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Cedric McClester Oct 2015
By: Cedric McClester

Wall Street execs plundered
Everything in sight
Then the banks went under
That got everyone uptight
There’s something to be said
For experience
But that might well be *******
By judgment and common sense

Things are getting nastier
Than they’ve ever been
But what is it they plan to do
If they want to win

Folks can’t pay their mortgages
Or their grocery bills
They believe in country first
But that won’t cure their ills
Attacking the opposition
Doesn’t provide an answer
That can actually address
This ever-growing cancer

Things are getting nastier
Than they’ve ever been
But what is it they plan to do
If they want to win

One side’s throwing mud
At the camera screen
The other offers no solutions
You know what I mean
Desperation brings out insanity
But it don’t do a thing
For folks like you and me

Things are getting nastier
Than they’ve ever been
But what is it they plan to do
If they want to win

Things are getting nastier
Than they’ve ever been
While suggestions and solutions
Have been paper thin
The question shouldn’t be
Who is he or she
All I want to know
Is what they’ll do for me

Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015.  All rights reserved.
NL Feb 2012
Memory oppression.
It never works for me.
They always come back eventually.
It hits me like a wave,
crashing around me and drowning me
in an ocean of regret and self-loathing.
I feel so ****** up.

The easiest defense,
is to feel numb.
Smoke until my lungs hurt.
Drink until I cannot feel anything
Because the pain of my present actions,
sure as hell beats the agony i feel when
I think of all that I've done.

I am told I'm a good person.
I try to believe it.
But I can't let go of
the things I've done.
The people I've destroyed.

Montauges of the past
are like snapshots of
the truth of who I really am.

Relying on strangers for the necissities of every day life.
"Stay with me, love. Sleep in my bed. You will be safe."
"Snort this, dear. It will be okay."
Why did I listen?
Everything goes black then.
I awaken,
covered in sweat.
"What happened?"
No answer,
he just showed me the door.
It's strange,
I cannot even remember his name.
I will never forget his face though.

Drinking a liquid drug.
Flashes of insanity.
Laying on the bathroom floor,
questioning where I was.
Who I was.
Slamming my fists into the wall.
Trying to make the pounding in my head stop.
Make the voices stop.
Make the people in my head stop asking me all their
******* questions.

"Would you like to try something new?"
This strange man was offering me ****..
"Of course." I reply.
"I'll try anything."
Carefully lighting the pipe.
"Careful now, light it for too long and it will explode."
How did I fit so much smoke in my mouth?
Give it a second.
Feel the rush.

The tight pinch of the rubber around my arm,
I enjoyed the rush of nervousness as she said,
"This will only hurt a little."
The bite of the needle.
The image of my blood,
tainted black.

I thought he was so attractive.
I hooked up with his brother though,
while he shot up adderall in the bathroom.
He had a shortage of ****** at the time.

So many men told me they loved me in Utah.
They held me in their arms and stroked my hair.
They kissed my lips in a way that made me believe them.
None lasted more than a week.
Either I would not have *** with them when they wanted.
Or they realized how ****** up I really am.
Either way,
I was left empty and starving for love.
On to the next one.

Nothing compares,
to my ******.
I still remember
the sweet yet bitter taste of it.
I remember when I was a child,
I said I would never smoke a cigarette.
Who have I become?

Having *** for the first time in three years in a homeless shelter.
A twenty-two year old jailbird.
I will never forget
the swatstika on his chest.
Or the way he left the second after.
The sheets felt so cold that night.
And I felt so empty.

The man I thought I loved.
I knew him for all of a month,
when he was arrested before my eyes.
And it was all my fault.
I never saw him again.
His last words were,
"I love you. I'm so sorry."
I cried for two weeks straight.
We would smoke ****.
Have *** and never tire.
I thought I loved him.
I realize now,
I cannot fully recall a memory.
Or any feeling of affection towards him.
I hope he is okay.

his name was Tyler.
He housed me.
He took care of me.
I lead him on,
so I could have a roof over my head.
And I broke his heart.
And felt nothing.

***** Vegas drug runs.
With four men,
late 20's.
****** addicts.
I remember
leaving the parking lot,
looking to either side of me.
That day I saw true addicts.
Blood streaming from their drug infested veins.
I guess that's what happens when you
re-open old wounds.
I asked if I could have some,
after all,
I did find them a ride.
They said no to shooting it up.
But graciously let me smoke some.
The result?
Throwing up in the Vegas parking lot for an hour.
It's okay.
We went back to one of their place and did more.
Along with *******.
One week later they were raided.
10-20 years in prison.

One man I lived with for a month.
He was 31 years old.
Two younger daughters.
He always had a group of teenagers at his house
smoking ****.
The **** his daughters saw..
He kicked me out for not having *** for him.
It was my "payment" and I just couldn't do it.
It didn't feel right.
One month later his house was raided.
In front of his daughters he was handcuffed.
10 years in prison.

Wyatt called me a couple times.
Each time I burst out in tears.
How could he still love me?
I left him.
But I still loved him more than anything.
He was the only one who loved me unconditionally.

I remember Leavitt.
I have never met a nastier man.
He tried to turn me into a ******* numerous times.
He knew how badly I needed ******.
Why did I put up with him?
he had a car.
he molested me on more than one occasion..
Most likely because I could never remember it the next day.
He always promised me ****** if I stayed around.
Empty promises.
I tried to leave,
he stole my phone.
Called my parents and told them everything.
******* *******.
I did not want them to see who their daughter was now.

Brent tried to be there for me.
I used him.
And he knew it.
But he is a good person.
And he loved me.
So he sacrificed.

I had a friend named Tayler.
She was 15.
Dating a 27 year old drug dealer.
She was street smart.
Stole his **** almost everyday.
He was too drugged up to realize it was his own girlfriend.

My parents sent me money once.
Two hundred dollars.
It was spent on ****.
And what wasn't spent on ****,
my friends stole.
And I always forgave,
because they were all I had.

I am extremely grateful,
that many more memories have not come back.
I know some are terrible.
And I'm not ready to face them quite yet.

I have no idea how
I could associate myself with these people.
Let alone let myself become one.

Everything was so *****.
Every one was so *****.
I repress any dark side I have,
that I used to show.
Because I'm afraid to become that again.

I never want to be that person again.
I never want to live that life again.
When will I get closure?
When will I forgive myself?
When will I let myself be happy?
I think some people are just meant to be unhappy.

I don't think happiness is possible for me.
Zac Hill May 2015
As a child I hid behind the thick walls of my imagination
Save from those who bullied me
From those who called me names and through stuff
I was safe... but alone
The only company I had were the figures of my imagination
Inspired by Saturday morning cartoons
They were heroes
They were my friends
But imagination didn't exist in the jail I was stuck in
Eight hours a day five days a week for three long years
The teasing got worse
The bullies got nastier
The teachers cared less and less
The spark of change all happened when I was moved
The sight of that place growing smaller as we drove away
That was hell, down there in the place I now call my past
Heaven is up here where I now reside
Living life with a brighter outlook
The walls were broken down by the people I now call friends
I'm not alone anymore
Safe behind the walls of others hearts
As some know I was bullied as a child and the only thing that made me feel safe was during the weekends when I wasn't at school and could enjoy the freedom of using my imagination. I loved watching Saturday morning cartoons and made up imaginary friends from cartoon characters. But that was the past and I now live a life with many friends, real friends that make me happy.
Dharmista Feb 2015
The strings of his love
Pulled her hard.
She couldn't decide
What was nastier!
The power of his seductive words
Which bared her love.
Or the brutally metaphorical eyes
Which undressed her soul.
Heidi Shavill Oct 2013
Why Angels fall
Awakened by an eerie dream
Of weary angels with tattered wings
Their song was woeful and it broke my heart
I asked them if they knew the part
where I alone lived through hell
The angel closest to me sighed,
and then began to yell
“Dear child don’t be selfish! life’s not always about you.”
“You think we left you all alone; yet this simply is not true.”
Another spoke much quieter, she said,
“I beg your pardon,”
“You’ve had the best protecting you,
Hand plucked, from heavens garden.”
My response was if that is true then please explain,
how each of them were able
The youngest one emerged just then
from underneath my table,
He was a child of maybe ten
I wondered how he died,
With tears falling from his eyes he whispered
“we have tried,”
Timidly he approached me,
a tarnished halo on his head
Then nearly imperceptibly, the youngest angel said,
“We were beaten quite extensively,
and for a long, long time”
“Our wings you see are tattered now;
and we need our wings to fly,
It’s hard to sit and listen to all that they’d endured
I realized right then how badly my vision was obscured.
An older angel shuffled towards me,
with no wings at all
I can’t express how bad it feels
to have made these angels fall.
while looking deep into my soul, he struggled to convey
“The demons were a burden, sure
though they’re all gone today.”
“ Sadly, the only one unconquered,
your worst nemesis, is you,”
We’ve come bearing hope, perhaps that you‘d know what to do
To slay the beast you’re on your own;
I heard them loud and clear
“I’m sorry,”
I said loudly, to be sure they each could hear
The beast in there’s enormous
and nastier than me
I promised them I’d do my best,
though surely they could see
That I was no contender;
his wrath he will reign down
Then gracefully a girl approached me
wearing a flowing gown
Into my ear she whispered,
a message that was sent from above
“All you need is in your heart
the most powerful weapons love.”
Heidi Shavill 2013
to the wailing girl that lives in my stomach
Lydia Morris Jan 2013
If I had any amount of money for every time I've been called beautiful I'd be rich in every way except for honesty. You think that beauty is measured by the eye?

We are taught to open our mouths to put on a coats of chemicals redder then any blood I've spilled and nastier then any skin tone already given.
And yet it's advertised as beautiful.
Like for some reason, we weren't in the first place.

So what you're saying is the way I tuck my hair behind my ear is tactful.
That all my knowledge of Harry Potter isn't ****. Well excuse my premature thoughts of the obvious ****** tension that Harry and Draco shared hidden between the lines of JK Rowlings novelty. My wonders of paint splattered jeans I put on display like calouges in a coffee shop, aren't they artful? Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

I mean, the magazines of models so skinny you could pick cheese with them. And the women just given birth going on weight watchers. As if strong thighs and meat on your bones is something to be ashamed of.

Maybe influence is something we have no control over but do you mean to tell me I am beautiful because my thighs don't touch and you can see my collar bone?
Well I can say the same for a little girl in Haiti. She lost her life because there was no food left after the farmers took her families last handful of soil. But at least she was beautiful right?

I want you to stop telling me I'm pretty because my eyes are a certain way. I want you to stop telling him he is ugly because has scars left over on his skin. And instead look at our tactics at life. I'll look at yours for a minute.

Every time you correct is a way of showing you care enough about the little turtle to make sure he not only gets up but never has to fall again. And the way you spread your happiness like rays of sunshine with so much to give.

The silence is just another way of saying I love you. So wrap your me up in your arms and hold me like you never want to let me go. Like I'm the last girl you'll ever say you want to grow old with.

Maybe this time when you look me in the eyes instead of weight scales and eyeliner streaked tears you'll see a girl with a heart full of hope.

A girl with hand me down sweaters and books about pretty girls sheltered never having stepped out of their castle.

So when I ask you if I'm beautiful hold me and tell me all my little quirks that make me an individual.
Sharina Saad Sep 2013
Tried to ROAR back
Louder... Nastier... Hungrier..
Swallowed the voice in my throat
Thought I'd be fierce enough
Like I used to be...
When I simply snapped
and screamed and shouted
on Things I disagreed most
on Things I hated most
Mellowed down with the number of years
added to my age...
Common senses and maturity
Wiser and thoughtful..
To roar yes I can
But with great diligence
I roar...
Poetria Aug 2017
and i wonder why tonight
my mind is screaming for silence
like a mockery of itself
shouting for a noiseless abyss
begging to be heard in the quiet
and i wonder why tonight
there are so many gaps
in my memory of past events
and i wonder if i lost those moments
or if i chose to throw them away
and i wonder why tonight
the world seems so much nastier
than it's ever been before.
the lack of punctuation is deliberate
some nights the nastier bits of myself crawl up from my throat and sit on my tongue & whiskey isn't strong enough to wash them down
Mark Toney Oct 2019
China charges 1 million annually
For each panda in our zoos
If we won't pay in full
Then the pandas we will lose
Nasty Panda's the exception
No one wants him here or there
He was paid 1 million dollars
To abscond and disappear!

Here comes the Nasty Panda
     ~He's much more than you can bear
He's such a nasty panda
     ~He leaves cooties everywhere
Beware of Nasty Panda
     ~He do anything he please
Stay clear of Nasty Panda
     ~He eats shoots and leaves

I smelled him 'fore I seen 'em
That black and white pariah
Slippin' slidin' in my kitchen
On smooshy mushy pulp papaya
I yelled for him to stop
And I told him where to go
Wink and laugh was all he did
With a Homer Simpson "D'oh!"

Here comes the Nasty Panda
     ~He's much more than you can bear
He's such a nasty panda
     ~He leaves cooties everywhere
Beware of Nasty Panda
     ~He do anything he please
Stay clear of Nasty Panda
     ~He eats shoots and leaves

He hasn't bathed in ages
Masked by quarts of cheap cologne
His furry skin sweat-sticky
From the surface to the bone
Smelly cigar and ***** breath
Plus an air of upper-crust
Please keep your kids away
Cuz that nasty bear can cuss!

Here comes the Nasty Panda
     ~He's much more than you can bear
He's such a nasty panda
     ~He leaves cooties everywhere
Beware of Nasty Panda
     ~He do anything he please
Stay clear of Nasty Panda
     ~He eats shoots and leaves

If you meet up with Nasty Panda
Better turn around and run
You're bound to lose your money
And your wits before he's done
Don't shed tears for Nasty Panda
Cuz he likes the way things are
Don't forget to hide your keys
Else he'll drive off in your car!

Here comes the Nasty Panda
     ~He's much more than you can bear
He's such a nasty panda
     ~He leaves cooties everywhere
Beware of Nasty Panda
     ~He do anything he please
Stay clear of Nasty Panda
     ~He eats shoots and leaves

Here comes the Nasty Panda
     ~He's a scoundrel and a ***
He's such a nasty panda
     ~He's as nasty as they come
Beware of Nasty Panda
     ~He's gonna raise a stink
Stay clear of Nasty Panda
     ~He's much nastier than you think
4/27/2019 - Poetry form: Light Verse - This is what I refer to as a flight of fancy.  Only this panda is nasty. The other pandas are cute :) - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2019
I must get down town
Get my teeth sharpened
To give a nastier bite
Yes a bite to remember
That my victims will not
Oh ! how nice to bite
An evil dream come true
My claws to be done too
Making a loud clash of course
If not , I'll be empty of my music

I have to keep an eye out
For him with the Vorpal sword
I believe , he's my mortal foe
Resting by the Tum Tum Tree
Awaiting to cut me down

I Jaberwocky , with eyes aflame
Like to whiffle along
Through the beautiful Tulgey wood
Bubbling in tune as I happily go
Sensing danger near at hand
Swish , swish , swish went his sword
Sway , sway , sway went my body

But the devil, he ****** well is
Dug , dug , dug, deep inside of me
My green blood Spraying all around
He galloped of without a horse
With my head  held high aloft
But, so much little did he know
That, when night should verily fall
Cronjyceuse will set me right as might.
Dhaara T Apr 2017
I don't speak for or against
Except that I do speak
For humanity, against violence
If you...pick up that blob of attack
Smother it with vengeance
and throw; then run...and run as fast as you can
Because it will come back
As a bigger, nastier blob
Run, but a hiding place you won't find
How can you run from hatred?
When it has sunk into your very bones
Do you see it in the mirror each day?
It is eating up your soul
How can you live in peace?
With so much ugliness creepily creeping up
How low can you stoop? Another hit will tell
Why can't you control the bad
If it is really so, through good?
What's the difference then, between you and them?
You **** innocents in the process too
Then you too, must be a terrorist, dear government, isn't that true?
I wish we all could just I-hate-you-but-let's-just-chill. Where are you, Utopia? :(
Brent Kincaid Sep 2017
The rich man might just believe
He can buy all he ever wants
But he didn’t do it all alone
No matter how he flaunts.
The factory that bought him
His mansion and his yacht
Exists because he had plain folk
To build him what he’s got.

The litter bearers took him
Wherever he wanted to go.
The farmhands used their strength
To *** fields and make them grow.;
Mechanics and the engineers
Are who made his fine wheels turn.
So, why is this such a hard lesson
For the rich among us to learn?

Without us they are nothing,
Just overdressed blowhards
With rich antecedents and
A stacked deck of cards.
Not every poor person would
Know how to handle great wealth
But maybe could try if it weren't
For their talent and great stealth.

Something happens to rich people
When they deal with the poor.
They forget about their Bible
And what that teaching is for.
Some forget the Torah and
Yet others forget the Quran
As if those who speaks of decency
Are a political also-ran.

So I should be forgiven if I
Wish they fail at their work
And they have to toil in the field
Like those of us they call jerks.
I wish their wives had to
Patch their household clothes
Then pray the place they live in
Is not subject to be foreclosed.

We once had a government
That worked hard in our favor
To rescue us from carpetbaggers
But now they’re a much nastier flavor.
After almost a century of work
To build a nation for the common good
Programs are being thrown out by
A batch of Congressional deadwood.
W Winchester Apr 2014
It's honestly not healthy, how sick I sometimes get

I have a set of records between myself and I:

I once went nine days without showering

Three days without eating

Two days without talking

One day without my mind even in the right places

The record I'm working on now  darker, nastier and I can't believe I've even touched it

I had gone a year without--

And then a month without----

But then those scores broke and I'm not even down to an hour without----
as life here by one in all
there's also a fall hitherto
a straight jacket into woe
wherein mesh but wavers heed
a counter box of hip hop again
this occasion best suit ours
though an ungrateful quench now
a nastier punch than seasonal mix
till metaphysical feat on bay shore
Ackerrman Aug 2019
The remnants of my intelligence and dignity,
John can take to his grave,
I just wanted to fight, for what was right
But was swallowed in a wave of reality.
I once tried to hold out idealism,
To have it smashed in a thousand pieces,
I thought that people should care for each other,
To be told it wasn’t economically viable.

To another best friend that never really cared,
I loved you more than you will ever know,
You were one of the hardest people I ever let go,
But you used me and abused me just like everyone else,
Pretended to care and dictated fair,
I was blinded by delirium,
And could not see, that the beautiful trees,
Were plastic, lifeless and cold.
The music is beginning to sound like silence,
I keep getting the melody stuck in my head,
I forgot how it began and can’t see past
The first verse, but I know the album artwork:
A man in a hearse- the picture looks familiar,
I feel like I was there, somewhere, floating through air,
The beat is inconsistent and I can’t find anything I like,
It just passes right through me.
The field where we buried Pete’s ashes,
Will be forever green to me,
It glows with his smile and snowy white hair,
But no one remembers he’s there!
And those that do pass over the spot without a care,
But the light of the world seems darker
Without his wonderful wintery hair.
When you laughed, I laughed and when you smiled- I felt safe.

Of course, to you- my love, the ever lingering
Hopeful lady of my earth. My feelings were always true,
I longed for you with depth of colour unknown,
To any time or place I would have flown,
But just like you said,
You were incapable of love- nothing but spite,
You pulled out my brittle heart out and ****** it.
You hurt me more than I hurt myself.

And how- I hurt myself- delved into a rabbit hole,
That I was too young to be ****** down,
I cut my mind on razor sharp thoughts:
Potential- and felt like a failure.
I could not sleep for the longest time, I was kept awake
By a tear-soaked pillow that reeked with the fumes of alcohol,
I would lay awake all night long
And scold me for being too stupid.
The smallest of spotted and winged bugs,
Can’t set foot on the cusp of my shoelace,
The keenest eyed falcon, misses the outline of fragility,
Cold and stagnant sensation, carried on the wind,
Does not reach my eyes,
Or make the duct empty,
Roaring shrieks run through my ears,
Cowering or apathetic eyes can’t set fire to these fears.

I am so sorry to the smallest of you winged creatures,
You won’t understand- probably ever,
But know that I never meant to cause you pain,
You look at the world through such a small scope,
Please don’t ask me how I struggle to cope,
You are one of the reasons I fought the dark for so long,
To start out- you looked at me and I thought you would understand,
But you turned out uniform- blind and deaf and dumb.
I can’t tell you the depth of these memories,
In the garden, where a voice spoke to me so smooth,
And sweet and petals and aroma seemed to float
On breezes heralded with happy sparks, buoyant
Through seas of troubles, until those troubles dock
In a harbour that I wrecked, degrading in grief,
Sweet flowers have been rotting in time and now
The words that were music are now virus, reckoning every moment.
My brother refuses to wear his glasses now,
He says he can’t see anything clearly anymore,
For the tears won’t tear themselves away
From the rocky, half dead, sunken terrain, sees
The light of day less often than flesh eating worms,
Sharp teeth grin and the rose-coloured memory
Of playing football in the park after dark,
Or cricket on the old wicket- I hope you miss me the most- I would you.

I flew to my mother’s house,
But she wasn’t home; I let myself in,
Looked over the empty wine bottles,
Stacked in pairs, so they each have a friend.
The pictures on the walls are all forty years old,
And the characters are all face down,
I can’t pick them up,
The image of agony is plastered to the floor with no one to adore.

My father’s tools are all strewn in the garden,
Plugged in without power- hiding round corners, they cower,
The shaky lawn mower cried internally,
Because all it could do was cut the ****** grass,
But could not cut the ties of familiarity,
With tiresome fire, turning the content to ashes.
The door to the shed is always a jar,
The boards are flayed and splintered with paint, dripping to the floor.

Sitting silently in this empty old house,
The creaking of the floorboards seem to know me,
Old memories bounce from hall to wall,
Like an echo of the stagnant fury, that reverberated
From still wall and whispering grief,
Words of narcissism curl in on themselves,
Fatter and nastier than a thousand-pointed needles
Or razorblades, smiling delicately on cupid’s bathroom floor.

Dragging stains and paints across a happy little corridor,
Smiling at a pattern of pure undeniable psychopathy,
A vibrant and living testament to a society,
Cruel and frowning, scolding the colour,
It doesn’t matter what colour!
The deepest shade of purples melts into
Dried crimson mess congealed and defeated on the floor,
No deviance from black, white and grey anymore.
My footfall does not make a sound.
Nor does my form disturb the gentle snowflakes.
From falling straight down through the empty air,
No blades of grass twist or move from their
Position of placid translucence.
I feel cold as people walk straight through,
The ethereal outline of my faded countenance.
Shivering shade of something real.
The conversation of the officer at the station:
“I can’t say the details of the death were
At any detriment to the case,
He stopped living and fell off the face of the earth,
A simple, open and closed case”
I stare hopelessly through the veil,
As the man put down his phone,
And entered suspended animation.
This was a dark couple of weeks I spent working on this
Alex Oct 2019

Just a goof I swear*

Call this the Catalina.
Your girl p#### wetter than aquafina
Whispers in my ear how she nastier than Trina
Grabbed me by the d### and swore she'd make me a believer
Then we left the crowd as we headed toward her beamer
Thinking to myself, this girl might be a keeper
Opened up the door,
I see her knees getting weaker
Turned around and told me, how she is a screamer
Cool with me, just gonna cut up the speakers
Both climb aboard, says she wanna play receiver,
I will do the chores, I can be your cleaner
Just call me Stanley Steamer,
now girl drop it down and show me that ******
We f##### so hard I believe I broke a femur
All I heard was SNAP,
Turned so red thought she caught scarlet fever
Looks me in the eyes, and begs I never ever leave her
Read between the lines, I seen her as a deceiver
Then she ****** me dry, nicknamed is over-achiever
Hopped out the whip, said I dont like your demeanor
Frustration made me trip so I threw up a finger
Yelled before I dip, good luck with the gonorrhea
Haven't seen her since and I hope I don't either.



It's just a goof I swear
Zukiswa Mvunguse Nov 2018
The things I’d like to do to you
Or more specifically
The things I’d like you to do to me
Up against the wall
Spread out on a table
A bed, yours or my mines
Any surface will do
As long as I get you, all of you
I won’t complain
I want it rough and fast
Or sweet and slow
Scratch that
On second thought the nastier the better

Run your fingers through my hair
Grip it firmly and bite my neck
I’ll run my nails against your back
Claws sinking into skin
We engulfed by wild passion
There is screaming and yelling
Nibbling and biting
I’m not sure who is loudest
But as we pound into each other into oblivion
I really don’t care
It hurts but you like it and that is what makes it so good
Lisa Madina Nov 2019
The weather outside mimics
my feelings inside
Its cold, dark, and wet
raining nonstop for the last 24 hours
every time I look to the window it is something new
a couple of drops here and there
a slight drizzle which wets the hair and the tips of our noses
progresses to aggressive heavy rain that makes its presence known by constantly tapping on glass windows and slapping the pavement
from there its chaos
something out a movie
heavy wind
grey skies
mad sprays of water everywhere
you can only pray that you have on the right shoes and don't slip
don't become victim to the mess of ***** colored leaves flying about and attacking those shoes
All this rain
isn't good for my joints
every ache and pain translates to words that I have long become accustomed to
this bad weather has me becoming nastier by the hour
All I can feel right now are hot waves of crushing anger
the type of rage that warms up the body
makes it impossible to look at you with kind eyes
every word that comes out my mouth feels like bullets
one after the other
there is no compassion in my voice today
there is no time to catch my breath either
just a flurry of words
no tears
then complete silence
what you have been wanting
for the longest time
there is no coming back from this
so watch your step

— The End —