Cut, cut, cut.
This is true.

There is no other
Way through—

Feel my head.
It is heavier than God’s,

An Iberian sculpture
Jam-packed with *****.

Misery blackens it.
Sweet Lady,

I want a Picasso smile.
No one comprehends!

I am all alone,
A Buddhist bud

Rising, falling, rising
Choking on its

Indelible, sick scents.
Those silver hooks

Cast nastiness,
Smirking

“We got her again”.
O heart,

You fill me with irony:
I cannot adore someone

Unless they adore me.
You never do me good.

I’d throw you out
If I could,

Sitting around
Bored as a Leopard,

Syncopating Satan :
You amuse me to death.

Pretty boy,
Dumb girl,

Beaten mother,
Hateful Father,

Make me numb.
My skin is a sky

Of Samurais.
That is that, that is that.

**** me.
I won’t come back.

I write sometimes li̲ke I'm out for
blood (I kind of have been & am)
like vampires; tha[ɑ]t's for
all the injustice & violence absorbed
[video games, films, (& later) rap & politics-related stuff]
from this unjust & f#cked world
you may think I'm a kettle boiling, 'cause
writing rhymed texts & going hos—
—tile in 'em is a way to blow steam off
besI̲des that, I'm bored
like a plank that I̲ would, o[ʌ]f course
["board"]
not mind to wa[ɑ]tch a dumb war—
—mongering, power-drunk ****
walk off into the waters galore of hungry cro[ɑ]cs or
sharks, though I̲ would o[ɑ]pt for something much worse
if punishing power-corrupted schmucks were
up to mO̲I̲ with my warped
mind; like a drama queen, or a jihadist fiend
at a public spot with **̲[ɑ]stile in—
—tentions & a bomb, or a gun on him
I'd make such a scene
["sin"]
one tor—mentors would love to observe
one worth grabbing some ****** po[ɑ]pcorn
[like the one portrayed in "punishment of an autocrat"]
****** alert; the villainous fiend
inside wants to join this lyrical binge
give 'em *******, dude
————————————————————————————————
listen U̲p, you da[ɛ]mn fool
this message is also for the trap rap playschool
that you pU̲nk pertain to
consider yourself LIA 'cA̲U̲se you're plain doomed
[lost in action]
like an aircrA̲ft which is about
to crA̲sh into the ground (plane, doomed)
call thI̲s sh#t maltreatment
'cause, like a wicked professor prone
to domineering, I'ma teach you a lesson, ***
["molltreatment"]
'cause in this lyric-writing game, you
are just a lame stewd'
[stu(ew)dent]
you better find some da[ɛ]mn tools
the screws of mine are cray loose
just like Deadpool's; memorize this name to
call me by: Slay Illsome
[Deadpool's real name is Wade Wilson]
you're like pup: so ****** tame you
should be called Lame Chillsome
["po[ɑ]p", in the sense of "pop music"]
so inept that holding somebO̲[ɑ]dy's dra[ɛ]nk, you'd
prob'ly wind up with the dra[ɛ]nk spilled, chump
I'm an instiller of awe & distaste
a thrill killer, nuts, A̲lthough well-trained
and I really love to slay noobs
I'll be enjoying some thrilling, high-octane tunes
while you'll be stricken by the grave blues
'cause I'll have you feeling such a pain you
are gon' wish it were Max 'stead of me & start to pray to
["Payne"; Max Payne, who mostly just guns down his targets]
me to put you down like I̲'m the type slinging
off at others; I'll I̲ce you by swinging
my mo'f#cking blade through
your neck like a batter, whereA̲fter I[ɑ]'ll pick
up your nut & make use
of it as a **** bA̲sketball, *****
I'll chop you in parts, then bo[ɑ]x 'em, like a way to
verbally tag an attrA̲ctive gal with
a set of plumply-shaped *****
["buxom"]
I'll have the box wrapped a la gifts
and then get the remainders of you sE̲nt ta
a replantation-focused center
(so much for something with the littlest of spite...)
————————————————————————————————
like a substance a[ɑ]ddict
tryna quit but quickly sliding ba[ɑ]ckwards
one verse & I'm back to mY̲ bad ha[ɑ]bits
[the prelude]
of writing; life-lethargic, bU̲t this art form
is something I sure have go[ɑ]t a lust for
which explains why
I'm sO̲ de—voted to my stuff when it's getting laid, like
a carnal co[ɑ]mmerce; lyrical self-indulgence, much more
than self-indulgent "I̲'ve got" type twerps
making unco[ɑ]mplicated trap
as if there were something like a cavy that
those diletta[ɑ]nti aim to catch
like someO̲ne depraved, I have (what?)
a ba[ɑ]wdy-like urge in my mI̲nd when I verse
like a tI̲ght-fit guise worn
by an exercising gal with nice curves
intention... of nailing rhyming as if rhymes were lush girls
["in tension"]
the type to whom technical seduction comes first
lyrics-wise, which is why some of my works
may be regarded as hot stuff
like a heated iron flyi[—]ng to[—]ward
the face of a tyrant-like ****
with the bo[ɑ]ttom side forth; do this kind of stuff for
fun & to maintain these mI̲nd skills I scored
["slay just to maintain some relish & killing skills"]
which explains why I dub it "bar sport"
[sport/fun of making bars (rhymed lines)]
you trap rap hacks ou[ɑ]ght to ha[ɑ]ve your
bars shA̲rp just like swords of samurais, for
as I̲'ve said afore, I'm O̲U̲t for blood, twerps
————————————————————————————————
struck this "bar sport" writing up short
["bar sport (prelude)" followed by this one]
on hope, wound up with a flood of thou[ɑ]ghts versed (wow)
guess this writer's inner fire's no[ɑ]t burned... out
like someone dO̲ne too much work

holiness dissociates between my eyes
samurais with ptsd and human tendencies
are the closest to a lulluby during noon
between rib and flesh, the movement uncomfortable

now

if we don't love now
fall on our knees, now
if we don't cry out loud, now, if we don't tear apart our clothes  right now,
if  tears don”t  crack the stones, now
and  hearts don”t jump like ping pong ***** on fire, now,  when we are twisting  this strand of hair,
if you don't touch my chin,  lightly,  like a feather, lightly, now,
now
the gaze, fiery samurais cutting off our eyes with  leaves,  shattering mustard bellies, - in white webs,
spiders,
in the blink of an eye, releasing air with no shores,
no reins
endless, now
lips, hot steam,
in the blink of an eye, we raise wild rainbows in the clouds,
when? if not now,  we caress the lightning with the tongue of longing, in the blink of an eye,
if  we don”t taste the lilac in between our teeth, now,
when, and how,  
and who”ll take care of us when we are angry,
tired
and
sad
and
forgotten by  the world
left alone
grieving in a naive tremor:

- lovers do not meet at one end, not at the other,  but
have always been in each other:

- well, well… but who will take care of us when we are old, alone, and sick
if we don't touch each other,  now,  like two people

I brandish
my sword
don my
war boots
Yes
This is a battle
and I
am set
on winning

You will
not push
me aside,
No.
This
does not
happen.
Good girls
Also
Speak out
we fight
for our
rights
more than
you know
And we are
Hell-bent
on getting
our way
We glide
in the air
as samurais
and take
what is ours
rightfully
often in quiet
heated flair
And you
My warrior
Of light
And darkness
I take back
what you took
from me
I claim
my rights
to love you
yet
choose
when this
will be

your lies cut deep as
Samurais embedded much
too far in my soul

i don't even know
who you are in this life any
more than I know foes

makes me sad to know
I have exposed hidden truth
I just can't save you

There were two steel skinned brothers.
One was a passivist
the other a warrior
and wherever they went
they gained followers.

Two righteous brothers
split in their own conflict,
wanting justice,
but unable to work together.

One would sit and meditate
while enemies struck fiercely.
He convinced whole families
to join him
and when he was attacked
they were attacked as well,
but not being steel skinned
they fell
to the brutal onslaught
and the passivist brother
would move on
trying to do what’s right
while watching others die.

The other brother
would rage against
the abusive power
battling Knights
and Samurais.
He went wherever
there was oppression,
fighting was his obsession,
and being steel
he did not even feel
the cold hard strikes
of arrows, swords,
and knives.
People would follow him
and when he fought
they fought as well,
but not being steel skinned
they fell
to the brutal onslaught
and the warrior brother
would move on
trying to do what’s right
while watching others die.

Cuando los japoneses adquirieron
el rockefeller center
ellos que tienen geishas y la sony
y samurais y teatro no
y kamikazes y kurosawa
y matsuo basho y panasonic
y aprenden flamenco por computadora
y pueden cantar tangos sin entender palabra

cuando los japoneses adquirieron
el rockefeller center
supe que por fin había empezado
la sutilísima la dulce
venganza de hiroshima