"murdering" poems
i am much younger than i am
my hair is dark and thick
instead of pruned bald
i am lean and meek
feeling hollow
as if weightless
we are at an airport
with no memory of getting there
i had left my hotel room urgently
in a jacket that is not mine
i can't find my Swedish wife
whom i miss like a panicked child
and my Asian wife whom i've never never met before
and know all to well
is angry
and could care less if i got lost forever
i am going home to my parents house
i remember that they are dead
but we had just spoken
there will be soup and Hors d'oeuvre's
they wait for me
on my way
the streets and boulevards are unfamiliar
yet old hat
and no matter how long i walk
i can never find their house
located somewhere in Brooklyn
on Haze street in San Francisco
i have a business
and retain no idea of what i do
i left my cloths somewhere
and i don't know why
in a locality i cant remember
for a reason that doesn't exist
a beautiful woman smiles offers me ***
she is friends with a girlfriend whom i'm committed too
but do not know and never met
i want to cheat with her
but guilty kisses will ruin everything
so i turn away
murdering desire
in an already anchor-less miasma
i remember a past
my life a continuum
of disjointed vagaries
tears well up
i fear myself a figment
a bodiless revenant
stranded in a fog
sparkles and smoke
incandescence and shrouds
a dis-junctured soul
that clutches memories
like braids of dust
living in the eye of nothing
a labyrinth of shades
lighted by the sun of cognizance
a wretched phantom
transparent husk
living a dark fiction
my grave a womb
i am the dead living
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 10:27 AM UTC
Endless stains of blood
On white t-shirts
On nights that scatter blue trees over black earth
Alight by shooting stars
The mother tells her child
Unwilling to unlock the truth
The truth those stars
Don't grant your wishes
They grab them
With scarred scratching hands.
Alight,
The damp stitches in the soil
Cemetery symmetrical to hospital
Those shooting stars circling
Like a vulture
Speeds towards dead carcasses
Still, the murdering star will not cease
To break bones
That have already broken
To take lives
That have already been taken
To burn
What is already charred
Today
smells like burnt muddied skin
feels like gnawing on your own fingers for feast
sounds like tired, howling machines
spurring and sputtering, never-ending their onwards trek
Swallowing distances and with it, nameless faces
countless places
Today the earthquakes of death
Don't make the land shake anymore
For it has learned to cope
With the desolate cemeteries filled with mute bones
Today burns like gasoline
Looks like intestines decorating destroyed doorways
Today it rains curdled crimson
Tell me shooting star
If the child liked jam on his toast
Did he snore?
Did he like math? Or english?
Shooting star doesn't know and neither the bombs.
As bodies fall from trees
like rotten plums.
The world was born in blood
And has not ceased to suckle its wounds
Endless blood thirst, Endless war
But not endless skin to bleed.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 2:41 AM UTC
I want it so bad
Never going to quit it
Flip the switch and hit ignition
Toss these hands I talk in all ten digits
**** wishing - let me finish,
Raw- dish it out the kitchen
Saw- vision now they listen
Off an opp and take position
Never in my life did i think i'd make it
Fight, take it
Might bend to vice
Been in sight, fend or die breaking
God I know you hear my pain
Twisted system call em' viens
Wicked lifted off the reigns
Vicious gifted follow flame
Agh! I'm a savage, a beast
Murdering beats, I read it and weep, God
Looking to thee, God- never going to stop watch
Put 'em em a lock box.. one shot
So sorry, not the man you needed
On my knees I don't believe em'
Read between I'm not deceiving
Split the means I mean
Never in my life did i think i'd make it
Fight, take it
Might bend to vice
Been in sight, fend or die breaking
God I know you hear my pain
Twisted system call em viens
Wicked lifted off the reigns
Vicious gifted follow flame
Hope I can say something worth a ****
Hope I can change something understand this
Pressure pinning me down
Picture myself under the ground
Taking leaps and bounds
Can i stand it be without
Peaking then drown - **** it all
Speaking my meaning - Hear me now
Never in my life did i think i'd make it
Fight, take it
Might bend to vice
Been in sight, fend or die breaking
God I know you hear my pain
Twisted system call em' viens
Wicked lifted off the reigns
Vicious gifted follow flame
Agh why looking to me for something deep
I can’t even feel emotion
let that **** repeatin’ heat in motion
seeking to be not broken
Leave it to me, reach between lost omens
Looking to feed the beast I’m hopin’
Ahead of my time I’m rapping these rhymes
But go unnoticed
Never in my life did i think i'd make it
Fight, take it
Might bend to vice
Been in sight, fend or die breaking
God I know you hear my pain
Twisted system call em' viens
Wicked lifted off the reigns
Vicious gifted follow flame
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 5:29 PM UTC
This is for my generation.
A generation full of selfies, in short for selfish.
A generation of women murdering their own unborn babies.
Woman walk around half dressed hoping a man will grant them respect.
As they reclaim their lives, renaming it feminism at it's best.
This is for my generation.
A generation of men that rather play with their hands.
Rather than creating work out of their bare hands.
Lusting for women as if we were created for one night stands.
We are the millennials. We're full of worldly distractions.
Looking for our parents to be the lending tree.
Since we spend most of our money on ***** & ****
This is for my generation.
Can't you see we're slowly dying off? We are becoming too self involved.
While every pleasure keeps causing our own demise.
We're too stubborn to realize our ways are flawed.
We mask it and look for love in other people. Yet, we feel emptier when the love isn't reciprocated. Some call this "unrequited love".
This is for my generation.
I'm here to tell you that, you are loved, you are cherished, and you can be forgiven. You can be saved, not by your works or how much money you make.
If you only believe what He did for you on the cross.
The perfect blood Atonement.
We are the Godless generation. Most would say they believe in evolution, perhaps others would mention God.
This is for my generation.
See, Jesus didn't come for the religious people. In fact, he called them frauds. He's more than just a bunch of rules and laws. In reality, He only came to save the lost. Which lead him to be hated, beaten and killed on a cross. 3 days later, He rose from the dead something Allah never did.
Now that our King is risen, He's offering a free gift of salvation. That's why it's called Grace. Being coming Christian doesn't make you perfect, don't get it twisted. I'm just a forgiven sinner by His definition.
The choice is yours.
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 3:43 AM UTC
'Tryna get to sunny Californy' -
Boom. It's the awful raincoat
making me look like a selfdefeated self-murdering imaginary gangster, an idiot in a rueful coat, how can they understand my damp packs - my mud packs -
„Look John, a hitchhiker'
„He looks like he's got a gun underneath that I. R. A. coat'
'Look Fred, that man by the road' „Some sexfiend got in print in 1938 in *** Magazine' –
„You found his blue corpse in a greenshade edition, with axe blots'
10.6k
Murdering murderers
done gone
melancholy
in the moonlight.
It's midnight.
The perfect time
to commit a crime.
Here's to premeditated drug dealing.
And everything else that can get me
a one way ticket.
To the Devil's bed-room.
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 11:55 AM UTC
with nothing else
to fill their bellies
the mice went back
to eating poison
and the ants in search of crumbs
came back with nothing
but death on their backs
to feed their queens
and under the light of the stars
we crumbled
the murdering of crows
was made legal
as the color of the doves guilt
was decided to be more pure
than the blood of a dead mans heart
no matter the weight of his innocence
and all this could have been stopped
all this could have been avoided
none of this...
none of it...
had to happen
but we heard the screams of kindness
we heard its cry for help
we saw the hands of cruelty around its neck
we saw the hate foaming
we saw the dreams bleeding out
and we did
nothing
and misery breed
and filled the streets
and slept in our beds
and made its home
under our skin
and not even the light of the stars
was enough for us to remember
what it meant to be human
back before we abandoned joy
in the pursuit of the wealth of greed
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 3:27 PM UTC
**** masterminds
steer clear of this man
He's relentless
a pitbull
Lumping up Pinkman
for no logical reason
He's a madman
Massacres Mexican
kingpins and button men
Knocks out Keith Jardine
in a barfight
initiated as a ptsd
relief valve
Maddog brothers
Axe murdering elite
eliminated with a bullet
a fender
and a little help from Gustavo Fring
The only man
to walk away unscathed
from the exploding head of Danny Trejo debacle
Houndog Hank
the sherman tank
is hot on Heisenbergs trail.
Its almost guaranteed
One of them will die
Heisenbergs Bad
But Schrader
is badass.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 6:09 AM UTC
I am the love killer,
I am murdering the music we thought so special,
that blazed between us, over and over.
I am murdering me, where I kneeled at your kiss.
I am pushing knives through the hands
that created two into one.
Our hands do not bleed at this,
they lie still in their dishonor.
I am taking the boats of our beds
and swamping them, letting them cough on the sea
and choke on it and go down into nothing.
I am stuffing your mouth with your
promises and watching
you ***** them out upon my face.
The Camp we directed?
I have gassed the campers.
Now I am alone with the dead,
flying off bridges,
hurling myself like a beer can into the wastebasket.
I am flying like a single red rose,
leaving a jet stream
of solitude
and yet I feel nothing,
though I fly and hurl,
my insides are empty
and my face is as blank as a wall.
Shall I call the funeral director?
He could put our two bodies into one pink casket,
those bodies from before,
and someone might send flowers,
and someone might come to mourn
and it would be in the obits,
and people would know that something died,
is no more, speaks no more, won't even
drive a car again and all of that.
When a life is over,
the one you were living for,
where do you go?
I'll work nights.
I'll dance in the city.
I'll wear red for a burning.
I'll look at the Charles very carefully,
weraing its long legs of neon.
And the cars will go by.
The cars will go by.
And there'll be no scream
from the lady in the red dress
dancing on her own Ellis Island,
who turns in circles,
dancing alone
as the cars go by.
5.6k
well...
she didn't want me...
because i didn't
want to do **** with her...
and because i cooked
better than her;
or as one homosexual said:
**** *** isn't really the norm
in homosexuality,
most **** *** takes place
between heterosexual couples;
maybe i just don't feel
like talking about curtains
and napkins growing
old in front of a television screen?
i think it's called companionship,
without the authority brigade to
get alimony and other stipends
for a degree designating milking-it...
as might require a woman shackling
a partner with a few witnesses,
like priest, lawyer... psychiatrist;
god they're scared... they don't even
fear murdering you,
and when they try to, they just
bellow out: 'my brother is dead!
my brother is dead!' no, he's alive,
he should have been dead 8 years ago,
but you miscalculated;
they're just scared of something
that doesn't resemble a cage,
as every housewife might tell you:
a duck in a cage kept for petting
rather than sloth for quickened
fattening and eating will
make the one eating it loose the plot...
the duck will just pretend to be stupid.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 3:36 PM UTC
I hate you.
Almost as much as I love you.
I've been fantasizing about stabbing you in the legs the way I used to fantasize about kissing your face.
I thought that I had one person I could always count on,
I just knew you'd never betray me.
Guess I was wrong.
You broke my heart,
I want to break your spine.
You make the worst ex ever, and now you're mine.
I want to hurt you the way you hurt me.
I want to stuff glass into your arteries.
I want you to stop saying you're sorry.
I want you to invent a time machine,
So this'll never've happened.
So neither of us will've learned this lesson.
"Darling you're the world to me"
"My love, you make me so happy"
What an idiot I was to believe these things.
Now you've got me writing slam poetry
Because I figure it's better than murdering you-
And that little ***** you ****** too.
You were drunk!
You felt alone,
You were confused,
And guess who was right there to comfort you?
That's no excuse.
I sure hope going down on someone new,
Was worth throwing that rare and beautiful thing we had away.
I never knew someone could hurt me this way.
Oh and by the way, I hate you.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 10:15 PM UTC
It was supposed to be
The dawn of a new age;
A new set of dialogue
On a more balanced stage
With better lines for
The actors to deliver.
It was supposed to start in
The sixties and last forever.
We didn’t really know for sure
What this Aquarius stuff was
But it seemed to us to be
A metaphysical enough cause,
To change the way we acted
And to shout down the rest;
To face the demagogues
Then put them to the test.
We stopped wearing uniforms
That said we went along
With the hard-assed leaders.
We put a lot of it in our songs.
We called them what they were
Greedy warmongering ******
We protested and picketed
And promised so much more.
We spoke out loudly on TV
And in crowds in the streets
That we were through will genocide
And would not accept defeat.
We cried out that our government
Had assumed the role of villain
And was murdering for no reason
Not just men, but even children.
But, we let it all die down;
We let the government slide
On investigating the truth
And keeping the truth inside
A carefully chosen batch of
Criminals in public office.
We let them go on making war
And making money off us.
We let them cheat and lie
And re-write acceptable laws
To support their bloodthirstiness
And we gave up on our cause.
Maybe all that protesting gave
All our marching feet limps.
Or maybe it’s because all along
We were just a bunch of wimps.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 9:38 PM UTC
A blood red sunset drips over
the black asphalt city skyline
somewhere in a lost part of America
where the dream has
long been dead and buried
and hate and fear rule
the rural streets that are protected
by peace keepers
that practice ******
more often than upholding the law
It has been declared open season
on any crow the color
of a starless night sky
and the dove has become
a symbol of
to protect and serve
their own kind
birds of a feather
that cover for one another
justice is blinded
by the snow covered truth
and the color of corruption
is coincidentally the same
as the color of money
the poor have little choice
but to trade their bones
and their hopes
to the corporations
of the new land
of the free
to be owned by
and controlled by
a minimum wage
that only guarantees
to keep the poor
poor enough
to work another day
and another day
and another day
until there bones are
nothing but powder
and their beds
are nothing but coffins
for the barely living
and life somewhere
in a lost part of America
at the end of everyday
the sky turns red
and the color of blood
runs through the streets
as the doves go along
with their business
of the murdering of crows
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 10:27 PM UTC
Dr. King said “I have a dream”,
But his dream suffered homicide in the streets of our nightmares.
Murdered by the people who were supposed to protect us.
336 innocent people killed in 2015, because the police saw color instead of people,
I suppose the color of their skin was more important than human rights.
Because someone's melanin pigment spoke more to how people perceived them than did the color of their character.
So much has changed, but we’re not done yet.
There are still racists hiding behind screens, and cops who refuse body cams.
The white man in blue suits killings brown kid’s dreams, murdering their moments and god ****
Dr. King’s dream of peace and harmony dies in the eyes of every American citizen.
You know things ain’t right when you are more worried about your boyfriend with cops than with drug dealers.
You know something is wrong when walking with him at night is more dangerous for him than for me.
You know there’s a problem when there are too many cops, not enough justice,
Too many them and not enough us and....
Dr. King said “I have a dream”,
And.... So much has changed, but we’re not done yet.
When there are still people like Sandra Bland, and Mike Brown, who die for no reason, then we aren't done yet.
Because when people are more comfortable on a street with gun shots than cops, then we aren't done yet.
When I still get looks for having a black boyfriend, then WE AREN'T DONE YET.
We won’t be done until there’s equality, until there’s no more violence, it may not happen in my life time, but we aren’t done yet.
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 2:21 PM UTC
Does evil exist?
Well, does it, or not?
I demand an answer
And if it does, hold that thought
Because if wrong does exist
We must face the reality
That calling something wrong means
There's a right way things ought to be
But if wrong does not truly
Exist in bright colors
Well, what, then is justice
But a meaningless construct?
If the **** of a child
In all histories and cultures
Can be called pure evil
Even by society's worst prisoners
If the ****** of innocents
Is forever and always
An evil in society
That can't be tolerated
If imprisonment of a woman
Like chattel for sale
Being held as a *** slave
In her own private hell
Or murdering Jews
Like Hitler's evil plan
Or starving millions unjustly
In Stalin's Ukraine
Or killing the masses
For political expedience
Culling babies in China
Or locking up dissidents
If beheading of heretics
Is inherently wrong
Or even violating your privacy
Or invading your home
If these are universally bad
And there's meaning in words
Then there's universal good
That our souls are drawn toward
Something more than just philosophy
Because that lacks authority
And if good is defined by the majority
Then what about the minority?
Tyrants run roughshod
When rights come and go
At the whims of the powerful
Because what they say goes
No, evil is something
More than laws, or from cultures
Or philosophical sophistry
From ivory towers
To try to stop badness
Is really to defend
That there's a god of pure goodness
Who wants us like him
We can discuss who that god is
And what is his substance
But the least we can do
Is acknowledge his existence
You can say that religion
Starts evil wars and such
And you might just be right
But you've just proved too much
Because if there is no god
Whose nature defines goodness
Who are you to call war bad
Or **** evil, or hate, darkness?
Who are you to sit in judgment
Of the religious who you think hate you?
If there is no moral standard
That makes hate wrong, and judging too?
If morality is nothing more
Than just a social contract
Then it's just he said/she said
And there's no moral compass
You see, your compass is as good as mine
And that may be fine, generally
Until the ****** asserts his own
Warped idea of morality
What makes his wrong
And yours universally right?
That's a tough question
That keeps philosophers up at night
Because indeed, if there is no god
There's no guilt to assuage
For the wrongs that man does
Because there is no such gauge
It's like measuring empty
Without knowing what full is
Or like trying to describe love
Without knowing who God is
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 6:59 PM UTC
A child wanders the hall before school starts
The emptiness and loneliness are his education
New children enter the school
As they exit the bus
Light shines on the school
As it exits the Sun
Yet the wandering child's eyes must adjust
To colors he's starting to see
Colors like jealousy and frustration
The wandering child is powerless to the explosive light
And searches for ways to extinguish it
He finds his solution in the room where we keep our guns
The room sits in the dark center of the building
Across the hall from where we keep our children
Kids have been playing with guns for a while now
Everyone my age that I know
Imagined shooting up their school
These are well adjusted people
It's just the times we live in
And what it takes to adjust
There are some things that will remain true
Killing is wrong
And murdering a murderer is ******
The executioner hides his face in shame
He's ashamed of the enjoyment he feels
From the power he holds over other people's lives
Unaware the power he holds
Is meant to come from love
Love that has been buried
For the temporary thrill of death
It seems like a dark joke
Giving a child a gun
And then asking them to go through high school
Because kids are ******* stupid
And some people never grow up
And high school never ends
The wandering child takes his newly found arsenal
To the densely populated cafeteria
Only to realize the other children are just as well armed
They drown in tension
When their actions have megaton weight
Before anyone can say anything
Everyone starts shooting
They grade each other in their minds
And their test comes at the end of the barrel
They find validation
In blood splattered on the wall
And bodies that once stood now lying
The gunshots deafened the wandering child
And the smoke blinded him
Reminiscent of the emptiness and loneliness before school started
This was his education
Today I watched a bunch of ants eating one another
Their ant hill collapsed as rain started pouring
Yet they continued killing each other as they drowned
They all seemed to be the same size
But their problems seemed so much bigger
So they found comfort in killing one another instead
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 8:30 AM UTC
*This poem is dedicated to the memory of Admiral Albert ***** Potter who displayed amazing bravery by wearing full drag through several major sea battles. He was cashiered for insisting the Admiralty rename his ship HMS Butch instead of HMS Fearless. In fact the vessel was eventually renamed HMS Damp **** because it was full of ******
A life on the ocean wave, **
In the olden days of sail
When England's ships were proud and brave
And their crews were very male.
The Captain stood upon his bridge
Looking smart and flash;
But below the decks, the orders were
*** and *** and the lash.
The bosun went to the main gunroom,
**** Deadeye at the ready;
Initiation time had come
For little midshipman Freddy.
"Strap him o'er that cannon, lads!"
Roared the hirsute fellow,
"Gag his mouth securely, lads,
In case he tries to bellow!"
The sailors did as he had bid -
Refused and they'd be punished -
And they knew their turn would come
After the bosun had finished.
The bosun went up the poor young lad
And soon was going strong;
Midshipman Fred looked rather pained -
The Bosun was THICK and LONG.
Then came the turn of the other men
And they set to with a will;
Little Fred could not say no
Until they'd had their fill.
What a life our sailors had then,
Always singing shanties;
When men were men and big and butch
And cabin boys wore silk *******
A life on the ocean wave, **
With the rolling sea and the spray.
Sinking the Frogs and murdering Wogs
Kept England's sailors so gay.
OLÉ! OLÉ! OLÉ! OLÉ! OLÉ! OLÉ!
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 6:37 PM UTC
A crow never stole corn
that the earth didn’t give freely
The man too often takes
too much credit for what
he puts down into the dirt
Wether it is a seed or a body
As if he alone made
life sprout and grow
As if without him
the earth would not be green
the sky would not be blue
As if he himself is
the very GOD he prays to
The man forgets his place
when murdering the crow
for nothing more
than being a crow
Mistaking black beaks
and black feathers
and black eyes
as things that must
always be up to no good
A bird that is no good
for anything but a target
for his hate and fear
As if the crows heart
was meant for nothing other
than to give his bullets
something to bite into
The man becomes something
less and less
every time he murders
another crow
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 11:33 PM UTC
Some get that way by playing it safe,
memorizing mantras, righteously abiding by rules,
some get there by cutting seams,
lost in purposelessness, partaking of
ether, marijuana, alcohol, or anything
that's buzzy enough,
some find their sweepstakes in curls,
in fantasies, on the internet, or in the aftermath,
some claim the spoils, some gracefully accept
determination, some divorce their wives,
some happily raise their pulse to the heavy metals,
some review albums and cut down the ********
some write love stories for our grandmas,
our moms,
our ex-girlfriends,
some find it in politics, right winging, left winging, chicken winging,
some in bomb threats,
some find it in supremacy,
others in melting pots,
some cheer up over breakroom chitty-chats,
some in **** ***
some in sympathizing with pedophiles trapped in iron lungs,
some when they have hit the bottom rung,
some by rationalizing,
boosting themselves above half-wrongs,
to coast on the half-rights,
some by breaking up,
some by declaring war,
only to get discouraged, yet proud of the scars,
some kids dance to experimental music,
some write blogs about capitalism,
some find it kicking it with bitter vegans,
others while murdering their parents,
but everyone is a winner,
everyone is right,
everyone has earned the paycheck,
the vacation,
the **** wife,
and the key to eternal life.
Dec 16, 2010
Dec 16, 2010 at 8:03 AM UTC
while you were singing in the churchyard
i was sleeping in the ***** barn
beside a withered picture of an astronaut
and a long beard filled with street secrets
while you were burning up in sainthood
i was screaming into a melancholy leaf
wearing sweat on my miserable *****
and a liar's grin on my face
while you were murdering your wife
i was milking this dream for all the light
and i thanked god on bended knee
saying you're a turtle dove in an icebox
while you martyred yourself into the ocean
i carried you with me on my road to freedom
like an aligator stomped hard by a mockingbird
or a mermaid shot full of antibirth tablets
Feb 19, 2012
Feb 19, 2012 at 10:51 PM UTC
Money is a **** producer, who mascarades as a professional film producer, promising fame and fortune to young girls in LA.
Money exploits us all, telling us to cry on his **** as he forces it down each of our throats.
MMM
Money talks its valuable poetry, cha ching as we take the money shot, the money shot, the money shot...
Blaw! we take the money and run. Exploited, every one of us carries this inflated value; running around with our heads chopped off.
Where did we put our heads?
Not a one realizing how.
We put our heads collectively in the sand.
Money talks, but we dont. Money walks, but we wont. Money marches, but we cant stand. Can't form a coherent sentence while we're getting ******
"If my dad finds out he will destroy me!"
"I won't tell."
Money wants us young, dumb, and full of idiom; and as the bubble bursts, we can't help but feel depressed.
Our faces are all over the internet. America the beautiful, I can hardly see your face behind the biggest, blackest ****
If you want to turn anyone into your own personal ***** first you got to get the money!
Money is king. But is he kind? Money is our god, but what kind?
Money money money, MONEY!
The lyrics of every rap song on the top 100
Can we get some hoes and some money that we can throw's up in here!?
It's what we all want, and its what we all fear. Money controls us and rules us without a peer.
Money replaces trust, it replaces common decency, and puts a friendly mask on the face of a murdering monster.
Money makes me sick. It smells like burning flesh if you read it just right, and put your nose up real tight, it can start to burn you too.
Roll a hundo, give Ben a sniff. Money doesn't care if you sell it off to buy drugs or a train wreck. Money isn't ethical and neither are you.
Money wants us all to bow down, and when we rise up, we look like monopoly men.
Give me some money and I can change the world into a paradise on earth; give your local bank some money, and our world looks like a shopping mall.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 7:39 PM UTC
People held hostage, always living in fear,
The barrel of a weapon, is always near.
Riding the train, a blood curdling scream,
A deafening noise, and a bright light beam.
A violent shock wave tears open your flesh,
The lucky ones, receive skin grafts with mesh.
Your arm torn off, artery bleeding is profuse,
A dying thought is, what was the use?
What was the purpose, to **** all these people?
In the name of Allah, perched on a mosque steeple.
Radical extremists don't care about life,
By murdering people they increase human strife.
Wasting resources, bringing the Earth gloom,
Look at faces on a plane, many filled with doom.
The last thirty five years I don't understand,
Middle Eastern countries, together they band.
Bringing terror and hatred towards cultures of the west,
We accept the need to feel your ways are the best.
Pray all you like, cover up a women's face,
Stop trying to change America's philosophy and place.
Once the oil is gone, and the land again bare,
Back to living in tents, flowing robes you will wear.
Your tactics are old, soon you may feel,
The burning of skin, this inferno is real.
A nuclear explosion will end years of frustration,
No longer putting up with terrorists indignation.
Revolutions reveal, the world ending in flame,
Enough with this nonsense, put an end to this game!
Visit poemsbypaul.com
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC
The hearts and minds of our future selves weld,
And Melt into the ***
It seems hopeless to try,
But I can't seem to stop.
Until Father time says; "My clock will tic but not tock,"
Sorry Doc you can' cure my ailments,
I'm killing myself for you,
But I still feel selfish.
Only if I can hide within myself like a shellfish,
Maybe I wouldn't be so hellbent on understanding this Paradox.
I saw our future before I knew your name.
It pains me to say its presently driving me insane
I try to fight the feeling
Though I can't seem to tame it
Steady holding the gun to your heart
But I can't seem to aim it
Praying for something different
Though I can't seem to change it
I can't seem to change us
Like Love is the game,
And Someone is playing us
Framing us,
For murdering "What could be"
I don't know
If its what should be
Though I have no problem seeing
If what would be perfect.
Could really be perfect.
I may be delusional
Tho, I don't care because I know your worth it
Hallucinations of spending my time
With only you on this Earth.
I can't say if its a blessing or a curse.
At times its the best but,
Most of the time its the worst.
Trying my best to appease you
Until I leave this Earth.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 7:18 PM UTC
If I could
travel back in time
what would I do?
Would I **** ****** as a baby
to prevent him growing into a
mass murdering maniac?
Would I try to warn
New York City
on September 10th 2001?
Would I keep my mother
from getting on that bus
that killed her in an accident?
Or would I re-live a day
so many times
until I had figured out a way
to get into Zoe's pants
who works in a
coffee-shop nearby?
I don't know
I'd probably just
go back to last night
and check
where I left my fuckin'
car keys
Saving the world...
it's just not worth it
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 10:32 AM UTC
There is so much darkness in this world.
So much evil, selfishness, feel good , and greed.
So much abuse, murdering, and **** as well.
So many people are hurting these days we live in.
So many people are blaming it on a God that loves us.
Because we do not understand , why its happening.
Well the best answer that I can think of is freewill.
He gives us all Freewill to do whatever we choose.
The evil demons gets into people minds speaking to them.
To do the evil that you see in this dark world we live in.
God does protect people to a certain point but still there is Freewill.
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 3:48 AM UTC