"rawest" poems
When I enter,
the black holes of myself,
they are located,
transcribed upon the
blackboards of our
unified bodies,
the magnification of energy
transversed,
principles demonstrated
by the unconcluding
conclusion of the expansion of
creation,
the rebirthing of one universe
never ending
When I enter a woman,
the discovery sought,
the definitional needed,
the proofs equational,
the factors constant,
not the variable
truths,
the demonstrations positive,
the constants of the universe,
combinational, all within,
a single point glistening
to gentle comfort this
knowledge of my wasting,
the foresight of my limitations
from the day of birth
my matter,
matters,
my energy
neither destroyed or created,
illimitable,
my decline inevitable
and yet!
cannot alter my atomic structure.
my future guaranteed,
my inner light,
traveling so fast,
it has yet
to arrive
When I enter a woman,
the laws of physics
become special theories
of relativity,
we are motion in time,
force and energy
nucleotides rawest refined,
elemental and particle nuclear,
packets of light
exclaimed
When I enter a woman,
organic, chemistry,
interdisciplinary
my body and its life force
shaped as
electric current transceivers
crossing galaxies,
there can be no deceivers,
there but and only
the birthing of heat,
a byproduct of
interjection, conjunction
creation of creativity
<>
she is my proof
long after the
log normal of my nerves,
now parceled to the
invisible of an oscillating
log natural,
fertilizes the sea grasses
that so intoxicate,
flying, carried,
by the invisiblity of the winds,
all-where I have chosen
as my shifting shape,
when this container
leaks and crack'd,
in sentry reentry orbit,
to
the nearest garbage strewn
construction-dead
lot
When I enter a woman,
physics far beyond
the commonplace,
physical transition
to knowledge
of life ever after
death and fear are
time sensitized
passing notions,
crushed by the
consolation of physics,
the eternality
of a time
once begun,
cannot end,
and therefore
this,
my one theory of everything,
the God
I worship,
of course,
he is invisible!
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 8:40 AM UTC
What if
I had fallen to my knees
On the cold parking lot concrete
Tears washing over my cheeks
And cries no one should ever have to hear
Bellowing out from beneath my ribs
Screaming at the sky
Looking up at your face
Forcing you
(and everyone else)
To see me in this godforsaken state
Of absolute chaos
Heartbreak
In it's rawest form
What if I had begged you to stay?
What if I'd told you I can't do this without you?
What if I'd told you how much I needed you
What if I did anything other than fighting back the tears
Maybe for myself, maybe for you,
Mostly for the crowd of people gathering
Saying their goodbyes
Anxiously looking around to bear witness to everyone else's reactions
And I didn't want to be that girl
That girl who falls to the ground
Kicking and screaming and crying and begging
But what if I was?
What if I was any girl other than the one I pretended to be that day
The one that held her tongue and kept her mouth shut because she knew the second she opened it to speak she would sob
The one that wrapped her arms around you for the last time,
and the one that let go
The one that couldn't bear to watch you walk away
So she kissed you goodbye
Got back in the car
And drove home
What if i wasn't that girl who didnt allow herself to completely fall apart until she was alone in the privacy of her own home?
What if instead I'd made a scene,
Doing what everything inside me so desperately wanted to
Grabbing hold of your hand and refusing to let go
Losing the facade of confidence
The charade of strength
But I'm not that girl
And I never will be
So each and every time you leave
I kiss you goodbye
I unclench my fists and retract my anchors
I untether my heart from it's human home
And I put on a brave face
Maybe for myself, maybe for you,
Or maybe
For that girl.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 12:19 PM UTC
I am Sin
In its purest and rawest form.
& for that, I have no shame
as fire in the bible resembles
purification.
I...
repent.
And so
as this fire
burns between my legs
flickering images of your full, yet delicate figure
cross my mind.
I turn into myself
& wish me anew.
my fingers cupping and twirling
so gracefully...
caressing...
as I scream my confessions
I'm born again.
Oct 24, 2022
Oct 24, 2022 at 10:53 PM UTC
1. Fallow brown, like he's poured his whole soul out through the gold sieve and lies in wait to be replenished.
2. The color of the ocean. Blue, I guess, but that’s not even the half of it. All the ruggedness of the waves—forming up, breaking, and forming again like life is only the motions. Her eyes are blue, but you could hardly tell.
3. A hand-painted bowl of fresh chocolate frosting from which the most immature hands soonest get a mouthful.
4. Beautiful. Like, drop dead gorgeous. I’d dig my own grave and stick to rolling in it if she ever looked at me some type of way. Their color? I don’t know. But most of all, I dare to wonder about the bludgeoned scar between them.
5. Sturdy cobalt. Far more indicative of her steady heart than gold could ever hope to be. Still susceptible to tear, but not so easily warped by heat or stress.
6. Simply brown. No, red? It’s always been hard to tell through the fog. Truthful like the rawest earth, I’ll call her mahogany.
7. Faded blue spray paint over a slate gray wall. Forcibly muted after her years of blasting music, but there’s still that rogue twinkle to them that I pray slips through the cracks.
8. Coffee, with all the vim and vigor to make you click your heels and fall in love.
9. Unripe lime seen lazing in the shade. Not fit for a margarita just yet, but straining at the bit nonetheless.
10. Hazel, although I still don’t know what the **** that actually is. Whatever. It looks nice on her resume.
11. Green. Or were they blue? The memories of her were too wonderful, too important, that I had to let the littlest details fade away first.
12. The crystallized seafoam that made me realize I deserved to feel alive, too.
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 3:09 AM UTC
Awaiting the storm
Forming on distant shores.
Preparing myself for
The oceans tidal swell.
Opening my heart
To the rawest of elements.
I ride the anticipation
Of the coming waves.
Conquering the building
Fear as the water leaps high.
A great solid wall
Unfurling its rippling energy.
Through the tube,
Board skimming, skipping.
Flirting with danger,
Risking everything,
Inside a living
Hollow cocoon of
Thundering power.
Controlled fear beats
Inside my pumping heart,
Driving my adrenaline
Through to spiritual fulfilment.
On exiting the beast,
It rolls onward to its death.
Through its existence
We both lived, sharing
A unique oneness.
Children of nature within
A union of creation, so special,
It takes the breath away.
Savouring my exhilaration,
I see another wave being born,
And prepare to surf again.
©Paul M Chafer 2014
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 8:27 AM UTC
Poppies...
Fields of red.
Memories of unrelenting dread.
Poppies...
Pillows of consequence, of loss
of love.
A memoir to our mistakes.
And fury.
Poppies...
Fields I tread.
Resting place of the dead.
Blood of a thousand stain their leaves,
little embodiments of death -
little life thieves.
Live off the deceased,
beautiful scavengers -
some drink their juices, liquid energy.
Liquid Poison.
Poppies,
pure poison in its rawest form,
***** field of heaven
conflict field of the past,
present
and future.
Stick it in a needle,
give it a shot -
but remember, these plants
grow on bodies that still rot.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 6:39 PM UTC
Where skin meets pole,
In low society.
Is where I thrive.
This isn’t the right choice.
Singles hustlin.
Join me in these dollar days.
This is your light switch entrance.
Sitting at a marble bar
Loveless love, pay by the song.
Selfish fun, ***** talking on the jukebox.
Jazzin’ to the music.
Standing up on that marble stage,
Showing the world whats yours is ours.
Drunken memories lived to the fullest.
I’m out trying to discover America.
Stripped down to its rawest form.
This road is laden with fallen philosophies.
Tasting of ***** money.
Bitter.
Fully **** girls flashing. (lights)
Blow in the bathroom.
The nightlife you’ve always wanted.
Movie star lifestyle.
Dimly lit.
Have some backroom privacy.
Conversations with strangers.
This is naked in all sense of the word.
Sensual seduction.
Classical redemption.
Primal ecstasy.
Trying to make amends with myself.
This is a haggard lifestyle.
Society frowns upon us.
Shameful scandals.
Fake lovesick mannerisms
Paid for in advance.
Exposed on stage.
You’re in love with a stripper.
Kitty, Desire, Destiny, Velvet.
All the love you’ve been looking for,
For the price of admission.
Just sit back and watch the girls on stage.
This is it.
We’re searching for love.
And if we cant find love,
We’ll settle for lust and luck.
You’re well taken care of here.
Don’t you worry about a thing.
Just don’t run out of money.
Superficial lover for a pay as you go one-night stand.
Never lonely here.
Late night tonight.
In the back of the club.
Are we having déjà vu yet?
You’ve been here before.
You’ll be here tomorrow.
Just a little longer now.
Climbing up the pole to the ceiling,
Only to slam down in the splits.
Don’t worry it can only get better from here.
This is the right choice.
Bright light flashing.
You’re finally in the spotlight.
Sold out, checked out, cashed.
“Let me do all the work sweetheart.”
We must live the way we feel is right.
We’re all trying to make our way in this world.
Lets not forget each other.
Cocktails anyone?
Is this wrong?
Living in this life.
This party
that never ends.
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 8:38 PM UTC
We, the children of a system that awards you simple papers
That state 'he/she has achieved what we deem quality'
As we are all judged and graded in exactly the same way
Because they promote individuality unless it's intelligence
'We all learn differently, and at different paces'
Is an often preached sermon of our progenitors these days
Yet I know more about synonyms for ancestry and parents
Than how to survive once our papers begin to mean nothing
So here I'd like you to tell me what is considered knowledge
And I'd ask of the older generations to insert customary wisdom
Because more adults have spat quotes to me like gospel
Than tought me what I really need to know and value
I've got a track record spanning back almost two decades
Of being sorry for just being myself at all times
So I think my teachers should be proud of themselves
To know that the things they preach to me really get through
You see, homework and exams mean almost nothing
To those who need to really think on their feet
Because this same system idolizes the memory
Mistaking it for a wealth of rawest knowledge
So I love it when they say school is too easy on kids now
Rewarding losing and not promoting any ambition
Because I've been berated for attaining success at any level
Due to grades that define me not successful enough
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 8:08 PM UTC
// she falls in love the same way that she falls apart; quickly and all at once.
tumbling into his outstretched palms with a startling intensity, his fists clench and she cries.
she wants him to hurt her, leave smouldering bruises around her neck. Force your fingers down her throat and make her beg. maybe this love; choking sounds and blood.
it’s almost funny, the fact that she still hasn’t learned yet; make him your everything and you will be left with nothing.
and it feels like hell, almost romantic.
her lips part in the dimly lit room, gasping for air.
that’s the thing, there is nothing he could do to her that she wouldn’t do to herself. hold a knife to her neck and watch her soul drip from her mouth
one rib at a time you snapped them all like twigs and complained that she made too much noise. too much,
too loud.
lungs swimming in fluid yet she breathes out flowers, because that’s what pretty girls do; that’s what you wanted isn’t it babe? beauty. perfection.
don’t let him inside your head, keep him between your thighs or else everything around you will become white noise; fading into the background.
go on, romanticise it. i dare you.
force its unwilling bones into a metaphor or a simile.
pretend that we fall apart into beautiful, tragic spectacles and simply glue the broken fragments back together
she sat in the dark with a cup of tea between her shaking hands, resisting the urge to split her veins over the white walls and string her organs from the ceiling like fairy lights.
wanting to die in the most violent of ways is a lot less convenient than it seems; an unholy addiction of the rawest degree.
darling, i’m sorry he made you feel like you are hard to love,
because loving you is the easiest thing in the world //
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 8:38 AM UTC
I want you in the rawest form.
I want you while you're crying on your bathroom floor unsure of your worth.
I want you naked in my bed with your legs shaking from exhaustion.
I want you while you're angry and throwing everything in your path voice as loud as it can get.
I want you happy and dancing to your favorite tune at 3am in your underwear and my t-shirt.
I want you in your most vulnerable parts.
I want you in your strongest moments.
I want you all the time.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 3:21 AM UTC
Strip me down
To my rawest form.
To my browns and oranges.
A copper silhouette.
Peel me away
Till I’m standing there
With averted gaze.
Leave me bare.
Strip me down
Shed all my layers, till I’m
Just a component.
Make me an idea,
In its first happening.
A dream yet to be realised.
Look at me,
Honestly,
Unguarded.
In my essence,
Am I good?
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 12:51 PM UTC
Memories of us as the sun set fire to everything I touch.
Hands to myself and forget the idea of love.
Our light has dwindled out.
All that remains is a broken bulb
hanging above
the bed, in the attic of my head.
Scattered shards of glass surrounding comfort.
Every night I walk on our broken dreams and bleed before I get to sleep.
I just lay in the shadow of my past looking for lines you once said.
Only to bury the words again.
Maybe it would make more sense if I stopped resurrecting the dead.
There's a piece of me, no longer alive.
From me to you is a far drive.
So I dig in the dark attic for old and removable parts to repair my broken car. Flashing my lights at anyone who could be you.
Because you're the only one who can see it too.
Our connection is as consistent as me quitting bad habits
For instance, cigarettes, but how could I know when I still haven't?
I crave but can barely manage.
I'm on and off in strange patterns.
A rusty pull chain hanging from the socket
Stuck with our questions to questions, irrational logic.
I asked "why do you always escape from what you wanted?"
You slowly whispered "how else would you know if you really got it.".
I guess I'll figure it as I smoke another cigarette.
I take a hit, before exhaling, i stare up at the sun.
Close my eyes and think of you.
I imagine the smoke soaking up everything I ever wanted to tell you.
Plans, ideas, thoughts, and the rawest feelings I have ever had.
Once it feels right I open my eyes to the empty sky and exhale.
An emotional release.
February air will condense these dreams on to your car window.
You will wipe them off to find your way home.
The last thing you said before you left, "Just keep thinking of me And We'll meet again"
There has to be another chapter before the end of this story being written in my head.
But love and love lost is the ink to my pen of thoughts.
Let it leak in my sleep. Knowing I'll wake up to her gone.
But its okay.
She left the chorus for my song.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 8:03 PM UTC
Secrets
we all have them
and denying that fact is stupid
no matter how close you are with someone
there’s still
something you haven’t said
and will probably never admit to
and if you have great
but likeliness is whoever knows is sworn to secrecy
and nobody else knows
in fact you’d probably **** to keep it safe
destroy those who shouldn’t know
and bury the ashes
see the thing about secrets
is that it’s the most
precious
part of who we are
it’s the thing that made us who we are
and continually molds us even now
because you see
our secrets are the very monsters
we created
that lurk within us at all times
it’s the rawest form of our very essence
and too much of ourselves
to simply give away
it’s that selfish, greedy part of our souls
that claw at our insides
and whisper
as sweetly and darkly as shadows and honey
driving us insane
and unbearably reckless
never caring what it is that soothes the burn
just that it’s dulled
but the thing is the weight of it comes
crashing back down on you
and forces you to your knees holding you captive
with it’s icy fingertips
and brands itself on you with burning eyes
paving the way for
guilt and fear
becoming the new guiding light
and north star of your moral compass
let me tell you
nothing good comes from this compass
it doesn’t lead you to paradise
nor does it lead you into the silent escape you long for
hell it’s job is to claw
it’s way through your soul
bursting free from the prison of your body
and dance to beat of your
slow destruction
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 12:27 PM UTC
Love was made on a level that only the stars above could discern.
My lips ensnaring yours, softly, but, aggressively
as the sweetness of lustful saliva lubricates
embracing you with my arms
I wish to fuse you and I together forever!
The natural expression of divine love that defines
the steamy procession that pursues the rawest display of our reciprocating affections
that moment of rewarding bliss as I enter you.
You, receiving me eagerly with your legs clutching me firmly.
One, we have become under the creator of all.
Early morning sunshine peeks through the window just to greet you,
but, only I can feel you close to me.
The angels have succumb to their envy of me
the celestials I must now fight
oh how they wish to be near you
I cannot lose you.
I love you.
There were those moments that I scoured space and time in search of you.
Breaking the mad tyrant’s gauntlet to confiscate the stones and crawling back to you on my shattered knees to rest at your feet,0
I will give everything that is good to you!
Yes, you!
Only you!
The sun incinerated my hands when I repositioned them to extend our particular solstice.
My reward was a prolonged winter
perpetual so that I could always cuddle with you.
You are God’s beautiful prose
the Creator’s presence is only visible through the essence of you.
You.
Jan 2, 2025
Jan 2, 2025 at 10:21 PM UTC
Get on feet
out of seats
with a firm, stretched palm,
maybe even stick a tongue out.
Get hysterical,
elated- get pumped.
Yell something trite,
That's what I'm talking about!
Get a rush
from the head to the Seoul,
get a fresh set of wings,
fly from the hardwood,
get elevated.
Full-court press be ******
This goes beyond the laces,
the cheering,
the stoic referee winded-
travels hot fast and hard,
after the huddle, before the late whistle
and the fist-bump.
This is success at its most savage,
emotion at its rawest,
audiences at their most breathless
moment.
This, son, is the slam dunk.
Anything less would be a travesty
to the occasion.
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 10:25 AM UTC
Pretty?
Gorgeous?
Beautiful?
Lovely?
Ha!
You haven't seen what I see in the mirror at 6am.
You haven't seen these eyes wet with tears at 2am.
You haven't seen me bite my lip to keep from screaming out at 3pm.
You haven't seen anything but a picture.
Where, yes, I look relatively decent.
Big eyes.
'Happy'
Nice hair.
I spent so long trying to get it straight.
So please.
Don't compliment me until you see my rawest state.
Because that is true beauty.
Raw emotion.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 8:15 PM UTC
At the fire on the edge of the world
To be there, without
To capture life at it's very rawest
I see so clearly
Human nature in it's lightning passage
People tell you much
With some sense of letting everything go
Isms and eons
We spoke of warmed bones and creatures
old
Entertaining thoughts
At the fire on the edge of the world
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
This is not meant to rhyme
But I find that when I write it flows every single time
The last time I was on stage... there were issues
I thought hard about it, 'Is hip hop something we were destined to do... or is it something that we choose?'
Then it hit me after a period of insecurity
My confidence is the only thing I need to surround myself with, I should keep it 'in security'
This thing flows in my veins blood, so I need to get it in with purity
Talent in its rawest form... way above the norm
It's a gift I need to use
A gift I can't refuse
Deny it is something that I can't do... even if I want to
There is no other way around it
No other way to go about it
I had a bad experience... well...
I could either be a ***** about it...
Or meet this doubtful phase with some mad resilience
Because no one can sound like I do
No one can do what I do
I need to...
Tighten up my belly bump, pull on this belt around my waist
Confidence is the only raw ingredient upon which what I do is based
This ship has always been afloat, who am I to sink it?
Bizill the rapper/poet/artist was meant to do this for a reason
Who am I to over-think it?
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 3:33 AM UTC
******
Animal
Savage
Dead man walking, right?
You going to fuckin' score ******
You going to fuckin' score?
You're ******* right I am
I'm gonna hit the lights and let my veins glow electric
I'm gonna turn my blood black and spray it all over the walls
I'm gonna sleep tonight in the abyss, baby
******
Are you hearing me are you feeling me am I getting through to you do I ******* stutter?
Are you ready to get out of my way or die ************
I'm going to tear the ******* roof off this place I'm gonna skin you all alive
Till it's just me and the messiah complex dealer with the keys to the holy city
If this is a standoff then let's have at it if you wanna play cowboy I'll show you cowboy
If we were made in any image at all it'd have to be the rats, right?
Well I'm the big bad wolf now and I'm done ******* around
******
Deadbeat
Family man
Feel cool with that gun in your hand?
Feel cool with that hole in your neck?
You're ******* right I do
I'm going out in style tonight
I'm going to find the rawest nerve and plug it into an amplifier
I wanna hear God cry
******
Is this happening are you seeing this are you ******* kidding me?
Is there anybody even on the receiving end?
Is this a sick ******* joke I'm choking on ***** and hate and I have enough rage to bury everything
I don't want to rest until I watch everything suffer
Am I sick? Am I losing it have I lost it already?
What do I have left to lose?
What manner of beast is this now?
******
Wretch
Vermin
Is that it, huh?
Is that all there is?
Don't ******* patronize me
That's gonna be it, alright
I'm gonna finish it the way it began
Dim lit basement, flood of chemical angels
Beauty in the most high
And death will show me sympathy
Because junkies die alone
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC
eight years on,
she, airplane borne,
takeoff - a minute from,
texts a parting thot
"love you madly"
you can't recall ever
that prescient précis designation
on any earlier editions
of your other old lovers resumes
this tidbit of reckless abandon
moves fury fast,
direct to the top of the list
madly, manly madness,
when you man,
allow the crossover to occur,
when boundaries twixt honesty and
sensibility
are declared
voided laws
when the white cloth napkin of careful sanity knocked, swept to the floor
maddening love rawest realized
conceded
in madness, completion is indivisible,
indivisible, completion is madness
manly madness
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 4:17 PM UTC
strange enough,
that word choice,
******
for they are all,
(or mostly)
men
they get on
their knees,
so eager to please
write a poem,
newbie,
they will be your
partner pretenders,
instant followers
but
the trick employed
is transference
they want you bad
to worship them,
that being the purest
of their false intentions,
their oldest trick,
guilt,
"if I follow you,
you should follow me!"
their kiss
Pass
laden with std's,
they want implanted
in your
hp inbox
The std is vanity.
what they need,
what they want you to imbibe,
is their world view,
poetry-is-by-the-numbers
the number of followers,
(how I detest that word)
the number of reads,
oft manipulated,
by cyber techno b.s.
so understand,
this craft,
you may have chosen,
is work, so hard,
because it comes from the gut,
wrenching pressing issues
inside you
it is about everything you want
us
to understand about you,
your vision peculiar,
without revealing your rawest self
so obviously
know this in advance
each poem has a unique audience,
as unique as you
years took me,
took me to grasp
this simply complex notion,
over come myself within myself,
that self-same infection
that audience is you
write to please yourself,
be your harshest critic,
popularity
will find you
your truths,
withour pandering,
will finds the seekers,
the quality lovers,
the truth
hungerers
they will find you,
of that,
be assured
amidst the millions of words,
yours are yours,
fear not the plaintive worry,
are they any good?
for the courage to post
yourself,
is the very
self same answer to that,
the bells toll
for thee
if it pleased you,
pained you,
enough that you released into this world,
in poem form,
it is good enough
poetry is ego
no question,
but keep yourself
on the right side of the line,
separating your ego from
the egotist,
and your poetry
will no question,
forever live,
a mark of you
upon the world
let us be brothers,
let us be sisters,
David and Jonathan,
Ruth and Naomi,
but not
Cain and Abel,
no anger, no jealousy,
just raw,
refined,
truth,
the truth
of you,
which cannot be
diminished by enumeration,
cannot be counted,
only blessed
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 11:55 AM UTC
Check my frequency static stations easily
See haters after me cuz I invoke catastrophe
To all of my adversaries backed by hells army
Y'all can't harm me turning ****** into barbie
Dolls catch ya slippin' in the bathroom stalls guess death answered yo
Call still holding my ***** middle finger to the laws
Raw as **** uncut lyrics made to gut
MC jaggernaut and what not? Strategized with plots
You can tell I'm from Houston cuz I rap alot
Smoke a few glocks that'll make bodies rock
Hearse flow see how many I can make go
Six feet below my beef is eternal inferno
Feel the temperature rise in my
eyes
Ruthless forever as an outlaw so I'm destined to rise
Double my size fools need to
realise
My raps untouchable say y'all killers but NOOO?
Fuckin' with me you'll be sleepin' with blood on the floor
I'm ******** like nineteen ninety six deep in the mix
Watch for the snakes in the pit they nothin' but culprits
Mad at me cuz my money ain't spent ahhh ****
Another hit made by the ***** King Tut cut
Off my loyalties cuz they undercover enemies
Hidden tactics improvise my
Machivelli
Skills gettin' them kills ending weak
wills
Now I just signed your bills and still
We the rawest
regardless **** any other hating *** artist
We polish 'em
By a landslide makin' casket hides it's suicide
Tryna step to the Southside mafiaso
So
back back before you get ya wig pushed back
My raps more addictive than street crack
Giving the fiends an ear dose til they overdose
From playin' to close to the devil's playground
Though his son in law keep the lyrics raw
This is the styles of an immortal Texas outlaw
Letting off my lyrical shells makin'
hell
**** being carried by six I'd rather go be judged
by a panel of twelve well???
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 11:50 PM UTC
When every bone in your body aches to be relieved through death, When it hurts to breathe, when the thoughts and ideations of self harm cut you deeper than any blade could and the thought of suicide is one of hope not fear, when the burdens you bear are so heavy you feel them weigh every inch of you down, when you wake up with regret that you made it through another night, when you feel like you're drowning in the millions of tears that have parted from your eyes, and yet you march on anyway, you throw away the pills, you put down the blade, you pick up that fork of food and you eat, you don't turn to a bottle or drugs, you dig deep within yourself for the fight you swore you had run out of months ago and you carry on with life, that is the rawest and most admirable strength there is.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 11:56 AM UTC
lost under blankets of warmth
into his arms she's at home
the only one that's ever been real
it's the rawest love she'd ever feel
pure
true
the epitome of anything and everything ever dreamed
it's love
it's love you see
but you don't
you think she's just naive and falling
though she is falling
she's not drowning
no she's falling for more than she'd ever dreamed
in his arms is everything to see
he holds her
wraps her up
and he holds her
warm and snug
she's now dived into something she'd feared so much
something that gives the biggest rush
a wave of emotion
of feeling
of heat
a wave of love
sweeps you off your feet
and into the air
and her hair
long and flowing
as she swims in the air
of love and hoping
just hoping it will last
forever
never let it pass
forever
she needs
him to breathe
he's her antidote
her cure for the cold
and her only true home
you see
do you see
this hopeless feeling
of need
letting everything go
just being in his arms
forever warmed by his touch
so strongly in love
she loves him so much
Aug 17, 2011
Aug 17, 2011 at 1:59 AM UTC
Having *** in
a car is the most
dispassionate
of locations.
You drive up late,
wait on the curb
for her to sneak
out past her
overprotective and
well intentioned parents.
She gets in,
keep the music high
and the voices low,
any conversation at
this point is
simply to break
the slight awkwardness
of what you both know
is about to happen.
Park in a
shady lot
with no light posts.
You can see an
elementary school
down the street,
buses and pick up lanes,
in a few hours they
will scamper around
like rats
but tonight there
are no witnesses.
Tonight there is nothing
but the back seat
you climbed into,
music still loud enough
to dissuade
any personalization
of the situation.
It is ***** and cheap.
--a personal
preference--
She is nothing but a
quick fix.
She gets on top,
moans a little
as you slide in.
The seatbelt buckle
digs deep into your
back,
but you don't mind it,
this wasn't meant
to be comfortable.
You just want this over with.
She looks at you
and smiles,
you look away.
All of this
is shameful,
but a necessary evil.
There is a decadent
beauty
that surrounds the
cheapest and
rawest of pleasures,
that glory in the gutter.
*** in a car is the most
dispassionate of locations.
You drop her back off,
don't stick around to see her
caught by her
waiting father.
Her shirt is on wrong
and her hair is ******
Not your problem.
You head home,
keeping the music up,
thinking about anything else.
You don't even know
who she is,
just some quick fix,
just another wednesday night.
You try to believe that
it is better that way.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 12:05 PM UTC