diamond nights
Shattered the sounds of silence
Our crown Jewel's (children)
Stolen from us by the
Hitman's thunderous crack
Tears and fear drench the ground
The bleeding heart of
Our community inflicted with pain
As they surround either
Innocence taken
Or the reward of a gangster's shame
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 4:08 PM UTC
finger flame
lit world
blue and orange and blue
through the fog of fever
and snorker of cold
and gristful mill of herringbow meal
single flame glows
brings us to flesh point
scintillating
tickle-ish
boasting glazed
hearth-rug hair
castoff from chocolate wrapper
and bath salts and flowed floored robe
breath in
chin up
smile and step
for best foot forward
into tinsel
out of wool
from the ****
to the blow
wary fairy
clutching hitman's soft downy
forearm hair
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 11:55 AM UTC
I'm sort of sick
Of hating you
But loving you is too cliche
I'm just a bit over
Ignoring you
But talking is overrated
I'm so far past
Writing you poetry
This is the exception
I'm just a bit beyond
Trying to get you
Because I'd hate to lose you
I'm not one for valuables
As valuables are stolen
And it breaks my heart
Should I ever get you
The thief would theive
The robber would rob
The hitman would hit
The assassin, assassinate
The seductress, ******
And I would lose you
As I lose everything else
So I won't have you at all
Because I'm above liking your eyes
No matter how they shine
When you laugh so brightly
I'm not one to treat you right
Though I would hold the doors
And take the bill
I'm too good to watch you
While I memorize the words
You say in your own little way
I'm to great for your problems
But if you confided in me
I'd be your greatest ally
And I'm far too good for these tears
Because I've not lied about a single thing
Not a single thing I've written here
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 10:49 PM UTC
Pay me, I ****
Pay me, I ******
Pay me, I slaughter,
Pay me, I butcher.
Dark was my past, dark is my future;
A mindlessly violent, blood-seeking vulture.
Seldom messy (nearly always discreet),
I slice up the flesh, the bones and the meat.
They might hear you cry, they might hear you weep;
Crying and weeping yourself into sleep.
Should I receive a contract bearing a name,
I know it's the start of yet another game. . .
Aye, me!
Too many I've butchered,
Too many I slew,
Too many I've murdered;
wouldn't even remember you-
but there is one, to my utter dismay,
I would never forget:
the one and the only one that ever got away. . .
Feb 12, 2011
Feb 12, 2011 at 12:06 AM UTC
I stand there alone
wondering if things are ever going to change
I stand there like a statue made of stone
I wait and I wait till your in range
I see you, stood still in thought
You walk near to me, but yet your still to far
I stand there alone
I see you getting into a car
I stand there like a statue made of stone
You think you know me
Truth is you didn't know me
from start to finish.
You see me
basking in my own invulnerability
a taste of blood is what I ask for
I see you coming towards me
I pull out a piece of metal from my pocket
I got on one knee
and I kneel there alone
I kneel there like a statue made of stone.
I see you gasp
you put your hand upon your heart
I take that piece of metal and pull the trigger.
Bam!
Now you know me from finish to start
I stand there alone
for I am a man
I stand there like a statue made of stone
Then I turned and ran
for now you know me as The Hitman!
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 2:39 PM UTC
her.
eyeless enigma.
she chasing another listener.
another one tied to fraility
trying to face the lid-less night,
constellations swarming with his
questions.
she.
kindred tornado.
inspiration's explosive alleyway.
she has left me for another.
left me here.
sullen, chiseled out,
a hidden sculpture leaking blood.
stuffed in silk, since the last time
she was here.
where does she hide or linger?
her ghost words waiting in a unseen library waiting for my thoughts to scroll through endless imagination.
muse of the stabbing spruce.
blinking in and out.
I am dejected out into ghost town rain, not even an insect to look at.
she is gone.
my eyes void of color, claws shred the page, she left me, dulled with hangdog drift.
where is she?
shadowing a hitman?
running wild through the next Picasso ear?
how does she imagine me?
a conflicted whisper outcasted in rain.
where. where. where did she go?
swishing leaves up into the miracle blue air with another.
towering perceptive ideas into the fingers of grace,
flowing down the anxious page smashing mediocre left and right.
**** her. bless her.
she.
a butterfly threading golden silk.
her mystery bonding with the population of every Galaxy.
I was rested when she left.
when she returns
she will not recognize me.
my frazzled hair. my hotmess trainwreck. my burned up furniture smoldering into the carpet.
Me.
on a rooftop scrubbing through starlight like my skylight of dreams.
if I wait with patience of Job.
will she sunrise burst me
in fountain light
falling through me
like that lover who exists in the 5th dimension.
rocking my world with pure fire thunder.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 3:45 PM UTC
dead bodies moving dead bodies
you know the theme, the scheme,
the thought and the idea
the bodies, dead, paying the bills,
moving dead past the dawn
eyeballs rolling up as windows
closing and doors close and open
the bodies, mass production,
lots of bodies
Monday, Tuesday, Shitday
Thursday, Friday, Saturday
and Christday
Neighbor Allah never greets anyone
and he talks to himself in echoes
Buddha is all smiles and virtues
but no muscle, Buddha's daughters
are out clubbing tonight ******* their
oriental curves, selling their oriental
scents and cold white skin
to Allah's *** deprived sons
Christ is the only father and
he disowns his nieces and nephews,
I knew years back that I am a distant relative
just dead bodies, yours and mine
produce, corporate livestock,
labels from the heaviest bills handed
over in sinister alleyways,
sinister exchanges, hitman to hitman,
extraction to extraction, fraction by fraction,
bodies serves as platforms,
nonliving chopping boards for the butchers
dressed up as elves
the bodies, limb by limb, sagging skins,
rivers of hairfalls, scratch marks,
Ms. Universe stretch marks, the *** tapes
of the cheerleaders whom silent and wise
boys yearned for all through years of fading
innocence
Closeted gay professionals keeping their pointed ******* when nothing's wrong with them until consent turns from probationary to mandatory and hate and red and blue and green and yellow flags and pedophiles and bigots and white supremacists and Allah whisperers and Allah fanatics and Buddha hypocrites and China takes over the world and feminists, and third and fourth and fifth and so on genders and Trump and memes and Filipinos and mental health and memes and mental health and memes and literature and literature and activists and who ****** who and politicians and what Americans, Australians, Chinese, Japanese, British, Candian, Irish and and North Koreans and K-Pop plastic lips and hips who young girls and boys from isolated islands gets ****** for and hipsters and the nine to fives and the ***** to give and the snobbish *** girls in parties, in clubs, in alleys who wants to get ****** by all the celebrity status ***** all just becomes a tiny pinch for the dead bodies not to see and point the flower and shoot the gun to end the human war.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 2:48 PM UTC
I am not a king
I will never claim to be
I am not the guy
everyone worships
I am the guy the king calls
when He wants someone dead
I am the assasin that creeps in the dead of night
A gun ever present
always on my person
scars from past fights
covering my body
my face
Scared and mared
A recovering
forever recovering
coke addict
a man not afraid
to Beat the **** out of someone
and then get paid
A hitman
A killer
a monster
the beast under your bed
I am not worthy
of a tittle such as king
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC
The death of one is tragedy, but someday maybe happily I’ll pass.
The difference between us acts like a cement wall holding ashes of the ******
Maybe someday happily I’ll pass.
Maybe someday I’ll fall from the sky.
I’d let go from anything holding me and just fall.
Dead weights and dead bodies.
Small Hitman for hire.
Just dangling by a rope.
From the closest Silver Maple.
Leaves stained with blood from the wrist.
Maybe passing is better than living
Losing my mind.
Losing my voice, I cry.
Screaming in my mind.
Where did you run off to, my friend?
Losing my will.
Losing my faith, I die.
Sky turning black as night.
My little friend, I’ll never see you again.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 9:58 PM UTC
I'm failing
And I'm doing it at twice the speed than I'm falling
It's daunting,
Can't shake this loser feeling
Always tied up in dealing
With a mind that reeling,
Emotions that are spiking,
A heart that's spilling,
A soul depleting
And thoughts sent spinning
It's not even something I'm hearing
At least not outside of this in house courtroom hearing
That's taking place every morning,
Going deep into the evening
No,
There's no co conspiring,
No colluding
Or hitman hiring
It's self inflicted self destruction,
Without instruction
And while it's death defying
It's still an emotional beating
To the point I begin wondering
Am I still a living,
Breathing,
Human being
Type thing?
A strange bit of questioning
©2024
Jun 27, 2024
Jun 27, 2024 at 12:49 PM UTC
I stand there alone
Wondering if things are ever going to change
I stand there like a statue made of stone
I wait and I wait till your in range
I see you stood still in thought
You walk near to me but yet your still to far
I stand there alone
I see you getting into a car
I stand there like a statue made of stone
You think you know me
Truth is you've never known me
From start to finish
You see me
Baskin get in my own invulnerability
A taste of blood Is what I ask for
I see you coming towards me
I pull a piece of metal from my pocket
I get on one knee and I kneel there
I kneel there like a statue made of stone
I see you gasp
You put your hand upon your heart
I take that piece of metal
Tighting my grip
Pulling the trigger
BAM!!!
Now you know me from finish to start
I stand there alone
For I am a man
I stand there like a statue made of stone
Then I turned and ran
For now you know me as
The Hitman!!
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 5:20 PM UTC
met an angel about a couple weeks ago, turns out her choker was a disguise for her halo. there's a war in her heart and it's a thing of beauty. she said i gotta fight for her love and that's my call of duty. her boy thought he was the god of war and he could disrespect us. so i put that lord in the ring now she watching her ex(x) box. she asked 'you a player or a baller?' she said show me your true colors. i said yeah, but i'm in a game boy where it's more advanced than colors. i make beauty in six seconds like the vine app. i make something out of nothing now it's your turn, what can your mind(mine) craft? she said it's too busy harboring demons, there's not a thing that's given her life meaning. but i came along and like i'm a hitman in her mind, I killed the demon inside just so the devil may cry. And then we kissed, and I found out that cupid is just a drunk teenager playing arrow ambush with my back. We kissed again and I felt the next 30 years of my life, then i looked into your eyes and saw the year 2048 and all the other years after the first 30, those years we have to find our uncharted feelings. let me be the Nathan to your Drake. Leave me clues to find the treasure you have hidden in you.
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 1:44 AM UTC
Hit me up when you need a man
Cause money only calls on killers
And if your paperwork's got a face on it
I won't sleep until Im DEAD.
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 8:35 PM UTC
I'm looking for someone to take me out
Because I can't quite seem to do it myself
I need to go, I need to cease immediately
I'm making a ****** mess of everything
Causing bigger and more severe problems
That spiral outward like my depression
Taking out everyone, everything around me
Except I'm still here, and that's unacceptable
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 10:43 PM UTC
Hitman.
One target, my heart.
First try. Bang. Perfect shot.
You walked away with your head held high.
I was left bleeding out on the ground.
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 8:01 PM UTC
Feeling deathly
Dearly or Darely
The fresh
Prince air
Royalty flew________->> her ear
Losing my wing
Tight hug hold- bearing
Seat me ((The Group))
The fruit loops caring
Jefferson Airplane______*
The rain in
Spain
Graphically
Airbrushed
Shes the marvel
of comics flight book
How you used
to travel no
panics or air
fanatics
I was his carvel___*
to the top
He's mainly for me
Hey! don't cop
out on me____#
My mind isn't
any number
Deli take out
Scared my wits out
He's a flight low
feeling brain____ dead
Ah! Vey is that so?
Ring around to
ears of corn
I met Rosy
Some writer's
block
The ear revolves
around wake up clock
So many planes
crashed
Remembering Mom
Saying here's the
airplane
Feeding
The code yellow
She's the alert me- red
The dead weight of air
In retrospect
The plane on air--- pop
Shes so retro on
the go non-stop
This is dedicated to
the one I love
He's the frequent flier
Come-back< Go- Foward>
the landing
The Godly sending
toward me
But the butterflies
Got the pilot___ cockpit*
Dunkin Donuts
Spilled the beans
Hitman
Macadamia Hawaii
I welcome you nuts
Rose blossom Japan
trees escalate
Bali Islander Barista (Cafe)
She was wearing
her lucky red-
Long earful (Giraffe)
Speak up we need
more ears were short
Did you hear me?
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 10:45 AM UTC
Our love disregard the feeling inside us.
Just like the hitman, just like the cosmonaut, we are looking for the holy grail which is disputable after all, while everything that adores and devotes itself to us slowly fades away.
We serve the alternate illusion of eternity despite the struggle that love faced in fulfilling the well, that will never be well.
What is in there?
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 9:41 PM UTC
my money
my watch
my house
my car
my phone
my wallet
my toothbrush my couch my lemons my green grass
my plastic
tub
my plastic hair
my plastic teeth
my blue pool
my black
eyes
my red heart
my green soul
my exoskeleton . my ectomorphic mass.
my balloon filled gut
my bleeding
tongue
my brown shoes . my yellow banana. my $1,000 child slave my
$10,000 hitman
my $1,000,000 white Bengal tiger
my $0.02
conscience
my $0.02 pack of gum
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 8:34 PM UTC
The business of business
is business.
Nothing personal,
it's just business,
the hitman said to his mark.
No one's a person,
no one at all,
Millenial, Gen X or Boomer,
only a demographic
waiting to be sold.
Nothing personal,
it's just business.
Hi Carole, I'm Bob.
I feel like I know you,
Although we've never met.
I've got a great idea for you,
just click on the link
at the end.
I'll pop up
and see you often
On your PC, Smart phone or tablet.
There're so many ways to hang out,
so many ways to be friends!
I know you'll make me
a habit.
Though it's nothing personal,
It's just business.
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 10:41 AM UTC
Up in the sky
Everything's slow
I guess that's what happens
When you mix fine wine
With dro
The 4 Kings sit at the table
Take out the brown for the green
Like the hitman for Martin Luther king
Pour another glass to act like you're fine
But what are you gonna do when you run out of wine?
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 2:19 AM UTC