"stumblin" poems
****** and bass
****** and bass.
All she want in her face
is ****** and bass.
All she wanna do
is **** ******
kiss *******
and listen to Future.
**** that's why
I won't pursue her.
Love and the essence of life
don't get through to her.
She is an addict.
Running from life
and abusing ****
to get away from it.
So much beauty and potential
but he she wanna be a dumb *****
She wanna be that *****
or some *****
that gotta man that's rich
and follow the crowd.
Blowin loud.
Poopin xans
and sippin lean.
She ain't never seen
a trap but
She listens to Future
and shes stumblin.
Choppin it the **** up
and mumblin.
Lickin her lips and giggling
because my sub in the trunk
is tickling her pearl tongue
and both lungs.
We are both young
but that's no reason
to act so dumb
and walk around all numb.
When I kick her some philosophy
she doesn't care
all she can think about
is her on top of me.
All in her soul.
All in her face.
****** and bass.
****** and bass.
All she want in her face
is ****** and bass.
All she wanna do
is **** ******
kiss *******
and listen to Future.
The Promethazine King.
The codeine connoisseur.
You can't be a loser
if you wanna get
through to her.
She needs your dollar signs
and expensive ****
before you even see the ****
or a *** or an *** cheek.
She's fine as hell but
If you ask me
she ain't no Ashley
from Fresh Prince.
She's nasty.
Freaky and far from innocent.
She wants it blasted
in her face
until she can't see straight.
She wants the force from the back
till she feel it
in her stomach and her back.
She listens to Future
but I'm no codeine cowboy.
She's mistaken me for him
because I'm
as fresh as an altoid
and my eyes are as low as
the unemployment rate.
I set the bait
and there is the prey.
Now she is
all in my face.
****** and bass.
****** and bass.
All she want in her face
is ****** and bass.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 1:15 PM UTC
More? You want more?
Look at you,
you drunk *****
Mess. You're a mess.
Letting his hands
run up your dress.
Fool. You're such a fool.
Getting **** drunk
cause you think it's cool.
**** You filthy ****
Stumblin around
with your eyes all shut.
End. Now it's the end.
Slur 'goodnight'
to all your hook up friends.
Oct 28, 2010
Oct 28, 2010 at 10:39 PM UTC
Dis is one dream that won’t be pleasant
I’m the master, you the peasant
Broken Ankles and Totaled Cars
Really!? More like Strange Dreams from weird bars
Guess it can’t be, Queens too young
In a club, hands w’d get tied, like your tongue
More like a wanna be princess, than a true Queen
You got weak poems like Death by Dopamine
Mo like, Death by Dope Poet, me!
Ya best run back to the Prayer Closest gurll
Time for a Waking up, I’m da King of the world
There are two things you can take
That your Unabridged Loc Bat and your Mistake
Show some Self-Control SISS
Gonna get your ******* in a great big twist
Your right about one thing, it’s My Fault
That you’re stumblin’ in the hundred, an I’m winin the vault
BOO HOO! Handle With Care
My rhymes nock your teeth out and pull your hair (Not me, rhymes. No violence towards women!)
I Release my poems, to be a my ****
You’ll be reciting’ Memories of You, like a drug
You asked the question, What I May Lose
It aint up to you B, it’s for me to choose
You were So Close, you could almost taste it
In stepped the King, now your poems aint worth sh…..
Yo Yo! Listen up all you shawtys
Ya steppin’ to the Kng, you must b chugging foties
Take a herd of ya’ll to get in my face
Talken to you, Somethin’ and Madison Grace
This is the toughest challenge you’ll ever face
Betta get fifty of ya all pseudo poets
Cuz you’re the what?
And I’m the KNOW IT!!!!!!!
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 9:37 AM UTC
Im ****** up
stumblin
tumblin
along
Only one thing on my mind
I want to slip
up
inside of you
Deep and fast
rough and rapid
Until I make you scream
I wont be satisfied
Lift you off your feet
baby
do the pick up and grind
****
all
over
the ************ house!
I want you wet and lovely
Like I know you can be
Dont say you love me
use your mouth for what its for
Dont kiss me baby
bite me
I cant get off unless I bleed
Your a tyrant cause you know
you got what I need!
I love your lips
more than life
Starin into those dark eyes
who needs anything else
Your stare tears
me limb from limb
with lust
****** after ******
you give me
supernatural
endurance
I cant ****** stop
Even if I wanted to
Which I dont :)
You make crack
less desirable
than a two dollar crack ***
Im ****** addicted for sure
Addicted to you!
Nobody does it like you baby
leave me sore and sweaty
every ****** time.
Your the only thing on my mind. ;)
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 4:36 AM UTC
Messy, 'specially on Sundays.
Feet a'shamble from stumblin' drunkhappy.
"It's all good, baby," Blakey yells over the drums.
Bourbon flavored women hard to swallow
with their jagged softness. Smoking section (whites) stares
down dance floor (everyone else) with guilt induced jealousy.
Coltrane's back in Philly studyin.'
Pinstriped chuckle from the Rosenbergs;
kinetic energy giving birth to the cool.
The trumpeter's high turns his tool into a weapon.
The sound briefly stealing him from his demons.
"I'll find a guy when I finish my set."
Black and white televisions: blacks in white suites
Smiling china white for an all white audience.
The movers, to this point, have only been black.
Little hero Harry thinks
blacks and whites should die on the battlefield together.
Everyone's starting to get it.
"That guitar sweeter than my old lady."
Charlie and Miles holding each other's needles
while Thelonious and his hard candy go bad.
Leanin' on bricks in a back alley.
The circle passes the joint around like the good times.
"Just keep em rollin."
The skirts expand and deflate wildly to the rhythm.
Pure sweat melting into the floors like drops of water on roots.
A melody never heard before.
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 7:36 PM UTC
Helicopter seeds descending from tree houses
and
resting in ponds shadowed by shaken needles;
—I awoke from a dream this morning—
Forests in fiery oranges plagued by pine beetles
and
a man fishing in the dusk, a sole fish he arouses.
—such a dreamin' I had me—
How about them men in the mountains, hermit'd, high, isolated,
and
pensive with pens in ink, draftin' a'lookin' after their suicide notes:
—it was nonsensical, such nonsense—
I can feel my bones aching,
my finger bones aching.
Don't you apologize, fish, for biting bait
lest the others hear that I commiserate
amongst the fishes in the lake water:
"She could have a mother; she could be a daughter!"
I feel that boom; I know that boom:
That's Thunder's yellow rumble a'stumblin'
'cross the oak-wood floors of my room–
That's naked, **** clothes strip'd.
A pile and a bundle,
my bones are aching.
That's a candle left burning,
that's saints speaking in tongues,
that's men hung like curtains on rungs–
This world is getting old, times are a'turning.
That's a taxi cab afterlife, a mail-order wife,
that's pills on the floor of a Motel 6 in Reno,
that's forty-four hundred lost playing keno.
We can't always be lucky, who calls that a life?
My joints are a'sprainin' aching
with the preempt of a storm.
That's writer's block and cramped hands, cramped hearts,
that's a hovel heated by an oven, heads found in hot ovens,
that's the hillside and the glens past where the track bends but
just before the dens of monsters that I swear I left behind that night.
—dreamin' a'dazin' and days in always let my demons out—
That night I hid another razor in the rafters thinking,
"My thoughts I'll bury."
I ran away to sell maps of the human heart en Algérie.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 12:50 AM UTC
People came and went all night, welcomed by the warm evening, the 12-piece jazz band, rich restaurant aromas and the boundless night sky. I hear their enthusiasm as they’re escorted to their tables. These Geneva people seem more Germanic and reserved than the French, although they’ve stolen our language. Maybe they license French or subscribe to it, like Spotify.
Peter (my bf) and I danced, unburdened by tomorrows, on a terrace of frozen-ice like, pale-blue tiles. The spilled star-field glittered like fireworks on a dark canvas of a new-moon, black sky.
The distant, snow-covered Alps seemed to reach for the glistening cosmos, like spilled water rushing across a floor or children grasping at toys. Compared to this celestial gallery, the Geneva skyline looked as sad as an old stage prop.
The air was scented with blooming jasmine, baking bread and coffees. A breeze, in turns warm and cool, wrapped around us, sharing the dance by pressing my dress to me one moment and throwing it away the next.
The dress I picked it up in Paris earlier in the week - a svelte, Chiuri Dior, ‘New Look Silhouette’ in Prussian blue Chiffon and cobalt crepe - felt as lightweight, breathable and cool as workout-mesh.
Peter’s a good dancer. He’s firm yet gentle, guiding me effortlessly, in a lazy, jazz way, from the waist. When we’re in the flow, our choreography’s guided more by the unseen music than a set dance.
Our evening - I think it’s fair to say we owned it - turned into an unhurried night, before easing, unnoticed, into morning - as summer evenings tend to do.
Our words, in hushed tones, were washed away on the breeze and the music, lost to anyone but ourselves. Time never seemed more of an abstract and irrelevant construct - and if there was a world beyond those moments - it went unnoticed.
.
.
Songs for this:
Good Luck, Babe! by Chappell Roan
Lose My Breath (Feat. Charlie Puth) by Stay Kids, Charlie Puth
Stumblin’ In by CRYIL
**** to someone by Clairo
Jun 5, 2024
Jun 5, 2024 at 1:19 PM UTC
our little druggy girl's
actin like shes in a whirl
twitchin likes shes gettin hit
baby must be out of it
eyes blown wide
shes terrified
someone says shes trippin bad
other asks how much shes had
hystarics start bustin out
were losing her theres no dobut
once panic set in
no way she'd win
stumblin about
she starts to shout
tripps back
loud crack
shes so *******
brains got spewed
sirens blared
someone cared?
see the flashing light
escape into the night
morning paper said
they pronounced her dead
a kind word for
the girl who swore
once upon a time
she'd always be fine.
Nov 5, 2011
Nov 5, 2011 at 12:40 PM UTC
Darlin Ophelia come a little closer
There is witchcraft in your hips, let me into your bubble, I don't care what trouble you boiled baby I need to be spoiled
Find your way back into my bed, cough that water up and let's jump into the dark
You leave me stumblin for a step stttutterin for a word, and the shape of your legs makes me slur
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 12:00 AM UTC
when your vision turns from one to two
when you’re kneeling down making porcelain stew
when stumblin’s all you can manage to do
that’s the blacked out blues
when you’re strolling down the street looking for a fight
and you find your target wandering by
that moment when you punch him in the ******* eye
that’s the blacked out blues
when getting laid is your only goal
when your only requirements are two legs and a hole
but little do you know your model’s a troll
that’s the blacked out blues
when your vision turns from one to two
when you’re kneeling down making porcelain stew
when stumblin’s all you can manage to do
that’s the blacked out blues
that’s the blacked out blues
Oct 25, 2011
Oct 25, 2011 at 5:18 AM UTC
I want to missile my motion into a tunnel of a gun, drag my head in circles so slow, and tell you to kiss the words right out of me. Sometimes, I react in a push; pushing myself up to my throat with a knife spaced evenly out in narrow-tasted heads of candy licked sticks and dives of veins into cut stripped skin.
Faced in pattern, as if, somehow this tight burn of loose liquid could easily slide its warm acid down my throat and into my guts; swinging on my organs like it has no deal or it has no conscious to release me from stumblin
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 6:26 PM UTC
Queen Bee
can't you see?
Your stinger's got a hold of me.
I've been from town to town
Seen many girls
But none got me buzzing like you.
Can I hold your hand?
Take you to the beach,
write our names in the sand?
Let me hold you close,
we could dance under the stars
and when the sun arose,
I'd give you my heart.
Oh, Queen Bee
can't you see
you've got a hold on me?
But you've got this game you play
brush my skin and fly away.
And now tequila's calling my name.
Ten shots got me stumblin'
Love songs I'm mumblin'
Now I'm fighting over you
my skin stained black and blue
why can't you just tell the truth?
Tell me I'm no good,
How I don't have enough tattoos,
or that I'm too hooked on you.
Be still my beating heart,
I wasn't the only one from the start
but I couldn't picture us apart.
Heavy breathing in the night
I can't get you off my mind.
My lust,
my love,
my muse,
it's you I choose.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 9:57 AM UTC
Comin’ home
with nothing to lose
‘cause everything I have
is found in you.
And though my story
will take years to explain,
you’ll know everything
before I even begin to whisper.
In those nights
stumblin’ around,
surrounded by pitch darkness
you will find me.
Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 12:07 PM UTC
My knees buckled.
From what I remember, I tasted gravel and blood on ma bottom lip.
My eye seen dim, swollen shut wit a touch of blue-ish black-ish.
“I says—now I says get up off the ****** ground, you ******
Still ma knees were down, deep into da’ dirt—rocks n’ pebbles prints engraved onto ma flesh.
I tries to stand, but that ole hearty bullwhip beat me to it,
And this time I was chest down.
My coughin’ of da blood only made him mo’ wicked n happy.
I’d be ****** if he slashed me once mo'.
I swore I’d be ******
With one turn on ma back, every pebble, rock, soot sunk into ma gashes.
Blood n dirt don’t mix.
I swore I seen the pasty devil as I gazed wit only one good eye.
“You’s best get up foe I kills you wit no mercy!”
**** me,” I said, **** me, I’d be dammed.”
That ole pasty devil raised that bullwhip,
Right befoe he came down on me, I done grabbed his wrist wit all ma might.
Pasty devil was mo’ pasty than ever.
I stood wit what strength I had an pushed ole man back on his back.
Fumbled in dat gravel.
The bullwhip had done rolled out his hand.
“I swears to you—nigger—u grab dat bullwhip its ya life!”
I grabbed dat bullwhip and done gave him gashes dat looked like mine.
Stumblin’ wit a burnin back,
I beat him good.
“Take ma life. I’d be dammed.”
Sep 8, 2017
Sep 8, 2017 at 3:48 PM UTC
you don't know if its up or down or up
head in the clouds like its where its supposed to fuckin' be
used to drink every day, got so ****** up
stumblin' down the hall with the lights off, couldn't see a fuckin' thing
strap me down, wrap me in that sweet straightjacket
if i scream, if i screech remind me to shut my fuckin' mouth
thought i could walk, i could talk like 'em but i could never hack it
so i grew these broken wings and made my way fuckin' south
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 9:37 PM UTC
There is no bank in this river;
Waters stretch out.
Tumultuous tides masqueraded by mellow lies.
They have painted over the exotic colours
With monochromatic hues.
The feast has become a rudimentary meal.
The skies have been mapped out
With cruel logic and rules.
Borders have been placed;
There is no more wandering.
The mystique has become a beggar
Living and a-stumblin’ for the Dollar.
Sep 25, 2024
Sep 25, 2024 at 12:49 PM UTC
I'm feeling weak, trying to stop this pendulum in my head
Back and forth, now I'm feeling guilty
Running to you, when all fears have fled
Finding out you were the one who'd never flee
I keep finding myself nervously rehearsing for when you're around
Watching your soul grow beyond these bounds
We were never lost, we just chose never to go home
Cause' my dear, you know when they say 'When in rome.'
We're drawn to violent natures
Your love laces tied me tight and showed me what the hell our souls were born to do
Lost in our love behaviors
I'm stumblin' and just sometimes getting it wrong, at least I'm lost in you
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 4:14 AM UTC