"rapped" poems
**•
i
am
a sea
farer•a
rider of the
dwindling air...
•
one day my ailing boat would invite
the water•i will finally sink into**
~ ~ ~~oblivion's lair•~~ ~ ~
~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~ ~ ~
~~ ~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~ ~~~~
~~ ~ ~~~ ~ ~~~ ~ ~~ ~~
~~ ~~ *•m y exis tenc e ~ ~ ~~
~~ w ill then be • but a we a k, ~
i ndis cern ible... reflec tion of my sel f
~ • ~
~ i' d notb e free •but~
~ ~ t rapped i n abo x
~ on a lon g for- ~~
g o tte n ~
~ sh e ~
l
f
•*
.~
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 11:48 AM UTC
W*rapped in silk and satin
she has been waiting
long.
She doesn't expect him
not anymore, but habit
stays.
She nor grins,nor frowns
standing at the end of her lawn
alone.
The day count lost numbers,
lost many days and slumber
hours.
Hope faded, love went,
only she stayed
so far*.
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 5:52 AM UTC
happiness comes in a cheek
happiness comes rapped in plastic
happiness is the first new i phone
happiness is 8 car in your drive way
money is happiness?
happiness is spending time with your family
happiness is playing with a ball and a stick
happiness is making a space ship out of cardboard
wealth is not happiness
things are not happiness
people are happiness
imagination is happiness
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 7:13 PM UTC
Hi, I'm a ****
I'm the girl who is only seen as a ****** slave.
I'm just digging my own grave.
Hi, I'm a ****
Having *** seems to have marked me.
**** let her be."
Hi, I'm a ****
I never close my legs.
Drinking straight from kegs.
Hi, I'm a ****
Today's world is so messed up that we are stuck with a meaningless name.
It's a game.
Hi, I'm a ****
I've gotten more men then I can handle.
Caught up in a scandle.
Hi, I'm a ****
Broken and threatened, bullied online.
**** she is so fine.
Hi, I'm a ****
But I'm also a writer too.
An artist, a poet, but you never knew.
Hi, I'm a ****
Where today in this world names can translate into actions.
And girls can get rapped.
And you can't escape.
Because fate is fate.
And I should not wear that because it's cut to low.
She's such a ***
She should just go.
Hi, I'm a ****
And it's a title that never dies.
Breaking ties.
Because.
Hi, I'm a ****
And I can never keep a guy.
No matter how hard I try.
And it's all a lie.
But, Hi...
I'm a ****
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 7:34 AM UTC
I'm not fooled, though you've my attention
time you were schooled
given detention
you're dropping each line... fumbling each word
but that's fine
you're running scared--
give it up hand back the crown
cause queenie this jester put you DOWN
chucks my boy I've got his back
you've been derailed =========== you're way off track
here's a tissue wipe your eyes
cause these words like Embers never Dies
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 9:35 PM UTC
The smoke drifts up a pale blue
making ribbons in the lone lights spread
above our panting heads.
We built ancient temples in the forest green
and dug holes for warming hands on fire rocks.
Do you understand?
There is no time here.
Sleeping in the cold grounds embrace,
I kiss the sky goodnight through the holes in the roof.
Lost in the eternal emerald of this season, SAvaGES was our cry,
beating hearts howl out in a brooding bark.
Lick your wounds,
bleed your blistered hands chopping saplings.
This room is finally complete.
I,
I am content.
You,
You're as angel pale as the moon,
by its light I see your curves.
Touching soft till the morning birds.
No air between our lips to feel the words.
Its *** in our bellies
that sweetened southern swill.
The trees groan in the breeze
I groan rapped between your knees.
This forest is aphrodisiac enough for us.
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 11:11 PM UTC
poetry is stupid
it makes no sense
how does a turltle in the sea of immortality
translate to life is good
poetry *****
it should all be burned
id rather eat 10,000 ducks
poetry is the worst
and i am not the 1st
to say that poems are crap
they are better when they are rapped
ogden nashes poems are to short
while charles bukowski is a flat out perver
there is so much stuff better than poetry
like playing on a minecraft server
or watching TV or playing video games
even going to school influences less pain
poetry is for fools
that only like to drool
in front of a piece of paper
and write poems, well im a hater
and rhoald dahl makes the worst poems
critisizing the television
how do u get the news and the weather
and learn about politicians
so i end here
and if ur reading this
ur a queer
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 2:58 PM UTC
Hell shimmies when I am blunted ;
When I take a knock to the senses
When I am skinless,
singing stings
and misdirected by pain
If I had trained better
I'd be deep sea
Sussing distant messages
Operating with slight tremors, vocals and movement
and only when correct...
I'd be home
I'd be instrument
Not an act
Not a pet to society
No mood fool ;
flaked,
flooded
and littered
Rapped at by experiences
Attack reacting
An embarrassment
Watching my own pattern spooling
the same sums
and spoiling with repetition
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 11:29 PM UTC
Single veteran knuckle,
A bumblebee rapped
against my bathroom window.
With my hand flat against the glass
in recognition of his long tour and fallen kin
he traced to the south the first spring sun,
whereupon a cubit of my sodden hair flamed
with pollen of impossible angles.
Oct 22, 2011
Oct 22, 2011 at 6:51 AM UTC
Baucis and Philemon,
Elderly souls, never empty of
Love,
Opened their doors for two strangers,
Whom
Unbeknownst to them, originated from
Above.
Zues and Hermes, cloaked in the robes of the
Poor,
Were turned away from every household,
Until they rapped on Baucis and Philemon's
Door.
"Come in, come in, shed your cloaks, and warm your hands,
Baucis,
Go!
Use our last loaves, grab the roast, the ham!"
Never mind their
Poverty
Never mind their
Nearly empty
Pantry and Cupboards
Baucis and Philemon possessed the rarest trait,
One the God's most
Coveted.
And while the two strangers ate their foods, and consumed their
Wine,
Baucis noted their cups never lowered beneathe the
Brim Line.
"God's... Divine!"
Cried the two elderly
Lovers.
"Follow us up the hill, Baucis, Philemon,
Do not look back as you climb,
Only to each other."
The two followed the Gods, still cloaked in the garb of strangers,
Never looking back at their village
Below.
Until, reaching the top, and turning back, their eyes didn't fall back upon their
Home.
Zues had called forth a flood, sent to destroy the once ungrateful
Village,
But where Baucis and Philemons cottage once lay,
A beautiful temple had risen from the filthy
Sullage.
Their wish to take care of the temple was swiftly
Granted,
As was their second wish, one that was almost
Demanded.
"I must die, as soon as my love does, I can't ever be without her."
The rest of their lives were spent glorifying the Gods for their kindness and love,
And when the time came for them to take their last
Breath,
Squeezed hands and warm souls crossed the River Styx,
And their broken and withered bodies were
Left.
The wrinkles on their
Skin,
Were made brown, and beautiful
Again
As their flesh turned to bark, and their hair to
Leaves,
The two elderly lovers, became intertwining
Trees.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC
And today i got to feel u back again.
Read my old Poem, I wrote for you,
When i was in pain.
Never knew, you would be the one
Who actually read my black diary that day
lines you wrote on pages to next pages
u got me, i got you tooo
My dopamine got Lit up for you in that way.
One movie date and two night-outs with no talks in our whole friendship at all
3 years knowing you as a hip hop producer
i really felt your production was different
Those beats are just Wow.
"Insane" - His name all that matters.
Both hustling for music as career
i saw hardworking stupid kid
i wana never let you ever ever suffer.
Trance lover me,
Getting Rapped up Altitudes Of love
relaxing my mind when we grind
With music we both breathe-in
No lovestuff to waste our time...
And soo...
I hold back my pampering child
Oh heaven! Its all Right
"BUT"
These second thoughts still remain the same
i realized my love is true for you
Its ******* Insane!!!
Will i be marrying you or not
I still get those Second Thoughts.
Aug 20, 2023
Aug 20, 2023 at 4:09 AM UTC
Black & Yellow
– for Wiz Khalifa ✌
*“Stay high like I’m supposed to do, that crown
underneath them clouds, can’t get close to you.”*
On the first day, he was pushed.
Robust in stance, the other forced,
this boy down the marble stairs
of the Catholic church, the school
renovated the Summer before
Khalifa began his studies,
in junior high.
The ballet was his passion,
Latin was the language that so
fluently was spoken from
his lips. The Professor smiled,
another victory accomplished.
Khalifa’s mom was so proud of
her blue eyed boy.
Rapped in a ball, he waited
for all students & halls to clear.
Rolled over, picked himself up
took to the washroom, knowing
he needed to be presentable
for his mom stood at the school gate,
brimming with pride.
All of his dreams, mystical.
Don Quixote & The Nutcracker,
fluid streams of poetry;
Elliot, Poe, Wilde. The love
letters of Ludwig van Beethoven.
Born to dance all Principal roles,
a lovers’ prose.
By four, he was ready to
leave school. Tentatively walking,
no predators in sight, out
the main door. Leaving behind
a haunting first day. Listening to
Tchaikovsky; his release, his home,
his saving grace.
© Sia Jane
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 10:38 PM UTC
"Turn back the pages of history,
and see the men who have shaped the destiny of the world. Security was never theirs,
but they lived rather than existed,"
said Hunter S. Thompson
at age 17,
before he became The Duke,
and shaved off a leg in Doonsbury cartoons,
before he rapped the sharp corner of his shot glass,
so too many times,
on the inch thick enamel,
of the Woody Creek Tavern bar top,
and waited until closing time
to begin blowing lines,
out of the divets he'd made.
The people clapping,
the moon attacking,
the red bone blood of America pumping past his eyes.
After he died, everyone there had a Hunter story:
Hunter shot his hot girl assistant in the *** by mistake,
but he felt like **** about it.
Hunter had a dozen red cheeked lasses he skied with,
but he never messed with them.
Hunter showed up in a Cadillac convertible packed with
strippers dressed burlesque.
But it was hard to tell just exactly what he was up to with
the strippers, the peacocks,
or anything else.
Alot of the stories had ****** implications,
but what they mostly implied
was he was cool about it.
He didn't write any of those stories.
Despite all evidence to the contrary he liked his privacy,
and what peace he found in rare quiet.
And he made **** sure they'd shoot his ashes
out of a ******* canon when he died.
The canon is still there.
So are the peacocks.
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 1:45 AM UTC
What are you doing here again?
I'm not your lover and I'm not your friend.
Why are you sneaking round my door?
A familiar face....that I've known before?
And just what do you bring
in offers?
If I do as you'd like then what will become of who I am?
Will I drown in in the deepness of your sea
Or find the very deepest part of me?
Will I feel lost
or will I feel free?
Will I light my soul and keep a smoldering fire?
To fill my heart's deepest desire...
And feel like I cannot get higher?
To the highest place that I can take my myself?
To soothe the deepest ache inside my soul in the deepest deep
You make me nervous
And so I'm intrigued...
So I just might invite you in
As long as not committing sin?
I wonder...
The things that I've been yearning for
You'll release me from this ache I'm sure
And the smell of the sweat and the sweet perfume
A fear embraced of what dangers loom
What it will mean come tomorrow
Could be my delight or such sweet sorrow
When I'm alone again.
Senses I've rarely tapped into before
Just the one time that you rapped at my door
I do not trust you though
Your last visit was so bittersweet
So pardon my bashful and modest retreat
As I feel this all the way out.
If we start with a just a slow sweet kiss...
to find a rumored thing called bliss?
Then I wonder...
if we could we take this...
one moment at a time?
Because before we know it
I could be gone.
Lost in your Temptation
And as you know...
I fear for my salvation.
All Rights Reserved May 26 2016 - Cherie Nolan
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 8:14 PM UTC
Alice and I were fudged fruiting inside Falstaffian freakish fleur–de–lys:
She inside a quack–aztec–tattooed tank,
Me inside a pendulous magenta harness with polydactyl–perverted plumes bespattered into it.
In the ****** **** of that kaput flophouse
We creosoted our conks all the cockatrices of the gorge–de–pigeon,
Inside crotches, Jacuzzis and homocentric Action Men.
Alice, with the pornographic bend sinisters in the teeth of her poltergeistish fajita crocodile,
Smacked of the plug–ugly poofter of a south–south–west by south sackful sandbank.
I cemented the jaundiced dangler of an ostrich to my prick.
With that and my uncut fiddlestick of knobs
I was the idiosyncratic and wholehogging sadomasochistic slapper!
We banged the bush streaming proboscis in tentacle
Through smorgasbords of hermaphrodites and high muck–a–mucks
While Ravi Shankar’s idioglossias and cockchafers juddered our titbits.
Our Moonies were classically cracked flabelliform by the time we disinterred them.
Alice managed to fornicate incognito white elephant on behalf of myself
And we were passionately on the back of the dingdong, naked as our Moonies.
We kept one’s pecker up wrapped up in the shadowgraph
Athwart ever-strangling girdles of formaldehyde, ozone, fomenter and widow’s weeds,
Athwart polytetrafluoroethylene–pricked precipices and then down to the butts
Where we both came to a sticky end on our jockstraps and leered at the ballet dancers
That we then penetrated rhythmically by elongating tumescent our gang banging tentacles.
Through comfortable French knickers I burped, “Thank you for ****** me everywhere, Alice”.
In the soporific honeypotspunk, aped on the ooze,
I could smell that her **** had made her ******* type soap flakes break the sound barrier,
Splashing out a ***** whale seed skirting her jowls.
“You’re fragrant, flypaper”, she rapped.
The Government gabble that little green men who hammer out the sexagenarians weren’t on board.
Inside spleen of the spliffs, inside spleen of my gangrenous Pollyanna, I will over one’s dead body evacuate.
I will over one’s dead body evacuate.
Mar 22, 2010
Mar 22, 2010 at 4:09 PM UTC
Boudicca, long hair tangled and bunched; fiery flame red hair.
Warrior queen of the Iceni, daughter of these isles of tin.
Defender of freedom, leader of men, slayer of legions.
Through the mist the Britons, Celtic in origin; saw the legions.
Row upon row of tightly packed troops, shields locked together!
Flanked on either side by cavalry. Above the silence orders could
Be heard echoing across the field, the leather harness’s creaked
Metal chinking, horses stomping and snorting, in the stillness.
Through the mist came the first rays of sunlight glinting on sharpened
Swords and spearheads; horns began to blow as the steady
Stomp of the legions moved forward in formation.
Boudicca’s eyes peered out from a face of blue woe. Bow strings
In turn began to creak death, as archers pulled back on their bows.
A slow chant from the Iceni, slow at first, began to build into a crescendo
Of noise, as the boom, boom of sword and axe rapped against wood shields.
Boudicca flame haired warrior queen stood proud and fearless on her chariot;
Daughters on each side of her, defiant against Gaius Suetonius Pauline’s
And the might of Rome.
Oh what a sight it must have been!
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 10:51 AM UTC
This empty bed,
Only reminds me where you're not.
It reminds me where you are.
And that you're not here.
These songs remind me of us.
When we rapped them together,
Or when we danced in the parking lot,
To Jack Johnson.
This pizza reminds me of you,
Because we only eat it together.
And it makes me sick.
So I leave it be.
This game reminds me,
Of when I tried to teach you to play.
So I lay the controller down,
And turn the tv off.
Even writing this,
Reminds me of you.
But it helps get my mind off of it.
But not really.
This kitchen reminds me of you.
And when we cooked dinner.
Or when I made you pancakes,
While you were in the shower.
This shower reminds me of you.
Because I love the way your hair looks,
When you get out.
And when we cleansed each other.
This car reminds me of you.
And all of the places we've been.
Your house, mine...
The hospital...
This empty bed,
Only reminds me of where you're not.
It reminds me where you are.
And that you're not here...
So I sleep on the couch.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 10:41 PM UTC
'You! What d'you mean by this?' I rapped.
'You dare come on parade like this?'
'Please, sir, it's-' ''Old yer mouth,' the sergeant snapped.
'I takes 'is name, sir?'-'Please, and then dismiss.'
Some days 'confined to camp' he got,
For being 'dirty on parade'.
He told me, afterwards, the damnèd spot
Was blood, his own. 'Well, blood is dirt,' I said.
'Blood's dirt,' he laughed, looking away,
Far off to where his wound had bled
And almost merged for ever into clay.
'The world is washing out its stains,' he said.
'It doesn't like our cheeks so red:
Young blood's its great objection.
But when we're duly white-washed, being dead,
The race will bear Field-Marshal God's inspection.'
2.3k
"I Need It"
[Intro:]
Turn it up, let me hear it
Turn it up, let me hear it, Oh DUMB
[Hook:]
I need it up in my life
Every night I get on my knees ask but
Heaven ain't been speaking back (speaking back) I need it up in my life
This goes out to every ghetto every project who know losing's not an option
I need it up in my life (yeah)
All this money cars and clothes
You know I'm balling out control, on you hoes
[Verse 1:]
They attempt to label me inhumane
I believe in God but not your God
Last ***** got outta pocket on the wrong decor got broke off What the **** is up with these A&Rs; "I Need It"
[Intro:]
Turn it up, let me hear it
Turn it up, let me hear it, Oh DUMB
[Hook:]
I need it up in my life
Every night I get on my knees ask but
Heaven ain't been speaking back (speaking back)
I need it up in my life
This goes out to every ghetto every project who know losing's not an option
I need it up in my life (yeah)
All this money cars and clothes
You know I'm balling out control, on you hoes
[Verse 1:]
They attempt to label me inhumane
I believe in God but not your God
Last ***** got outta pocket on the wrong decor got broke off
What the **** is up with these A&Rs;
Criticizing music they can't make
Poking fun at my struggles I don't find **** funny
I live in places that ain't safe
2008 I got my leg blown off
Any given day could get my head blown off
Rest in peace to Tyree Edwards
Bullet in his head got his head blown off
Tried school was a great kid
Academically I excelled in it
Grew up poor got teased a lot
Cause my school clothes had a smell in 'em
Same shirt four weeks straight
On the block grinding, got sales in 'em
Juvenile detention my case worker said I might be headed for a crash course
No father figure role models up in prison all my jump shots hit the back board
Head-on collision, not watching while I'm steering
No air bag, head hit the dash board
[Hook]
[Verse 2:]
Approaching me and wanna shoot the ****
But pretend as if they're here to help Gates
Behind my back in front of label heads
Saying "Kevin just won't cooperate"
Missed flights, showing up late
I live life didn't rap about it
No time to live, my time for them
How the **** I'm gon' rap about it
Speak the truth or rap around it
And in a wrap around I rapped about it
Tragic ending for some family members
In heaven sitting wishing I was with them
Instead I'm stuck in this hell on earth
With pretend friends who think of ways to get me
Couple ****** I loaned money
Said they got me and never get me
Tell a ***** no I'm never guilty
Still ain't got no guilty feeling
Always telling me what I should do different
But can't explain why they ain't winning
My own blood just turned against me
In disbelief I'm like "not true"
Devastated, got caught off guard
When I seen the switch I'm like "not you"Criticizing music they can't make
Poking fun at my struggles I don't find **** funny I live in places that ain't safe
2008 I got my leg blown off
Any given day could get my head blown off
Rest in peace to Tyree Edwards
Bullet in his head got his head blown off
Tried school was a great kid
Academically I excelled in it
Grew up poor got teased a lot
Cause my school clothes had a smell in 'em
Same shirt four weeks straight
On the block grinding, got sales in 'em
Juvenile detention my case worker said I might be headed for a crash course
No father figure role models up in prison all my jump shots hit the back board
Head-on collision, not watching while I'm Steering no air bag, head hit the dash board
[Hook]
[Verse 2:]
Approaching me and wanna shoot the ****
But pretend as if they're here to help Gates
Behind my back in front of label heads
Saying "Kevin just won't cooperate"
Missed flights, showing up late
I live life didn't rap about it
No time to live, my time for them
How the **** I'm gon' rap about it
Speak the truth or rap around it
And in a wrap around I rapped about it
Tragic ending for some family members
In heaven sitting wishing I was with them
Instead I'm stuck in this hell on earth
With pretend friends who think of ways to Get me couple ****** I loaned money
Said they got me and never get me
Tell a ***** no I'm never guilty
Still ain't got no guilty feeling
Always telling me what I should do different
But can't explain why they ain't winning
My own blood just turned against me
In disbelief I'm like "not true"
Devastated, got caught off guard
When I seen the switch I'm like "not you"
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 2:12 AM UTC
Candles, chocolates and a bottle of Chardonnay
Heralding the eve of Christmas day
Rollicking good fun is in the air
Icy outside but who gives a care
Surprises all gaily wrapped
To a song that someone just rapped
Mistletoe hangs in the hall
And the clock ticks slowly on the wall
Santa from Lapland is coming to call.
©Hazel
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 10:40 AM UTC
Sunday's bell broke the recess
And three times as professed
The gavel rapped before the rooster's caw
The horn was blown the drum was beat
And in the top of every street
We swooned with the wounded at the wall
And we said nothing just our prayers
But if someone's heard something
Nobody cares
And now with the yellow moon
Fixed beyond the clouds that loom
It soon would be a day the devil owned.
High on horseback thru the mud
They came and bathed their hands in blood
From the thumb up to the funny-bone
And we said nothing just our prayers
But if someone's heard something
Nobody cares
And by and by
We will crawl
Before we fly
High above
The middle of
Utopia
Lightning made the thunder ring
Until the dawn when suddenly
Light divided darkness in the east
Thus once more the wheel has turned
And proved itself a viperous worm
That gnaws the bowels of the beast
And we said nothing just our prayers
But if someone's heard something
Nobody cares
And by and by
We will crawl
Before we fly
High above
The middle of
Utopia
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 9:24 PM UTC
The Fox sisters of Rochester
lived in a haunted house.
A spirit there was stirring
That was probably not a mouse.
Spirits rapped upon the walls
and on the window panes.
The sisters Fox would rap right back
according to their claims.
The Foxes were sensations,
The Belles of Halloween
Their Séances well attended
By the credulous, T’would seem.
Spirit fever gripped the land
With rapping on a table
(Maggie Fox was double jointed
And the whole thing was a fable.)
It’s hard to sell your real estate
when it’s a haunted home.
But when spooks rap, rap right back
You’ll never be alone.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 10:01 PM UTC
I forgive you
because I can't forget you
and your love has become essential
so when I say you aren't on my mind
I can swear it's all lie
because even with all you've done
you're still the ******* one
the one in my dreams,
the only one I look forward to see
the face I still am
trying to find amongst the crowd
laying on the floor
here I am, letting it all out
where the hell are you now?
I mean I know you were
never actually here
but loosing you
is still my biggest fear
and with every ******* tear
I pray to a god,
I don't even know is there
that one day, you'll just be
completely gone, out, disappear
because I know you're
the single worst thing for me
out in this crazy world
but in twirl,
you've got me rapped up
in this crazy dream
it's what you make me to believe
where all I think I need
is your touch, your attention
all the things you'll never give to me
because I know what I am, to you,
who you see
when you look at me.
I'm not enough.
and the sooner I realize that
the better off I'll be
because even though it hurts
I'm glad you know how to leave
more like slam a door in my face
shoot me down with all your pain.
lock me in this nightmare
where all it does is rain
but, no, I gotta lock that all away
put a smile on my face
because people expect more of me
than to see what you took away
but can't you see?
the real damage that you've done
doesn't lay within your words
but the within your actions
and you run.
run away from every problem
every day
honey, I'm sorry to say it
but not everything goes your way
it's all good now
until you put the drink down
until you let it all come in
then your pretty little self
will realize that you didn't win
I know you, and I know you want love
and all these girls you pick up
they aren't enough.
and you know that.
but don't expect any more love
from me
because what you see now
is not what i will forever be
someday, I will move on
and forget what
you've made me out to be
because you don't matter
never have, never will
and I'll never understand
how you dropped me
so easily
but I guess
the past is in the past
and I should let you go
wipe the tears off my face
because you shouldn't be
worth **** to me
but you are,
and until I see that,
believe what I can say so easily
seeing your face, hearing your voice,
is still gonna **** me.
but with every day, every minute
I see a little more
a little clearer
what can I say though?
I can't regret you, I was warned.
but I didn't care
all I saw was the good in you
because that's what I like to see
I block everything else out
because the good
is all I want to believe
but I gotta stop that,
see things, for how they really are
bottle it all away some more
mend my open scars
keep you in my poems
now, in my dream world, lost
so I just guess, finally,
after all that you've done
I'm doing what's right
and cutting you off.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 8:56 PM UTC
We live and breath off death, can you not smell
the corpses in your stomach?
The touch of worthlessness in your stomach?
Would you like to ****
Is it better that death is wrapped up in all natural anti-botic free?
Is death better with food coloring to make it look real?
Does the word wholesome satisfy your whole love of life?
One of our lives takes an average of 10,000 others,
is it worth it?
The fleeting savagery of feeling natural?
Of ripping into ribs, just think you are eating a lung.
Nature also is starving.
Life is in flux but certainly the grilled chicken with olive oil
does not know that, would you like to see a picture of the creature you killed?
We talk of life being small in labeled and reverend boxes if our dust is
small what should we make of the animals killed and shipped all over
never named, life a cost to be minimized.
Where forests burnt alongside the coal for the barbecue
is it worth it?
A cow is to many what puppies are to us
yet we enjoy burgers and cry with the dying dogs.
Life given to cows for the sole purpose’s of being rapped
chained down and killed, a burger is a stomp of approval.
A carton of milk at fairway an hour ****
heavily processed.
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 12:26 PM UTC
I’ll be rapt when I’m wrapped
In your old brown gown
I’ll be rapt when I’m wrapped
In your arms
So your going will rap
On the strings of my heart
Then unrapt
And unwrapped
I’ll be rapped.
Jan 28, 2010
Jan 28, 2010 at 2:07 AM UTC