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I'm mugging you
Seriously though, have my coffee mug.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
daj, do wynagrodzenia: reszty.
daj: to niby: siebie;
a... dam... dam...
ale pierw: powiem:             to!
(ich) nicht werden
                  geben (ihr) das nacht!
first... i'll punch myself
hard enough to give myself
a plum-eye: ******* pacifists...
and then?
    then i'll strap a trouser belt
to protect my knuckles...
and then... then...
                    then: we'll "talk":
who might find a translator
ready...
   god...
i'm gagging for a
knuckle exchange...
        almost... itching!
like i might await
a shaving... from a Turkish
barber... in Essex...
of all Danish palaces;
and why would i want to allow
consort with these women?
considering the fact that
the russian ones believe in trans-national
grievance taxation:
of someone... who hasn't...
actually died...
              you know what?
*******...
suffer...
       watch me wipe my ***
with a satanic smile
ennobled
by a coulrophobia...
excesses of vogue
                      atypical models...
how is it... that...
coulrophobia doesn't translate
in reverse?
  and what's up
with the black privilege of
jass music, akin to white mozart...
as...  
  sure as ****, the drum would be
the first, and only thing,
prior to the people learning
the ******* clarinet!

oh drop me your ****** ***
holocaust dead bomb
on a polish ***...
     i triple, quadruple dare you!
you *******... ivory coast
   centipede!
               i'm *******...
as watts: wild-eyed...
       unstrap me from this
"unreality" of conversation...
then undo the internet banking...
and the rest of it...

             not adam watts!
    glitter & doom....
who?      tom waits...
oh **** me... blue valentine?
if that's not a **** with me
album... what is?
                 live circus?
        
do i look like a ******* ****-
(see the hyphen?
it's a prefix... the english are
lazy sometimes: couldn't,
i.e. could not,
remnants of shakespearean
english...

       i'll always cite macbeth...

  time, thou anticipat'st my dread
exploits: the flighty purpose never
is o'eertook, unless the deed go with it.
from this moment, the very firstlings
of my heart shall be
  the very firstlings of my heart.
   and even now, to crown my thoughts
with acts, be it thought and done.


it's hardly a racial slur, ergo...
why so ******* sensitive akin to a french
footballer or a ballerina?
   ****- (hyphen! hyphen!) ergo a prefix...
as already mention:
no, no...
   it's not: no iraqi ever called me a pa-ki
      (pákí)... yeah...
and you never called an afghanistani an
afghan, ever, no?
   pure camaraderie in that part of
the world... all the way... yeah yeah... yeah...
-stani (suffix) is sometimes missing
because... the english like to shorten words...
e.g. why is daniel: dan,
why is matthew: matt?
  why is muhammad: mo (farrah)?
                                    ******* pansies...
police your circumcised penises fiddling
english teenager girl, first,
come after my vocab. justifications: after;
savvy?

or a gypsy?
   by now...
     i'm looking like any
traveler...
and the world...
       forever resembled
a world,
  in the confines of
      a claustrophobia...

but... if there's a bigger concern for
a world...
  and a freedom...
i want a bare knuckle fight...
a black eye...
namely...
you bring  BOXING GLOVE...
and i'll bring...
     a LEATHER BELT...
wrapped around my knuckles,
and the wrist...
    like i might care to give
a second attempt to smile...

ah... the men... who care
about minding, if not in the least,
keeping women...
      bye bye, bye bye...
       and i've allowed myself
to know my grandfather...
as i did the slap in the face...
and...
the key question:
in the unfathomability of counting
the 32 / 4 ratio...
alas... one fist... one smile...

and countless... dentistry encounters...
because?
   because the rest?
the cultural artifacts of a today?
  lost to h'americana...
            as i might have wished...
for my prior genes
to make an autobiography
in **** germany...
  
   what?
  
      well... obviously: the oops.

no, for the crescendo...
you know...
           i'm getting this funny vibe...
gott ist tot... it's not really spectacular...
nietzsche really believed in eternity,
to the point where he pointed:
what does science offer, only old age...
what does religion provide? eternity...
oh nietzsche was big on eternity...
   gott ist tot is as unspectular as:
is it: how to do you pronounce x,
or is it: how do you pronunciate y?
debate:
              everyone says around here
the former... since no one wants to be a *****...
pro-nun-ci-ate (pro-nun-cíate)...
   might as well replenish the vocab. bank
and replace the word with:
how do you elocute z? / recite)....

gott ist tot / gott ist tod...
    "same ****, different cover"...
you know why i believe in god?
    not the christian reference points...
salvation blah blah, saviour and hide & seek blah blah...
n'ah... where would i derive all my vocab.
hunger if not from him?
   some men derive their vocab. from
women or gambling...
            i am not in the position of their
luxury... so god it is...

            primarily though?
               god is metaphysics...
             ergo? his judgement is not clouded
by metaphysical questioning...
it's impossible to receive a metaphysical
answer from a metaphysical question
when engaging with a metaphysical
ontological paraphrase of one's own search
for meaning in this mortal frame...

oh sure sure, my belief in god is as juvenille
as anyone else's belief in humanity's
clarity when it comes to jurisprudence
and its application...
    i've experience "jurisprudence" once...
drive-by phone theft...
me and three fwends...
   i catch the number plate...
i tell one of my fwends to note it down,
police station, report, culprit found,
a sit in at a barkingside police station
looking at mug images,
spot the ****** (it was dark when the mugging
took place, photographic memory, **** happens)...
a court session, australia is playing england
at the ashes (****, i missed it)...
in court the defence lawyer shows me
another picture of the culprit...
back then photogrpahs had dates
attached to them...
the photograph? over 4 years old...
i tell him: but this photograph is 4 years old!
how can i identify if this is the same
person: i, myself, will probably
don a beard in four years time!
      a simple slip-up...
        now that i have a beard:
it's so much more fun than growing your
hair long... i hated the nickname
chewbacca back in high school when i was
growing mine for a french braid...
i walk out of the court,
come to terms with the detective...
and i see the same hunger in him as i see in me...
will justice be served?
highly unlikely... since the victim
didn't recognize the *** in the mug-shots...
justice was probably not served...

   and this is how god plays into all of this,
hell or heaven, blah blah...
man created the figure of domina Iustitia
as blind... god created death to be blind...
justice was never supposed to be blind,
death was: the unfortunate deaths
of teenagers in car accidents,
among all the other freak accidents...

clouded with so many metaphysical questions
i don't appreciate man's ability to adhere
to jurisprudence without being
subjectively contaminated...
i have more belief in an "imaginary"
god than belief that strains me to belief
in man's sense of justice...
          the nuremberg trials are a rare exception...
but only when the culprits are
unabashed and fathomable by a collective
sense of pride... a blidness...
i believe in god, because i'd love to experience
the judgement of a post scriptum of
metaphysics...
  personally? i have been wronged...
heavily...
            i will not name names....
i know when and how i was wronged,
and by whom...
                2007... Canterbury...
      i won't name names: i'm not a rat...
man is too clouded with metaphysical questions
to begin with, god isn't,
he's a metaphysical ontology "bias"...
which is why, he is primarily a jurisprudent
answer...
   i'd love to experience divine jurisprudence,
hell or heaven are not of my concern...
and i don't imply divine jurisprudence
associated with the polytheistic take of
jurisprudence via a solipsistic mechanism
of a minor god and the person in question
without the hurt party...
in monotheism the god is solipsism personified...
these days: also the personna non grata...
so no... gott ist nicht tot...
            he's a personna non grata...
i just don't appreciate the human *******
of law, law governance...
   come on, in england you can receive
an a.s.b.o.s. for your cockerel being too loud
in the morning, your dog barking...
           would you trust man with
jurisprudence?
  a woman was cleared of the ******
of her husband
       when she hammered his head into a pancake:
over an abusive relationship...
police, weren't, "there"?!
sure sure... the hammer will do...
i believe in god without a sense of reward...
i just don't think man is capable of
passing justifiable laws...
no man could ever pass the eternal laws,
gravity... 100°C for the boiling of water...
i need a being  who has groundwork
in eternal laws, in unshakeable laws...
the ten commandments aren't:
you shall not...
   more... maybe, you shouldn't...
they are the most pristine jurisprudent
laws available... the: maybe you shouldn't,
eh, chappy?

       i just don't like playing the thesaurus game
on the more tight-knit game
of "passing" the wink-wink of Solomon's
judgement...
please, **** me please,
i'll eat 20 raw herrings in a cream sauce,
slurp 30 oysters,
eat 40 strawberries on a hangpverl
eat out about 50 harem virgins
like a castrato if you ask me, nicely,
**** camel cockey:
lucly i landed on a black gold slurp
with plenty of bangladeshi slaves:
******* of riyadh...
     what did muhammed tell you?
you camel jockeys / sand *******
have clearly forgotten...
******* arabs: short attention span...
you need to remind
the retards...
the dajjal would come from the east...
a palace of gardens...
well obviously the prophet wasn't
thinking about genghis khan...
            
  hmm barbarians...
vikings, arabs: yet so inclined to like poetics...
funny, that...
the civilized peoples banished
the poets...
            the ruling class and their cushioned
people: sacrosanct sycophants...
wankers, basically.

    the hajr? muhammad spoke of the dajjal
coming from the east,
and the east being a city of gardens...
where isn't riyadh and where is mecca?
isn't riyadh east of mecca?
was the dajjal to come from the outside
of islam, or from wtihin?
      last time i checked...
sh'ite islam isn't friendly to sunni islam...
if islam was the one true religion...
would have a shcism have occurred?
i don't think so...
   a persian would never bow before
an arab... that much os true...

oh i believe in god...
given how man practices jurisprudence...
is it some sort of, a, thesaurus game
i wasn't told about?
to me the human quest for jusctice is
a thesaurus game...
man is incapable to pass but one,
eternal, law...
he's great at nuanced laws...
laws allocated to sports...
i mean, **** me, cricket?
the best vocab. you'll ever pick up...

even god isn't as pertinent
in making the sort of music associated
with the limited alpha-to-beta
of A, B, C, D, E, F, and G...
wow! seven... seven?!
how many heads does the beast
of revelation have? oh... 7!

i'll stop tolerating islam, and start respecting it,
when it, acknowledges its presence
as a character study in the book of revelations...
then i'll just move on,
having made my point...

until that time comes...
    it's 600 years shy of becoming what
degenerate christianity has become,
oh and it's ripe...
it's gagging to implode!
600 years and wait for it to become
the next secular vasal conglomorate...

the warning muhammad gave
about "the best from the east"
was in point of question:
   a reference ti gneghis khan...
more like ibn saud:
  thst fat diabetic one eyed ogre...
and the legacy of decadence he left
behind...

saudi men with slavuc girlfriends,
buying up pink cushions and *******
chihuahuas...
**** after ****...
  you know the three slavic proverbs?
1. better a sparrow in your
hand, than a dove on your rooftop?
explanation?
better the small joys at-hand,
than impossible possibilities out of reach....
2. a drunk can spot east,
past mecca, whenever honing
the safety of his own bed... even at night...
not much of a proverb...
3. i don't care to rememeber...

once toleration comes into play,
i will, respect... just a waiting game...
i'm pretty sure no iranian will
bow down to a sunni camel jockey...
i like proud *******,
it implies: there are absolutes,
un-moveable goal posts...

                      if you are ever to bind yourself
in supporting a "side" outside a sports' dynamic,
always the outsider...
always the outsider... in this case?
the ****'ite islam brigade...
       the persians...
the sunnis can shove it...
   *****, bones, whatever....

                   ****'ite islam i can
fathom, even respect,
sunni islam i just tolerate...
  as much as iran takes claims for the
big satan in ref. to h'america...
well... if h'america supports the infantile
saudi arabia, who's to blame them?

you know that polonaise joke about
about the pacifism of jews in
2nd world world war poland?
the joke ran along the words:
weren't the jews shooting the nazis
using crooked elbows (rifles)?
they always seemed to miss them,
taunted into walking into gas chambers,
the ******* hobbits...

          what? some bolshevik Brooklynian
jewish rada is to spare me
                 the pay-up diffrential
telling me, i was wrong?

  as i said before: the nazis lamented
when the warsaw uprising happened...
no, st. paul's doesn't stand proud
because, because...
   even with the blitz...
                 the luftwaffe were told:
you drop a bomb on st. paul's: firing squad...
and when notre-dame de paris -
last time i checked...
   the nazis didn't luftwaffe the **** out
of paris... did they?!

                  the nazis weren't mongols;
no people so well versed in chanel in terms
of their military being so well
   suited & booted could ever make such a
                              architectural sacrilege...

what?! people under the silicon curtain
are gagging, begging even: for nazis!
can i be the first?!
i just want to please the hungry!
if not punk then moving swiftly into ska...
am i the first?
   siliziumvorhang...
well, **** me... from under the eisenvorhang...
what's with these neo-communist pseudos?

and the hebrew god?
a jealous god... so a god with the knowledge
of the existence of other gods...
why wouldn't a jealous god have
no knowledge of other ("imagianry") gods?
to be jealous of only one's own existence?!

3 / 1: that's the ratio....
that's the only ratio... 3 times i experienced
love at first sight:

when i fell in love at first sight...
malina, samantha, janina,
priya....

equal measure: isabella of grenoble...

in reverse:
magda, promis, ilona, kot (i forget her name,
7 years old, first kiss, you can be forgiven
to forget, she had two twin sisters
and she was the senior,
her fasther drove a distribution truck,
milk, i think)...

****, i actually mismanaged
that ratio...

i believe in "a" god...
since i find too much of human jurisprudence
to be riddle with the thesaurus...
i don't think man can pass
law, he can "suppose so"...
but he will never pass the sort of law,
made forbidden,
or absolutely allowed....
i don't believe in a god akin
to the sort of a pontous pilate god
where i'll always find myself
outside of punk evolving into ska...

         mind you...
i'd hate to be trapped within
the confines of an atheistic exclusion zone
of intellect,
      to be trapped in nothing is one
thing, but to be trapped inside
the confines of an atheist's "nothing"
is quiet another....
i don't like being a hamster inside
a cognitive wheel of another...
   god is the jurisprudence spirit,
man the metaphysical spirit...
and i would very much like to stand
in the light of divine law being passed
to finally feel my shadow...

kult: brooklyńska rada żydów...
  not familiar?
  i forgot punk a long time ago...
esp. when californians came up with their
version, ergo? ska...

i'm currently taping a film
about the silesian vampire...
how strange, that the prussians came
back into the ***** of the polonaise...

growing a beard is so much fun!
fiddle after fiddle: and no violin!
atheists bore me
as much as the theistic hags
who's only ambition are
the thrill associated with Sunday
h'america and cinema...
               i can imagine only one
heaven...
where i am blind and given
               a large library of music.
Jamie Moore Oct 2014
November is the cruelest month
Reminiscence forced of things far gone and
Bitter foreshadowing of what is to come

The leaves have lived up to their name
The trees, a shell of what they once were
The grass clings to its last hope
The temperature makes its empty threats

The beauty of Autumn deteriorates
She is haughty and cruel
We were strung along for so long
But like all good things
Her presence is too fleeting

We try to rationalize her departure
We didn’t need her anyway
Her sister is far more beautiful
Autumn was never committed
We will look for someone else
What luck!
Her sister is coming
Her name is winter!
But alas, how could we love
Someone so bitter and cold?

November is the cruelest month
Joy is attacked in a dark alley
Melancholia does the mugging
Bitterness steals the Hope
November tears apart the heart
With a ruthlessness unseen
In any other month.

The days are soon so short and cold
The landscape is so barren
There is a hint of snow
But it is more like rain
It is so unfortunate to see
Nature’s beauty going all to waste

The thirtieth is here
Judgement Day has arrived
It is only possible to conclude
July was great if too hot indeed
January hard but nearer the end
September its usual lovely self
One month stands alone in its horror
November is the cruelest month
Allen Wilbert Nov 2013
Mugging

Heart thumping at a rapid beat,
***** running down to my feet.
Getting mugged, gun in face,
the one **** day, I left home my mace.
He wants my money or my life,
wishing I had some kind of knife.
Slowly going for my wallet,
tears dripping like a leaky faucet.
Getting anxious, he ***** his gun,
should I submit or should I run.
Then I kicked him in the *****,
watching him as he slowly falls.
Grabbed the gun from his hand,
asked for his money, as he started to stand.
He said please mister, I'm out of work,
I said who cares you stupid ****.
He showed me his wallet, which was bare,
I could smell his **** in his underwear.
I told him to turn around and walk away,
he said till I get your money, I must stay.
Had no choice but to shoot him dead,
two bullets in his brainless head.
From the gun, wiped off my prints,
limped home like I had shin splints.
Went home and took a shower,
felt kinda bad as my soul became sour.
Closed my eyes and only saw red,
maybe I should have forced him to run instead.
I hate living in a state of misery,
from that day on, I felt kinda jittery.
Both of us at one point begged for mercy,
just a typical day in north New Jersey.
Shaun Meehan Nov 2014
Features, my reflection—
subtle hints stare back offering wordless reply,
their evidence a betrayal of age.
A wrinkle looking deeper,
mane of face, of head—hairs
fresh lacking pigment.

Vain attempts made to mend heart,
to sooth soul's dread.
Testimony of experience
of wisdom, persistence, perception,
an impotent contraceptive, the argument
aberrant.

Regret to cloud memory, my youth
seeming a flesh and blood cliche.
Tiny footnotes heavy with prose,
words in bold
to distract mind's eye—a demand of attention.
Edging out tomb's more beautiful weight
of love and heartache
of passion's attempt failing,
to try again, sinking before succeeding.
An era's dusk and dawn anew, life's advent
unpredictable—without cause changing.

Notion hanging lingering, poisoning future,
the venom of defeat an insidious invasion.
This new age creeping toward night
in this stage my life's sun less bright.
Maturity's introduced responsibility,
some enjoyable while others to own hostility.
A brigand mugging freedom—time for leisure.
Spurring combat for what remains of youth,
fingers wrapping air in futile seizure.

The inevitable to command subservience,
presuming ownership of life, though the mature
demonstrate the defiance of the immature.
Objects, activities, music assaulting ear,
their manner,
symbols of strict adherence to who once was—
a spiteful surrender refusal.

A piece of me defining me until no more,
years holding power—threatening
to change who I am at very core.
Canvas construction the colour of murre,
rubber toe caps the shade of pure.
Design worn since youth, dead and resurrected;
a million mile shoe of valorous resistance—insurrection,
a Converse rebellion.
In torment of age's scars,
I'll never be too old to wear my All Stars.
jcollin Dec 2011
My wit was stolen
in the shattered morning --
darkness robbed me of meaning
with its long, empty knives.

I search my pockets
for its incandessence,
turning out only absence
and a deep crushing sigh.

In the distance I see
others laughing, tossing
wit back and forth
like a shuttle **** at a garden party
sparkling, forceful, levity, bright.

I brush myself off
and walk towards them.
Dallas Phoenix Mar 2015
Swirling a frosty straw
Stuck up like a victory flag in winter ground
With my lips wrapped around it
I stare into this empty canvas
of a vanilla malt
And project my cartoonish headaches
into it to devour it
Oh those ****** Doo monsters
Shadows that lurk to cut my Tom & Jerry humor
Only to formulate semblances of evil
A Mojo JoJo caricature
I then project into my milkshake
His smirk haunts the smile of Tweety Bird
In my Hanna-Barbara mindfield
Colorful spirals of animated joys
Let me know slurp Elmer Fudd shotgun
That was mugging my creativity
And robbed me of my motive
Let me taste the refreshing winds
That flow through the deserts of Road Runner
Taking laps around my heart
With its true intentions in a love letter
I will never get
Soon slurped and eaten to take away the thoughts
And now I hope I can drink another
To rip out the rest of the pain that in my heart
X A V I E R Oct 2013
At first I hear snarls, "Nice
jeans, ******!" although I'm
sure they don't include any
punctuation when ragging
on my anorexic pants
as if my jeans have anything
to do with my sexuality as if
the color of skin had anything
to do with last week's mugging
as if Catholics didn't once
**** for religion.
Spt 5-- domestic dispute inv alcohol + firearms Hawkins Terr. area-- Spt 7-- burglary purses stolen from 3 cars Wipple St-- night of Spt 18-19-- vandals untied shoes of large statue Center Park-- Spt 20-- mugging homeless suspect young woman cheeseburger Rt 8--
Aaron LaLux Sep 2018
Gettin’ ****t on like I’m The Villian,
got this queasy feeling on the line reeling,
coming undone at the same time wound up and spun,
I’m done playing but stuck at the table with The Dealer still dealing,

want to throw myself up out of myself,
can escape every position except the one I’m in,
can’t escape yourself if knowledge is wealth,
then I’m loaded & still spending my winnings,

got Karma Credit but I’m morally cash poor,
because I just fckt my girlfriend as if she was a *****,
and I feel terrible or rather horrible about it,
because i think I’m infected by what neglect did without a cure,

no one is pure,
at least I’m not that’s for sure,
I'm tainted with devils in my head painted with what I spilled I’m red,
sick with the sort of illness that can't easily be cured,

in fact got a bad case of the blues,
but instead of strumming a guitar I’m taking things too far,
cut her so bad with my fingernails,
that I fear it might leave a few scars,

tied her up so tight,
that her wrists turned purple,
see she’s attracted to bad boys,
and I warned her that that’s the type of attraction that can hurt you,

little girl shouldn’t be out past her curfew,
nothing good ever happens past midnight,
but we’re both running from something,
both stand outs in the in crowd still something doesn’t sit right,

I’m uncomfortable,
because I think maybe all humans are disgusting,
maybe we just cause each other pain and trash the earth’s surface,
maybe we deserve to feel guilty & that’s why we are all fcking distrusting,

maybe I’m gonna fckn **** myself,
but this is a card game so then again maybe I’m bluffing,
maybe everything’s going to be alright,
maybe I’m being uptight for nothing,

but I’ll tell you what I feel like the **** of my own joke,
but I don’t give a fck so instead of changing I’m just shrugging,
mean mugging every person I pass suspicious of every bloke,
because these days crime pays and everyone’s always up to something,

and I just want to get ghost,
but I can’t and I guess that’s the way it goes,
so I’m sittin’ in the uncomfortable position,
of being both a role model as well as a criminal,

Gettin’ ****t on like I’m The Villian,
got this queasy feeling on the line reeling,
coming undone at the same time wound up and spun,
I’m done playing but stuck at the table with The Dealer still dealing…

∆ LaLux ∆
Geno Cattouse Feb 2013
The runway begins to blur as the nose goes up slowly.
That sinking feeling invades from head to toe. Taught  knuckles engage.
Fight or flight in mid air flight. Hope instruments checked.
my how far we have come.

A pathological liar is like bank of mirrors that go on to infinity
nothing there to stop the infinite delusion. This poem is about s friend of mine
I almost dare call name. She is an infinitely interesting study. like
watching a Mugging in slow motion. Just say the thing when you
get the notion then deny with a smile.

A fine girl hard working driven. but to what and by what.
Her light blue eyes give away nothing at first .Her laughter was honey dripped,
One day the scaly beast did flash as I rubbed my eyes  to focus but it was gone.

Years past and the thing sprouted tiny wings and flitted
about like a moth  and later landed  with a thud. Belligerent and  claiming
space at my table.
Amazing that delusion can have weight and occupy space.  of itself by itself and for itself
I did love her once but she is no longer.stronger forces have laid claim and I cannot call her name for

fear of my heart falling to the abby's, to which my friend has gone, Never to return I fear. She
A victim of life's tortures, Succumbed to the demon there deep asleep in strands of DNA
gather round and throw the flowers on the gleaming   glass casket for she has passed on but just as lovely
She smiles up at me from the grave then turns her back and fluffs the pillow defiantly. I wipe a tear and wave. looking down on the dear departed.
Six deep still awake but lost forever. My words go unheard, my tears fall like raindrops on the crystal.
Lost in delusion the lies soothes her confusion.

A beautiful ghost now.Taunts me.
Nothing breaks the spell. The fall is a graceful simulation of flight.
my hands reach out still but she folds her arms across he *****
lies to me in gesture. tortured circular contortions that put me back at the start
not enough breadcrumbs retrieve her way.
I guess 44 was her number. The sweet insanity did come then
though I hardly noticed at first.
Well No one told me about her
Daddy knew. so did Mom
as did all. The skeleton , found the skeleton key and let
itself free from the inside with hardly a noise.
Dangerous and lovely.
swept away forever.
My darling. Take my hand  
one last time.
She did reply."Nevermore."
I pray that is a lie.
Brandon brown Oct 2013
Never lived in the hood, I been good
Grew up in Glendale cuz pops did everything he could 
To keep this big roof that covers everywhere I stood
And keep bills paid so the house work like it should
But, that don't mean that I ain't live with no problems
I grew up liking girls and all I tried to do was holla
From 05 to 09 I used to always pop my collar
And walked up to see what a chic would do for a dollar
But come 2010 I learned a dollar doesn't get far
Start asking pops for money, he said what you need these bills for
I said just to have cash so I can buy stuff myself 
He said how is it yo self when it's coming from my wealth 
And in the end he was right so I ain't ask for no more help
Got a job, got paid, getting green, sea kelp
And well, I guess it all turned out great
From 210 to 2 now I been working for the cake
More hours, more pay
Is what I always say
Just to go and motivate
So I can get through everyday
Man I do this for thrill, I don't really need this money
And stop mugging me down, I ain't tryna take yo hunny
But please don't get mad if she like me cuz I'm stunning
And you dressing kinda bummy
Man yo breds ain't even gummy
My high tops get their own box
And my boxes reach high tops
My collection's a high top
You can't even make gumby
You funny
You mad at me for what ? Yup, nothing 
But haters gone hate so ill let you do what you does see
Cuz time don't ever stop, matter fact it's running from me
And I'm tryna catch up cuz less time means less money
So you go do you, and I'm gone do me til I'm done g
Cuz I ain't wasting sand in my glass if you don't love me
And don't be fake now, I don't want you tryna hug me
Cuz you know germs is germs and haters be on that *****
Yeah im nerdy, I'm smart
I'm a walking piece of art 
And I write these rhymes for fun
But it all comes from the heart 
I keep hundreds, yes hundreds of poems inside the dark
And more hundreds, maybe thousands get lost before they start
You know how you at the store putting stuff in yo food cart
Then get home and wonder what you bought all of this food for ?
Yeah these poems fill hunger that resides deep inside me
They are not just fun, they have now become a pride for me
And maybe it'll be more, maybe this pride can make it shine for me
Maybe all these girls around the world will build shrines of me
But now I gotta go, cuz you know how time can leak
Plus I don't want y'all think that y'all know what defines B. 
But I can't stop there, it's unfair to the public
And I know that y'all like it but I dare y'all to love it
Cuz if you love it then I'll keep going
Till it start snowing
And you knowing
Even though it's snowing
It ain't never boring 
Cuz these bars wasn't meant for snoring 
Meant for adoring fans
That'll still love me when I'm old and I'm done touring
I could do this for the rest of my life
I just love it, it takes pain away and dries every eye 
With out poems, I don't know man I just might die
This is real, when I write I just cannot lie
So, you can catch me in my notepad writing 
I'm tryna make this gold, y'all tryna start fighting
And to me that's motivation, I ain't saying that I'm liking it
I'm just saying if it's there I might as well get insight from it
And it's crazy, I just noticed that I can't lose
When it's bad I'm still good, when it's good I cruise
I'm sorry that it all happens at the expenses of you
But you can't stop my grind, imma do what I do
100
I'm tryna make it from the mil to the summit
I heard it's all lonely but the top is my abundance
So I'll bring who I want I don't care what the rules say
Chillin above the competition straight playing 2k
That dream will never fade in
That's why I always stay in
Cuz I wanna see the day where I can say that I made it
And they love me
I see the finish line so I'm running
Got a talent and a dream and you can't take that from me
No obstacles can stun me
I don't care about who judge me
I got my mind set so just tell the top I'm coming
Cause I am
Nicole Dawn May 2015
I turned on the news today,
And realized
We live in a really ****** world

Four robberies
A ****
A ******

Oh hey look;
There's someone supporting cancer
Oh wait;
It's because their baby died

More robberies
A mugging
Child abuse

And I learned all this,
Before the first commercial break

This is what the news teaches kids:
We live in a really ****** world

Yet we wonder
*Why more kids are depressed
Damaré M Sep 2013
Why can't I disrespect her situation and utilize manipulation!!!? 
****!!! 
(Agitation) 
How can I make her lacerate
Leaving him to ******* 
While her and I gravitate
(Aggravation) 
Am I wrong for trying to captivate? 
To cause a tragedy 
So that I can place her in my cavity 
Count on their delinquency 
So that I can hit the jackpot like treasury 
I must put a result to their destiny 
When I see their pictures 
My jaws quiver 
She needs to be hither 
I'm thinking I should be sly 
And slither 
Or should I be blatant and invite her to dinner?
Right in the face of her mister 

Excuse me ma'am 
Have you ever seen otters afloat the waters? 
When I see it in my studies 
I always get cuddly
I have a California king with only blankets to cover me 
I have no buddy 
I have friends 
But no ones lovely 
Can we hover the lake 
Holding hands so that we won't 
Drift away 
You will be cute as the otters 
I don't know why would I even bother 
No groom; I'm all scruffy 
I look ok alone
But you gone make me look ugly 

Or 

Come here 
Hug me 
Is this your hubby? 
That's why his shoulders is shrugging?
And his face is mugging?
He know if you escape his disgrace and come to my cubby 
He'll be in the hole 
Ain't that right man? (Directed to him)
What's your name? 
Stan? 
Hey how are you doing Stanley 
I'm digging your girl like my last name is Yelnats 
And I'm trying not to disrespect 
But it's testing 
You have the great big book of everything 
And a queen who can be on the cover of King because she's **** 
But look at you 
How'd you do it? 
Here you go take my number down and dial whenever he's around so he can know where you're about to go 
See you later 
Which approach is better? 

I like both 
Should I be smooth or rude? 
I have to make up my mind soon so that I can make my move
The music was good
I asked the DJ if he had my song
No
But the music was good
There was a shapely bartender with a shaved head
And a long flannel shirt that made it sometimes look as if she
Wasn't wearing any pants
And she wasn't
She was wearing shorts
I asked the DJ if maybe he had a certain other song
No
But the music was still good
There was a smaller room where you could smoke indoors
And a foreign guy with a shaved head
Foreign guy with a shaved head: Hey let me know if I'm in your space or something.
Me: Huh?
Foreign guy with a shaved head: You bumped into me so if I'm in your space or something...
                                                                                                                                                         let me know
It is not my space
I don't own the bar
It is the bar's space
Or perhaps it is the government's space
Or god's space
Or like an alien supercomputer's space
But it is not mine
Or his
I think about picking a fight with this guy
Or letting him kick my *** more likely
So we could share the space
More effectively

I ask the DJ if maybe possibly he had a certain song by chance
No
But the music was still pretty good
There was a girl with a pretty dress and a head full of ****
I patted her head to watch her hair go up and down
She noticed and we got to talking
About musical theatre
A song came on and she said she would meet me on the dance floor
The song came and went and she did neither
I asked the DJ if he had a song I knew he'd have
Yes
The music wasn't so good because it was a boring song
That I had heard many many times before
I danced with a friend
And a sweaty man danced between us
Reeling and mugging for his audience of friends
He picked up my friend and put him down again
To the crowd's delight
I stole his hat
Right off his head
And my friend and I left the bar
We got in the car laughing
And drove away
And the music was good
Geno Cattouse Jun 2013
Rode the dog. From podunk to new.york

My introdutory mugging was all that I dreamed of and more.

32 stitches and a mild concussion

Bright lites big city goin to my head.

Got a job running #s and a rap sheet too


What's a guy going to handle when his rent is due


Bright lights big city going to my head
I don't care cause you don't. Care
Gary Clark. Nuff respect.
Yenson Nov 2018
WORDS GANG STALKERS DO NOT WANT TO HEAR

The first, of course, is the “G” word. No explanation necessary.

GANG STALKING

VIGILANTE

The gang stalking recruits are of course being recruited into a cult for the purpose of carrying  out vigilante activity. As we all know the same authorities who “do not have the resources” to protect you from burglars, gang intimidation, vandalism, mugging, ****** assault, etcetera, are not short of resources to deal with the least whiff of vigilantism, as people desperately try to protect themselves. The recruiters of course do not wish their recruits to be reminded that they are engaging in vigilante behaviour, so I remind them at every opportunity.

CULTS

The methods the recruiters use are classic cult methods. The recruit is told lies while their emotions are manipulated; they are not told the true agenda of the cult they have been tricked into joining; they are given targets to hate and vent their frustrations on; they are enslaved and over time leached of all their resources; their children will also be indoctrinated and used. People know joining a cult is a bad thing. So at all costs the recruiters wish to keep the idea of cults away from their recruits. Again, I make a point of reminding them.

CON ARTISTS

Another word/concept the recruiters want the recruits to forget. Again, another rich source of conversation with a gangstalker.

COVERT WAR
A major tool in the gangstalkers weaponry is successfully keeping the practice of gang stalking a secret. Most people not being stalked and many who are have never heard the term gangstalking and do not know what it means – a major Orwellian coup. Getting the word out is a major difficulty. From this point of view the words – covert war – are hated by gang stalkers. Both words, and especially in combination attract peoples notice and naturally induce them to read further.

FAIR GAME (Scientology)

Remember the film “Fair Game”. Odd title don’t you think when the story line had nothing to do with Scientology. The story based on fact about the betrayal of a CIA agent betrayed by her own government.

Gang stalkers do not like mention of Fair Game because the methods of Fair Game and gang stalking are identical. The existence of Fair Game tactics are acknowledged, but the response of authorities to gang stalking is to assert dogmatically that gang stalking does not exist and any who claims it does need the help of a psychiatrist.

MAFIA

The authorities do not wish people to be reminded of the Mafia. Many gang stalking methods and Mafia methods are identical, particularly the diverse rackets both gang stalkers and Mafia engage in. Infiltration of legitimate businesses, exploitation of labour, housing scams, protection money, and controlling people such as medical personnel who can make ” mistakes” in medical treatment, or an office worker who can “lose” or corrupt private data.

STASI

If the STASI were not the creators of Zerzetsen, they were the world’s foremost practitioners – a massive state spying apparatus which created as many spies as citizens. Gang stalking and Zerzetsen are identical.

dailykos.com/story/2010/10/12/909826/-ZERZETSEN-TORTURE…

WORDS THAT GANG STALKERS WANT EVERYONE TO HEAR

SCHIZOPHRENIA

After the primary objective of gang stalkers to keep awareness of gang stalking from public knowledge is the secondary objective to ensure that if anyone comes across the concept of gang stalking or targeted individuals it will be immediately linked with insanity. The purpose of gaslighting behaviour is to make the person on the receiving end look insane.
Jeremy Betts Jan 3
Speak of the devil and see who appears in the mirrors
Who knows better than you all your fears and what brings you to tears?
The voice that escapes through clenched teeth, grinding like gears
Is exactly the same as the voice saying the things nobody hears
Most all of the verbal abuse does not funnel in through the ears
It stays internal, verbal and mental commingle to create brutal elixirs
Constructing, seemingly out of nothing, life altering barriers
A senseless mugging in broad daylight and no one interferes
Just like no one hears my prayers
The real me almost disappears from years of hiding behind makeshift veneers
Hanging on by a meer thread, I think the puppeteers have switched careers

©2024
Bobby Ray Bagley Jul 2015
Yellow Brick Road
Land of OZ
Lion scared
Scarecrow crazy
TinMan struggling
Wizard gizmo mugging.

Homeless man
Traveling man
Nomadic man
Had to go.

Left more in Kansas
Than he brought
******* feelings
Totally out of control.

All that searching
Never ever knew
Garden of Eden
Mona Lisa dancing
Lake Wilson trancing
Nomad confused
Gone distracted.

4 years drifting
Always on the road
Never realizing
Never knowing
Never analyzing
Never caring
For what did he know.

TinMan found his heart
TinMan lost his heart
Nomad down
******* Yellow Brick Road.
Busbar Dancer Feb 2016
I see two fire trucks pass each other
going opposite directions.
As I’m trying to think of a clever metaphor
for poor planning
I remind myself that at least one family
is standing in a thigh high pile of fine ash
that was their home
just an hour ago.
Maybe two families.
These thoughts and others haunt me when I’m pulled from my duck footed sidewalk reverie
by a lottery ticket stuck in the riff-raff that separates
Gateway Ave from the parking lot of the Nervous Hospital.
It is laid bare like a mugging victim;
crumpled up and inches from the gutter.
That was someone’s dream
just a day ago.
Think I’ll cross the street-
give that homeless vet a dollar.
It’s my last one.
My house has fleas, but
it ain’t on fire.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
dis- (negation of) -ease can take up so many forms of expression, the likely venture in a coffee shop with espressos variants and mocha coffee, or the lattes and something else.

which hardly means Paul McCartney dreaming
up *yesterday
or Robert Stevenson with dr. jekyll and
mr.vhyde
- when the weaknesses of yours
express themselves naturally - you accept them -
the only riches are bound to health -
all others care nothing - take away the able body
or the mind - and you take social realities -
i remember running wild with Peter and Ciarán -
slobbering off car parks on people's heads with spit,
surviving mugging, getting underwear-wedged on
park fences - deciding to smoke *** aged 21 for
the first time - listening to Limp Biscuit while
playing pool and donning Samuel L. Jackson Kangoo
hats john otto, take 'em to the matthew's bridge -
****'s sake, the who?! long gone. moths frantic right now -
we walked the mall, the bought artefacts before
digitalisation took over - and the book was lost
among toilet-paper heaps - 'cos when you need
a ****** to wipe his **** you need to write a book -
to feel seminal and human.
like the way Ilford high-street changed from Jew haven
into Bombaystan - that Ilford is mythical -
clever cue to suit a hardened worth of wearing tuxedo -
Maggie in the Sky filled with Piggy-stockpile Metaphors -
white boy rap - coo or undo clue - the same
**** precipitates into brown men in autumn
salivated together with oak drop leaves -
so hey ***, how's my solo? good or not good enough
to churn a mirror scene at a party?
'cos the cool kids "hang out", i guess **** of butter either.
as abandoned poetics had it: ensure it rhymes.
but it was me Peter and Ciarán on the weekend -
hell-raisers before i started smoking dope -
oh come on! i just turned 30 i'm allowed slang -
it's not unruly to rule the rubric with some sentiment
without wish for retirement -
ah man, that ****** in South Park - Ciarán just
hanging there in mid-air - got a g-string to boot -
i have to admit, the smart ones in England got out
of the education system aged 16 - the dumb-*****
made it to university - connectivity came in even if you
excelled - the smart ones got out aged 16 -
dumb ones like us with immigration a surrogate
family of ideas kept it up to university level and received
jiggly-squat of **** to get bothered in encouraging
attention to the idea of society - gave up, rebelled,
started singing X Ambassadors' song like Christmas carols -
readying ourselves for our parents to die,
watching our parents watching their parents die -
readying for the squat - as i once said:
i know a place where i can bottle clean Evian water -
you have to pass the centurion guards that might
kick you in the head if you try feeding them your
hand rather than a sugar-cube... but that's fresh water -
some *** left a ceramic tomb where the stream runs
free. or the maxim from high-school:
take a picture... it'll last longer;
it doesn't matter, aged 18 through to 21 i was sticking
******* into my mouth to imitate a Roman rite of
passage -
just when Eminem came out -
and wrestling was a beehive with Kane and the Undertaker
and StoneCold - cheeky chic wahwah on the turntables -
but **** me that ****** on the park fence
by a centimetre missing Ivan the Impale(r)'s tactic -
at this point can come like an e-mail,
that @ stamp can **** itself... i'm ready...
it's the cinema that no one bothers with -
there for the taking - spitting on a man's head
from a car-park uppermost level -
getting ****** for the first time with white lightning
cider. Pete? lost his teeth, got a mother of a beauty's
worth of **** last time i met him in a pub -
Ciarán became a nightclub door gorilla -
well, you know my story -
it's hardly the twinning of the Krays -
although that was on the cards -
last time the high-school people were together
we were at the Beckton bowling-alley
jumping into plastered fake walls head-diving
until i broke the wall with a cranium of an elephant's
worth of horizontal canon-ball gravity propeller;
mind you, Beckton stinks of **** in the high
season of the recycling harvest - A13 via Barking?
i'm not too sure - i never bothered to learn to drive -
i took the Chinese route - bus stop wankers? sure.
bicycle wankers? tell that to the Beijing horde -
shame i boxed Ciarán's kidneys in once before
we were lessened in B-tech queuing to enter class.
I’m watching you
In the dark alleyways, where I gaze on as a mugging occurs
And standing on that gloomy, silent street corner, the little red light of my cigarette glowing
And from the roof of the echoing parking garage next to a lone car
And as I rest my back against the cold stone of a crypt in a graveyard
I’m watching you
In the dimly lit, empty café, where I sip a cup of loneliness
And as I dance in the smoky, sweating aliveness of the nightclubs
And as I stare at the waves on the deserted, moonlit boardwalk
I’m watching you
Seated atop the Sphinx of Giza in the freezing Egyptian night
And in the very back row of an empty baseball stadium
And in a prison cell, where a death row inmate sleeps fitfully
I'm watching you
Right behind you, but you don't know I'm there
I'm watching you
Always watching
In the night
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
i discovered philosophy late, i guess the best age to lose your literate virginity to the subject is best asserted aged 21, prior to that i read, traded Linkin Park's hybrid theory for a favourite book of mine by Stendhal with a friend, spotted in a second hand bookstore near Trafalgar Sq., i read Sartre's human comedy where with unabashed delivery he copies the ending of James Joyce's Ulysses, a stream of consciousness where there is no punctuation, a river of words, a great metaphorical technique, forget punctuation, leave the reader making his own indentations... the book in question? iron in the soul, a mimic of Ulysses, absolutely no punctuation, again a metaphor of a maxim by Heraclitus... and you know what sort of heaven i believe in? a place were you can find how each reader punctuated the text, you can see what punctuation was used where, otherwise, all punctuation was missing - i need to find this library.

i know i can have an obstructive demeanour,
but i'm shoving these swear words in your
face like i'd be shoving you pictures of torture or
*******, ****'s for real, you can't be serious
to suppose seeing a correct spelling is worth
a f *
* or mm mm mm something or other, can you?
a little bit of criticism goes a long way,
now that i found out that i'm part of the 1.8 million
threshold,
force of nature writing a sociology essay
plagiarising to beat the system of anti-plagiarism
on purpose, not that i'd be found out but that i
wanted to see how plagiarism-proof the system was,
i just cheated using the synonym principle,
and it does indeed exist, received a 1st plagiarising
someone else's work by being a grammatical plumber
or electrician, hell a barber or a hairdresser if you like!
fiddle a word here, fiddle a word here,
do the most obscene mindless regurgitation of theory
imaginable, yep, the synonym principle,
a bit like deep blue v. Kasparov, only i was smarter
than deep blue... the infinite diadems of language
as appropriated by individuation, no wonder this
phonetic encoding produced the omni- to which
everything was ascribed in that unit of connectivity
spelled g o d... Kant does indeed mention this, for about
40 pages he's stressing a simplicity, something that has
to be simple, something necessary and something
simple... some key phrases:
defined throughout all categories (praedikamente)
or quiet simply "unavoidable" predicaments (well
"unavoidable" because it's already apparent that a large
number of people prefer to kneel and mumble
the our father and desire a pope's pomp of attire),
a german word for fiction (erdichtung),
i still need to find out what scil. abbreviation means,
highest entity (ens summum),
highest thing would begin with res... summum
i.e. the sun,
                    i mean i could list all the examples, but what
a waste of time if you haven't read it yourself,
40 pages? give it about three hours, and oddly enough,
listening to Salmonella Dub's inside the dub plates
album... outside in the garden measuring adequate
light with the setting of the sun, i can get lost for hours,
perhaps adoration for this subjects stems from a lack of
care, or the simplest imaginable life, a life were
"reality" is unquestionable, in that you have so few problems
that you have to invent problems, metaphysics;
you didn't actually think my interest in this field is
purely pretentious? i find the hardest thing in written
philosophy is: a. disengagement from internalised cognitive
dialectics that makes Popper a bit like Heidegger
tongue-tied in an incompetent lack of persuasion
(i.e. anti-rhetorical) of their own arguments,
and b. the adjective, i mean, come on, pure reason?
what the hell is impure reason then? oh i know, a thousand
psychological profiles, you see the critique of impure
reason all the time under the curtains of our social endeavour,
criminals, news flash of horrific stories, all the ****** time...
for goodness sake Kant mocks malignant gossiping /
the socially acceptable form of lying as the least of your worries
that doesn't extend to mugging or stabbing you,
some might just now exclaim with a phew;
but 40 pages and what not, a horror movie scene...
a man walks into a supermarket,
puts a beer and a bottle of coke into his basket,
walks into the hard liquor isle, his cheap-*** whiskey isn't there,
he asks the shelf stacker if she could get a bottle
for him... so she goes to the storage room,
the man ends up waiting about fives minutes
looking at Sharon fruit, apples and roll-mops of
pickled herring, bread and t.v. magazines at a distance,
the woman comes back with a whole trolley of goods
that need to be stacked, but she says to him
that she needs to put on the security tag on the bottle
(standard procedure in English supermarkets),
and the man is like, huh? i'm going to buy it in a second
and you're telling me that you'll actually put on a
security tag on the bottle, just so another supermarket
employee will have to take off for absolutely no
******* reason? this is what routine does to you...
an elephant just walked through the room and you
only realised 10 minutes later after memory electrocuted
you for a snap reminder.
NOLWAZI JOUBERT Apr 2015
little children are abondoned by thier parents,                                                  left to raise each other on their own,  learn to survive in the streets,            forced to live under the influence of drugs and earn a living from mugging.                                                         ­                                                    Mothers forced to labour with children on thier backs,                         they rather sleep with empty stomachs sacrifising only for their children.                                                        ­                                                    Man begging for food,they nolonger know how to give.                          They wear shreaded clothes and survive from the tiny bread crumps thrown into trash cans.                They sleep under the fierce weathers, the wind cutting through thier skin and all that keep them warm is plastic bags.                                                            ­                                 What ever happened to my country is surely brutal South Africa can never be the same again unless we change it.
every street coner of my country either has a man, woman or child begging and a lot of crime takes place everyday.
Wayne H Colegate Mar 2015
Sadness comes in all flavours and hits harder some days than others.
It makes a sky darker and the sun further away like long lost brothers.
Sadness can make your very soul tremble at the break of dawn
it can make your heart burn when you know that she is gone.
Sadness plays no favorites, it gives no special odds or choice
it jumps up at a moment's notice and screams with a bitter voice.
Sadness is what we try to avoid, what we all try to escape
like a corner mugging or a vicious painful ****.
It's out there, lurking in the darkness, calling out our name
pretending that its happiness and trying to be the same.
No warning is sufficient no alarm gives us enough time
there is no chance to skirt the pain or miss the crime.
Sadness is the anxiety that kills our soul and heart
now we wait to see just when the old car rolls in to start.
PK Wakefield Mar 2011
barely it was swaying terrifically in cotton wind of sharp niggling wafers that flummox specially the growling infant sea, this lake, where i am by and satting with my soft particular femme who's metal slithers from her very roundest nostrils glinting rather unobtrusive and stubbornly silver. and jousting by in meager dollops college children blatantly. a basic scent of nonsense huddles on the 2's and 3's (or mayhaps more) they slant upon the dappled lazy soil reticent and uncouthly tread upon with flats little souls. their heads are fat with gullible churning knowledge. they farted from the dusted books. that stately chord of mugging music. that lays in bricks and mortared sighs. on the hillest of tops over looking the cordial bay.
Jaymisun Kearney Nov 2013
No
Old dilemma swooping down from the rafters and attacking me.
I've got a word of interesting news for you, you mugging beast.
You're the stain of a shadow on the wall facing a setting sun.
A disintegrating shaking hand in spasm reaching up the rungs.

You'll never catch my ankles.
A bird has told me this today.
A bird who's warming your same corner.
Wing blasting halcyon gusts you'll never know.

Say
what you want to say:
Days have taken of mine what even dreams cannot completely give.
I'll never really notice or control this wind.
I'll never grasp how fantastically we live.
Since you say, then I'll say:
No.

Emotional geosynchronous goddess pulling puppet strings.
Each time the world shrinks you're saving me from being meat.
Casual human casualty falling down dead in cyber war.
Sinking in depression's constantly connected disconnected *****.

I'll never catch your disease.
The earth has told me this today.
Earth who's your eternal mourner.
Keeping for you forever seeds you won't sow.
You'll never catch my ankles.
A bird has told me this today.
A bird who's warming your same corner.
Wing blasting halcyon gusts you'll never know.

Say
what you want to say.
You're free to say so and since you say so
I'll say what I want,
say,
No.

Maybe you were close, but not nearly close enough.
Ryan Bowdish Jan 2011
HE. IS:
A whirlwind of absolute rage and apathy
Cruising through life like a pitfall
Without a place to land.
All these problems, all these horrors,
Mugging, ******, ******, genocide,
Making people pay to live,
Making people believe money is the root of all evil.

When I met you, I wanted to dominate you.
And you wanted that. Is that really right?
Because now all I want is to show you affection.

We would take each other as ******.
We must take each other as we are.
I love you for every single thing you ****** up.
I love you for every single thing you did right.
I love you for understanding I am a child.
And so are you.
We are children, wandering and wondering
What is it we're going to do?
"I can't take care of myself!"
Neither can I! But I can take care of you.
Let's eat.
Let's enjoy it.
Let's not feel disgusting.

Because we're beautiful.
And putridity is wondrous.

I wanted you to hit me so hard.
I wanted your lips to break in mine.
Your teeth are wise, your tongue is buzzing and fluttering.
Your eyes, red and itching,
Burning and running black down your cheeks
Your pupils so large,
Your irises glowing
The whites were just water
Water and salt
And pain

And agony
For him
For you
For me
For our parents and that girl I met when I was ONLY NINE
And alcohol and war and self-loathing
And lack of confidence.

We will cry for everyone we can not fix
And it will be the best thing in the world
Because when we're fixed, we're going to be real adults.
Geniuses.

I hope you don't have to leave.
Because you are strong enough to do this yourself.

And no matter where we go...
No matter what God is watching
(if there is one), I love you.

And ******, I love myself.
I strolled among lavendills
in the pithy piney plodding hills
bearing the brunt of burdensome *******
as I garnished  grins of whippoorwills.

On a plateau-ish plain  of prickly peet
I felt the bog beneath my feet
tickling my toes with ****** tainted thorns,
I remembered gnarling days, and stood forlorn.

Pickled poesy pomagroups
foretold of future ladle scoops
in caligrating loop the loops in styles
reminding me of marching troops.

In shifting shylock shapes of time
with ripping radishes of rhyme
I began my daring dew descent
to the lowly muppet mugging climes.

When, on sordid stony steppes I stood,
amid the brash and boorish wood,
wenting where I was, I brought
a hinting hackle pang of good.
Kasey Jun 2014
He's the cigarette that makes me want to take up smoking.
Because he'd be so good with a cup of coffee on a lazy Saturday morning.
He's every line I've crossed out trying to put to words how I'd like to breathe his poison
Over and over again.
Until he's nothing but a pile of embers and my lungs are black with ash.
He's two strong arms hovering around the waists of girls who already know they're beautiful,
Cause he doesn't have time for girls who don't realize it.
He's a tall, strong whiskey on the rocks.
Sharp as a knife in a New York City mugging,
Cool as the Los Angeles breeze,
Deadly as the Arizona summer.
All I want is to inhale deeply and let him slowly
Stop my breath.
Riot Jan 2015
you think she deserved to be hurt
because she was out with her friends wearing a mini skirt
i guessed when the lines are blurred
you can't really tell whose right
your mom or your dad
your mom saying "get her with respect"
your dad saying "get on top"
her saying "stop... stop... stop"

broken and bruised
her body has been used as a play thing
up on the stand he asks "what were you wearing?"
instead of crying she says
"i'm flattered but my outfit wasn't that mesmerizing
would you ask a mugging victim why he had is wallet on him that night?
so why would you ask a girl if her jeans were skin tight?
why don't you ask the parents why their sons head wasn't on right?
or why at the store the tag on my skirt didn't say
"get ready to fight for your life?"
and hey your suit looks nice attorney
maybe i should stab you for it
would i go to jail
or get away with **"he wanted it?"
Tommy Johnson Jun 2014
There's a town somewhere up north off of route 54
It's cheap to live there, but I wouldn't recommend it
It's streets run with greed, ****** and sin
The people there are devoid any sense of ethics
It will leave you all shocked and breathless
Welcome to the neighborhood
Where you board up your windows and doors then double check if they're locked
Where you can always hear some one screaming
"Stop"
"Stop"

The mayor has been in office for six terms
And in his cabinet are members of the mob
Whose fronts are local mom and pops
Where junkies like to hang out
While a mugging of an eighty four year old widow takes place around the block
Welcome to the neighborhood
Where you board up your windows and doors then double check if they're locked
Where you can always hear some one screaming
"Stop"
"Stop"
       -Tommy Johnson

The youth are all in gangs that **** each other
Delinquent dropouts doing drive by's
Defiling untouched regions between innocent women's thighs
Girls making appointments for back alley coat hanger abortions
As some hate group constructs homemade bombs

Welcome to the neighborhood
Where you board up your windows and doors then double check if they're locked
Where you can always hear some one screaming
"Stop"
"Stop"

Diseases and food shortages
Rotten government cheese and unpaid mortgages
Call the department of health and human services
Life here is unbearable mercilessness  

Poverty and violence
Money and bullets keep those who might talk silent
Here it has come down to a simple science
The spineless **** the non-compliant for their defiance and they lay lifeless by the hands of those who commit viscous acts so mindless

Where you board up your windows and doors then double check if they're locked
Where you can always hear some one screaming
"Stop"
"Stop"

You may ask, "where is God or the police?"
They're doing their bi-weekly patrol
And they're both on big brother's private payroll
There is now law and order in this contaminated area
It's an unkempt, repugnant pustule in the middle of the caked-on face of America

Welcome to the neighborhood
Where you board up your windows and doors then double check if they're locked
Where you can always hear some one screaming
"Stop"
"Stop"
Infamous one Feb 2013
Night alone my mind starts to roam
Leave me alone I'm not answering my phone
Writing gets me in the zone
I say what I think in words
Don't care for confrontation get out of my face
Talk about me behind my face you disgrace
Pain in my heart the mean things provoked to say
You made me go there that's not fair
You don't care how I feel mean mugging cold stare
My fun ruined I can't complain waste of my time
I'm not who you make me out to be
I break free stand up to your terror mentalist
Rebel in protest you can't judge me
Your dead to me get out of my head
Steven L Herring Feb 2017
Stacked smoke billowing to the sky
Mixing
Mingling
Mugging moisture from the air
and raining down into the streets below.

We tread upon it unconsciously
Care corrupted by a deadline
from some place we must be,
so into the gutters it doth flee
flowing just beneath
and into the sea
and into the ground

The animals drink it
The plants tortured turgor broken backs with it
Packeged in pools
Sent through pipes to me
and to you

We drink the dragons breath
Drunk on power
Pitiless to the plight of the flower
Breathing sulfuric steam
Green to yellow
Yellow to brown to gray to black

We started to take it back,
but the power
The lust for more
The trust in ****** and swindles and crooks
brought back by cornered mouths hooked.

Green could be life,
but green is now greed
and we are but claws
on the feet of scaled beasts
I wrote this for our Mother Earth
Yenson Jul 2019
See the TRUTH and shame the devil
Tell the truth and shame the devil
duplicity, chicanery, Machiavellian and being disingenuous
all have consequences that you will pay for eventually
You have ruined names, reputations, careers and a happy home
in what you lied is some revolution against 'Elitism'
when they truth is a racist mobbing of a successful black couple
who stood up to a thieving racist family and thus your racist war

Tell the truth and shame the devil
you and your mob of criminal gang-stalkers and fooled vigilantes
have framed, fabricated, manipulated, hounded and intimidated
gone through every insidious permutations of Gang-stalkers Manual
thinking I would have broken down or committed suicide by now
you taken an innocent couple, divided them and wrecked love
you've ruined careers, made me jobless, isolated me, spread poison

Tell the truth and shame the devil
you keep on fabricating lies to hide your evil deeds and manners
got unaware masses believing your framing and cover ups
after creating false and staged incidences and happenings
all done to keep stitching me up as you have always done
fooling people into believing they are gods controlling things
selling dummies to people and mugging their intelligence

Tell the truth and shame the devil
you racist bullies picking on a black man because he has no gang
because he is polished and calm, you assume he'll fall in no time
you diminish my strength, stoicism, by creating false reasons
my self-respect, self-assurance and self control you hinge on false
premises, inferring I can only maintain your enforced celibacy
because I am stripping women with my eyes or gaping at big *****

Tell the truth and shame the devil
You are racist criminals hell bent on silencing and destroying me
I am standing still cause I am innocent, confident, intelligent brave
I do not operate through the base instincts of people like you
who are governed by their simple minds and uninformed emotions
childish, immature, base, uncouth, crass indulgent, simplistic *****
your asinine attempts at manipulation or control is all a big con
on the masses who you have hood=winked from day one till now

Tell the truth and shame the devil
off-course you can not because you are all born liars and psychos
triggers, hinges, anchors, sensitizing, gas-lighting, hazing, softening, terrorizing, demoralizing, how long you have been at it,
I am still standing, I am not scared of low lives, **** and criminals
You can fool all the people some of the time and some of the people all the time, but you cannot fool all the people all the time.

                       Tell the truth and shame the devil
Tell the truth and shame the devil
                         Tell the truth and shame the devil
Tell the truth and shame the devil
In East London in England, in the poorer areas, they have a code of Silence, you dont talk, you dont see and you dont hear ' NOFINK ' And most importantly you do not stand up to a gang of crooks like a decent citizen and tell them you are going to expose them and you are not afraid of them. I did just that. I am paying the price cause I believe this is what a straight law-abiding person does and despite my ruination and everything, I will do exactly the same again. Better to die than be ruled in FEAR by some lowlife criminals. I told them to go get proper legit jobs and stop being a public disgrace, they replied I was to be sent to the University of Life for further training. The upshot is I am now in a concentration camp, I suppose that's to improve my concentration as they strip me of all basic human Rights and my Right to peace, Joy and Happiness and everything good . They haven't starved me though, I get copious amounts of reduced goods from the stores but absolutely nothing else, not even a hello, good-bye or even a basic 'thanks for your custom, only cold unfriendly stares, if not being harassed and taunted and lately some big ***** women standing in my way. Not very nice I tell you, what's the point, a pariah feeling **** is really like a fish needing a swimming costume and an inflatable fish.
You've gotta laugh................
TrueSun Oct 2014
Your friends are low lifes don't act surprised
Where the ******* think they be going at night
parties and kick backs just so they feel alive
copying all these artists tryna be a bad *****
but when it comes to school you ain't know ****
you would throw your life away cause you would wanna get high
but the support of help is there but you just let it ****** pass by
but you still don't understand
havin fun being "turned up" really makes you a man?
following the life of an artists that don't give a **** about your plans
thinking life is boring and so is school
wanna make it out of  trillions of people and you think the world will listen to you?
thugs get mad cause a ***** be mean mugging
but at the end you proved nothing
now you in a jail cell and your guilt is bugging
you don't listen to your mind when its trying to tell you something.

— The End —