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Al Sep 2018
Tobacco-stained dreams remain. Tanned like leather, finger joints gnarled.  The sun glints through a crack in the door.  This is a sign of brighter times.  Turquoise blues holds the memory.  

Tainted by gunfire, the repetition of the rounds hitting the ground.  Tactile senses return, feeling the grip against the palm, fingers around the guard.  

Tension becomes the norm.  Tomorrow is hope, every evening brings the tears.  Trees sway as I walk, seeking serenity in the green leaves.
L B Mar 2017
Black, Swiss cheese hulk on horizon
The James Longstreet
immobile old freighter of the bay

Towed to the ignominy
of its last commission
in the curled arm of The Cape
Tides flex their muscles against it
But The Longstreet is steadfast
in its dark purpose

Standing target for practice

A sortie if planes home in on its bulk
Honing their skills
on this  “fish-in-a-barrel”
Thunderhead-etched pyrotechnics
Booming follows the miles over water

Against The Longstreet’s silhouette enduring
even God fixes sights
firing bolts across its bow
taking aim at our futures

Standing targets for practice

Vietnam? Cape Cod?
No difference to teens
before life’s ocean of conscription

Sand is cold beneath dunes
Beach grass rustles
to the pulsing surf
to the wind’s whispers
just below hearing
as if there’s a secret
that must be kept

We are targets for practice
We are meaningless din

Pulling our sweatshirts and blanket closer
The Supremes sing thinly
from transistor
“Stopped for a moment in the name of love—

Thinking it over”

The Target Ship has now disintegrated into a sunken reef and sanctuary for ocean wildlife.  The above video is a cool tour complete with perfect music. Enjoy.
The eye of the hurricane
Swept through a country side
Not batting an eye
All those in it's path perish
A mosque, a person, a Muslin
Another, another, another
Until 49 were gunned down
And many more injured
Scarred forever
A finger on a trigger
Held steady
Picking targets
To cries and screams
With no regard for life
Only for the shooter
To make a name for himself
His message board
His manifesto
His hate of immigrants
Leaving in it's path
A country's darkest day
His infamy
Who is this individual
The eye of the hurricane
Sitting in the middle
Teetering to the right
An extremist
Category of the worst kind
A patch of ******
Sitting in his landscape
Of his sunken mind
Laughing, laughing, laughing
Today, today, today
And this was his trigger
His devil
His dialogue
Today he spoke
Another, another, another
To cries
That echo
Long after the hurricane
Loses its tail
This makes me sick
I look up in the sky and ask why

Logan Robertson

My heart goes out to the victims, a group of Muslims, at a prayer service and to all those affected. It's worst than the darkest day when seeds of this disgrace keep replanting and soiling the good landscape, Earth and Mankind.
Targets never argue
And bullets never lie
Finances and fiancées
Certainly have some value
Yet we underrate our skies
Miles of lost continents
Drift out from your skin
We begin an embargo
Hoping in the future we will win
Metaphysical furniture
Effects the state of mind you're in
The record player is turned down
Heat me up and we'll begin
ryn Sep 2014
I see you, monster...
In your sockets bore dead, dark eyes
They hold the blackest of stares
Nebulous swirling pits of demise

Thin lips would spout the most sibilant of hisses
Every so often would curl into a snarl
Dry and chapped, almost unworthy of kisses

Large, rough snout, jutting out like a crag
You sniff around tirelessly for easy targets
Preying on the unsuspecting minds of those under your flag

Tapering chin, sprouting strands of coarse hair
Unkempt and gritty from your last meal
Decaying teeth, crooked due to little to no care

Your face is cratered; tales of trying adolescent years
Wearing a face only a mother could love
Expressionless but it screams out your fears

Ugly jointed limbs that grew out of sync
Disproportionate, misshapen, grotesque
Little noggin with sparse hair, packed within, a brain that thinks

I hear you, monster...
As you stalk your sleepless nights
Nocturnal ambience be your playground
Lurking in the dark; places with no light

Bulky, heavy feet but deft and silent
Can barely notice when you're up and about
As if cloaked yourself stealthy, with steps ever transient

Respire you do, exhaling breaths so gnarly
Ingesting good air, converting into fervid, loathsome notions
With which you paint a portrait so ghastly

I feel you monster...
Deep within the recesses of my heart
Destroying and distorting all that was pure
Testing my will till I should fall apart

You're but the twisted manifestation of conscience
Feeding on my trials and nurturing them into vile abominations
I despise that of you but I seem to have developed dependence

I see you, monster...**
You're horrid and beastly, an embodiment of absolute horror
I await the day that you would finally dissolve
For I am weary of seeing you staring back in the mirror
Still riding out the storm... Please bear with me
Esteban D Pitre Sep 2014
Cockroaches in striped pajamas
stained by the scent of snow-melted blood
under a compassionate moon.
No reflection to admire
other than the eyes of a thousand
miserable and sordid puppets
with shaven heads and wooden clogged shoes.

God and their souls
murdered by a vile evolution,
crucibles of Jewish remains.
Rabbis and priests,
scholars and the poor:
moving targets with stars on their sleeves.

Naked souls waited,
listening to the gods of old Germany.
“Zieh dich aus! (Take off your clothes!)”
They shouted, pushing
them further into the chamber.
The doors
closed shut behind them.
A deathly fog clouded
among them,
putting them to drown
under a thick green darkness.
Agonized voices
shredded apart
as their nails clawed
at the concrete walls.
Women and children held each other tight,
whispering Kaddish,
hoping and praying.

Twenty minutes
of shouting and stumbling,
Twenty minutes
of spluttering and gargling.
The little ones witness the eyes
of their guardians writhe and turn white,
as their bodies jolted
as their lives were stolen.

The gods finally entered
to clear the room,
to pile the dead onto the carts,
to visit the crematorium.
To finally shovel the mounds of
striped clothing,
to recycle and burn the rest.

But this end comes
as a sweet release
as their ashes
were sent through the chimneys
and into the air
to rest in their graves.
I let Cupid carelessly aim an arrow at an apple on my head.
I never thought about how all of the targets he hit may have been accidents.
About what it would be like to pull the arrow out of my chest.
I couldn't stop the bleeding
and he didn't know how to patch it.
I realized then the dangers of putting your heart in the center of a crossfire
the child with the arrow would spare it.
Robert G Page Jul 2014
The Slow-Bullet
by rgpage

In the early days of  Viet Nam
the American draft was going strong.
Young men in their prime of life,
were forced and herded into world strife.

A generation of America’s best, were
then brought home and laid to rest.
Wall Street smiled, the money flowed
the “fat Cats” called it money owed.

In towns and cities big and small,
families waited, worried, and cried.
Groups appeared, dissention grew.
"Mothers grab your son’s and hide."

There were those who felt their duty strong,
to take the leap toward blood and strife
with McNamara herding them along.
Known to the grunts as “Mac the Knife.”

The madness grew to a global scale
with those that were for and those against.
In bombing, selective targets became the norm
keeping the rest of the world from harm.

With those who didn’t feel their duty strong,
a path to the north they took.
They packed what they could, burned their cards
and paused for one last look.

With this some parents felt relief,
while others felt the disgrace. Of  seeing
the grief so many went through after
having their futures erased.

The war took over 58,000 American lives;
men and women both, (before we flew away).
Wall Street got their wages for blood, with
broken lives in pain, many thousands more would pay.

With thousands more that were yet to be lost, after returning home.
Physically and mentally scarred, even those seeming
perfectly whole. Then saying good-by to the ones they loved
in their own special way. They stoically waited for the slow-bullet to come to finally take them away…

Suicide has taken 3 or 4 times the lives than the war took. My heart cries for every last one of them…Robert G. Page, Viet Nam Vet. ‘66-’67.
Yenson Oct 2018
Criminal Gang Stalking


The crimes committed through gang stalking an individual are covertly done, hence little in evidence is left behind of the crime, and the target is left with little in the way of resources to defend him or herself.

Isolation, through disrupting socio-familial ties in an intense slander campaign, is usually achieved once the actual stalking begins.

A pervasive slandering campaign takes place, projecting the target as an unstable individual, child molester, a person with hidden dark secrets, or a person prone to psychopathic behavior.

The criminals planning a gang stalking endeavor study the target long before the stalking begins. Psychological profiling is done, and this is to assist in the overall campaign that includes intense psychological harassments and demoralizations. Tactics used go well beyond fear, demoralization and psychological harassment.

The tactics used have been the protocol in campaigns against common people implemented by the KGB in Soviet Russia, Nazis of **** Germany, and the KKK in the early to middle of last century in America.

The accumulation of all the tactics and events in this dangerously hurtful organized crime against an innocent human being can led to trauma and will emotionally bankrupt the targeted individual, and may lead to death, as suicide is often induced through the assaults. The perpetrators of gang stalking are serious criminals who do great damage, and the acts done are very serious crimes by any measure.

Gang Stalking is a highly criminal campaign, one directed at a target individual, and one that aims to destroy an innocent person’s life through covert harassments, malicious slander and carefully crafted and executed psychological assaults.

Gang Stalking deprives the targeted individual of their basic constitutional rights and destroys their freedom, setting a stage for the destruction of a person, socially, mental and physical, through a ceaseless assault that pervades all areas of a person’s life.

What drives such campaigns may be revenge for whistle blowing, or for highly critical individuals, as outspoken people have become targets. Other reasons why a person may become a target individual for stalking: ex-spouse revenge, criminal hate campaigns, politics, and racism.

Gang Stalking may be part of a larger phenomena that may have loose threads that extent into a number of differing entities, such as government, military, and large corporations, though it is certain that organized crime is one of gang’s stalking primary sources, or origins.

The goals of Gang Stalking are many. To cause the target to appear unstable mentally is one, and this is achieved through a carefully detailed assault using advanced psychological harassment techniques, and a variety of other tactics that are the usual protocol for gang stalking, such as street theater, mobbing, pervasive petty disrespecting.

Targets experience the following :

A total invasion of privacy
Pervasive and horrific slander
Isolation through alienation that is caused by the slander. 4.Destruction of, or alienation from all things that the target holds dear.
Ground Work: A discrediting campaign is initiated long before the target is actually stalked. They, the criminal perpetrators, twist and fabricate reality through such a campaign, displaying lies that paint the target as a child molester, a person with hidden dark secrets, an highly unstable individual who may be a threat to society, a *******, or a longtime drug user, etc.

The slandering or discrediting campaign sets the stage for the target to become alienated in just about every social-familial- work environment, once the actual stalking begins. This slandering campaign is instrumental in eliminating all resource and avenue of defense for the target, before the actual stalking begins.

This stage is one that sees people close to the target, family, friends, neighbors, and co-workers recruited by the perpetrator criminals, who will pose as law enforcement officials, private investigators, or a groups of concerned citizens.

The Gang Stalking is aimed at achieving one or all of the follow:

induced suicide
financial devastation
institutionalization in psyche wards
Once actual Stalking begins: The target will endure a vast array of tactics: gas lighting, street theater, drugging, gassings, scent harassment, mobbing, subtle but frequent destruction of property, killing of pets

Psychological profiling will be done so as to initiate an intense psychological harassment assault. Staged happenings and planned or directed conversations will take place around the target in public or places of work, and serves not only to undermine the targets psychology, but also may be used to cause the target to thinking that he or she is under investigation for horrific crimes.

Stalkers will have studied the target to such a level that they know and can predict the person’s behavior. Again, often the target will think that they are being investigated for crimes that would be absurd for the target to have actually committed. Not knowing what actually is happening, the target is isolated and lives through a never ending living nightmare.

Once the target finds out that they are a target individual for gang stalking, or multi stalking, they may have some relief, but from what I have read, the stalking simply changes dimensions a bit, and continues.

Identifying the exact people who initiated gang stalking campaigns is difficult, or near impossible, and this makes it very difficult for people researching this phenomena to discover, in certainty, the roots and genealogy of the crime. Investigation of a “Gang Stalking” crime would require a great deal of resources, and intensity similar to ****** investigations.

Background information, please read 'Where Is Justice' by same author on this site.
This horrendous situation is happening in our Great civilised Nation,
surrender hind-legs
targets yellow spines
yellow stems
flowers blend into frogs
tree frogs tree apples
tree fruit heart numinous
nervousness next level
levitation into vibration
watermelon seeds
stars, steam, sand and shadows
i allow
keep talking spinning
weaving the stars
love is a happy motorcycle
bathtubs zoological
sisters straight eyed sailors
cumber-buns saviors
yawning in the wind
at the hint of a spark
gravity embarks on sacred journeys
desert walks soul visions
quest into westerly winds
pools of tough romance tough love
chances are that now and then
we will pretend
that we are more compassionate
then we are
MKF Feb 19
Lights off.
Hands fumble for hearts
Missing, slightly, every time.
Never quite hitting targets.
Bodies intertwined,
But not interlocked.
Lips slipping,
Landing on cheeks
And noses instead.
Eyes scan,
But never meet.
Not achieving.
Red faced and wasted
I saw you naked
And fell in love
With your ancient body
Gone is the impulse to run
And all i can do now
Is to write simply
Lies and truth
Mixed together
Like oil and vinegar
We are fumigating
Our own bodies
Remove these carbon copies
And quietly daydream
About the faces of lost
Summer lovers
Fundraisers say goodbye
To yesterday's vacations
Just as we long to cry
We catch ourselves
Smiling for a moment

What do the turtles wish to communicate
Are we awake in our shells
Or have we fallen into the spell of limitation
Consternation and *******
Facts and figures receive their adulation
While we attract only tender triangulations
Please finish up your investigation
I blame you for instigating this comedy
A catalyst of abomination and dichotomy
Which followed me into retirement
Let's give banquets back to the government
And return to ancient lands
Devoted to camels and drunken apologies

It's apocryphal
Pornographic phantasmagoria
Fantastic fan-fictions
Describing sacredly sadistic rituals
Glorious duality
Radically alters our expectations
Yet manages to satisfy your frustrations
In dissimilar situations
We liberate our agitation and consternation
Over magazines and barnacles
We are more conspicuous
Than an empty gap in the sky
Made by two constellations
Taking a long vacation

Intrepid sailors raise their sails
And navigate by stars and compasses
Renaissance dancers are porous instigators
They initiate our imitations
We dream of political sovereignty
To remediate these tragedies
I breathe warfare and cleanse the air
Of apathetic non-negotiaters
Harboring criminals like butterflies
Sometimes the means do justify your eyes

Targets never argue
And bullets never lie
Finances and fiancées
Certainly have some value
Yet we underrate our skies
Miles of lost continents
Drift out from your skin
We begin an embargo
Hoping in the future we will win
Metaphysical furniture
Effects the state of mind you're in
The record players turned down
But you heat me up to begin
Lim Peh Sep 2018
it will all be over in an instant.
Firers watch your front.
just put it in.
Magazine of 4 rounds loaded.
lift it upwards is all you have to do.
Hold your breath and fire when you see the lights.
point it up and pull the trigger.
Gently squeeze the trigger, don't snap your finger.
- - - -
All rounds expended.
Good job, 4 targets.
Cydney Something Oct 2018
When the carrot finally snaps,
And covers the world in mushrooms,
And the thoughts and dreams of billions cease-

We'll be where that sacred spore takes hold,
Waiting for it to bloom,
Patiently waiting while making love

Sacred spores with sacred purpose!
Find your targets well!
Find us! Find us!
We are fertile soil!

How delicious would it be,
For spore and seed and egg to meet?
A life beginning,
And ending
In one spectacular flash and roar!

****, we'll go down swingin'
To every movement swayin'
Your hips and mine, sweet slammin'
You know what I'm sayin'?

And as the flash and roar subside,
We will be mushrooms
And tar
And ions
And eons
And eons
And eons

We will be gone <3
Collapsed collapsing
Untangling targets that
Temporarily strangle you
But it's nothing new
The noose is unwinding
Finding it's own timing
In order to recollect and recoil
Like a blind man
Boiling water for tea
Their are termites temporarily
Living in our bedrooms
Whenever we are done trying
To hide our wings
That brief moment when
We encounter beauty
That makes it all worthwhile
Like when a child
Unassumingly smiles
Directly at me
Thin blue lines
Are the targets
For your cries
Can’t think
For how sick
We made ourselves.

Thin blue lines
On my hands and wrists, I’m blind
Remove my sight,
Remove my eyes
Take my ties
And cut my lines,
My thin blue lines

Dropping constant lies,
Everything’s fine
Constant false smiles,
I’ll be on time
Tomorrow, today
Keeping away,
Can’t say different,
Won’t it be brilliant.

Thin blue lines
On my hands and wrists I’m blind
Remove my sight,
Remove my eyes
Take my ties and
Cut my lines

Seething, livid gaze,
Look through a haze
Constantly fired,
Easily liars
Tomorrow, today
Keeping away
See red so easy,
Can’t say you’ll see me

Thin blue lines
Are the targets for my cries
Can’t think
For how sick
We made ourselves
Written for my Music composition class.
M-E Apr 25
My mission was to            ignore
hijack a tank
follow and fire
the targets:
5 Cheetah drivers, Taxicabs
all FBI Ranchers and helicopters
get busy and
                                ignore her calls
play GTA and score
its cold outside
hell freezing cold
and the garbage bag
is an inch away
from the big bang.

Bombing cabs, trash trucks
trash cans and everything        ignore
no burglers running away from cops
no rich playing in a vast golf course
no prostitutes or homeless men
wandering in the streets
and no trash to take out
in the hell freezing cold
I was busted by the army
angry I was so I left the game
and switched to Tv on a news channel
in awe of the atrocities
I yelled, unwittingly:

Honey, I think there is
something wrong
with the world

No sweetheart
Its just the people
NOW, take out the
Karisa Brown Sep 2018
Love is a four letter word
For your soul
To dive into

Why not beat the armoured trust
And hold onto the empty

Cause love doesn't know
another door
It always wants to fill me
With targeted emotions
I can't trust

But I don't want to rust
I don't wanna run
Never give up the fight
The answer is us

We live in your mind
Not in your heart
So follow the footprints
into the dark

your mouth will fill
With bitter pills
That poison the answer

Your tongue will hide
the greased stained lust
And rot out the center

Let me wash away
all your broken shame
So I can get into
The beauty that
I can't explain
I'm running from fears too

Your mind will not let go
Please Open up
I want you to feel soon

Your arrows fallen
Spilled with gold
What can I hold onto

There's targets on my heart
Need enlightened points
And I'm calling out for
Sean Hunt Jul 28
Boris is bouncing
all over the field
with the power
he now yields
But he’ll soon
run into a wall
finding himself
‘behind the eight ball’
when he messes with Ireland

The ‘Real IRA’
may save the day
They blew Mountbatten
out of his boat
and into the sea
for messing
with history
I wonder
if  Jacob and Boris
can see
the tempting targets
they are
in British aristocracy
Loud and raucous teenagers
Take breaks of active imagination
Finding their freedom at will
We are always holy
Mostly because we have
A million holes to fill
Bleeding bodies are tiny targets
For our emancipatory wills
Emancipated by symbols
And technological skills
We can fill all these buckets
With our psychiatric bills
I found you here in this moment
Fulfilling flames with your fingers
To combine sensory alchemy
Juxtapose the dichotomy
Until meaning meets fear
And we dream of collapsing targets
Sardonic architects compete
With compulsive negotiators
Former lovers and a single savior
We are all traders and traitors
Alibis neglected
We are eclectic
These violent voices
Are like violins waltzing
In forensic suspenders
Men without raincoats
Dream of removing their waders
And perhaps even
Opening some windows
Tony Tweedy Mar 12
Some of you write of love and its passion and softest touch.
Do you not know the savage weaponry of which you speak?
Has the blade never sliced 'til core exposed you feel nothing?
Have you never been lured by the soft whispers it entreats with?
And with a rage so harsh seen your very heart torn from you?
Loves romance with keys to fit your every defense leaving exposure?
Vulnerability you wouldn't volunteer in moments of sanity.
Of loves passion, it is a trap. So far will you fall when it springs.
A wound so deep is love that you will never feel whole again.
Tender caresses of flesh to captivate and weaken your mind.
Luring and dulling the common sense and with blade at ready.
You are drawn to that deceptive softness, the apparent warmth.
And yet still love is armed with throat and heart as targets.
Entrapped you give way to the hold of it, the thought of it.
Loves power will take your soul and crush it and leave it dust.
And yet like you I crave it still and insanity causes me to think....
This time love will be kind.
My only comment..... ouch.... very ouch
Jeremy Betts Feb 2018
If I've fallen asleep, if indeed this is a dream, I beg you not to wake me
Leave me, don't hastily take from me this flurry of happy energy
Finally in a state I honestly never thought I'd get back to fully, at least not naturally
I've found the pieces to complete me and managed to pull it all together neatly
I thank God weakly, genuinely grateful to be able to say that and mean it deeply
Listen man, it wasn't easy for me
I was afraid the iron mask I wore would have left me a scared form
A deformed, grotesque ground up mess like I've been starring directly into an acid rain storm
The type you don't typically walk away from or come out same person
And I did indeed emerge through the swarm of locus a transformed man but barely human
It changed me but not for the worse like I had thought it would at first
But see, I thought I was cursed cause everything I touched became immersed
In a darkness that could not be reversed, through the shadows of the valley of death I've traversed
Coerced into wandering for years in the desert, dying of thirst
Accepted that a torchered existence was my life, a complete absence of any positive essence
No instant answers to the many questions, just a silence that tests my patience
But in this instance I've been awarded for my persistence, praised for my due diligence
Regardless the distance I've had to crawl, the depth I've had to fall, tears and all, no elegance
But I've finally made it y'all, it's 2:05, I've made it past last call
The rolling snow ball that gained speed and size and chased me like Indi has crumbled at the base of the wall
The one I built and armed to the hilt, no small feat but worth it all
And now, come night fall when I lay my head down to sleep I'm no longer greeted by the frightful
The eclipse is over, a new light emerges along with a wind to take with it the ashes
Those of my former self because I'm past this, left my baggage at baggage claim when I got off the plane at my new domain and ignore it like I'm ignorant to it as it passes.
Instead of the past consuming my minds eye I now get flashes
Of the future, it must be a new feature that came with the new glasses
I'm not one of those hyped up bad ***** but with a life like survival classes
And having endured a million lessons plus physical therapy sessions to rid me of the cast and crutches
I'm almost ready to move mountains or part seas like Moses, self worth raising like taxes
Watching intently as the person in the mirror changes right in front me to a new surface, a fresh canvas
Inside it's the same rerun, battling the fact that I'm not comfortable with change for any reason, not in the slightest
Anxious about the possiblity that it crashes around me rendering me a carcass
Then it's back to square one, stripped of my a dignity like a tree barkless
But unlike a tree, I am not heartless, an emotional mess? Yes, but regardless
I've been blessed with a little boy so I need to employee better aim and better targets
Can't spar with the darkness, the gloves are off, time to end this circus
Ramana Tandra Jan 14
Listen to the truth.
The world you see now is
A sharpened tip of
Poisoned sword
That stands erected
On the ladder of deaths.
Listen to the truth.
Kindness has been in filtered
Through the layers of the heart.
Do you know what remains?
0nly the Pulp made of malice.
Listen to the truth.
With the Transformed new targets Humanity is leaking out
the condensed obscurities.
Listen to the truth.
As well as sins and curses
There born words and thoughts
From the impregnation
That the vacuum conceives.
Dakes Apr 16
Misty Morning, tunnel exit
Radio blaring. Yet more Brexit
Shipyards looming in the mist
Coffee. Top of this checklist

Distantly spied, Golden Arches glisten
Dumbly calling those who listen
Desperate homeless huddled outside
Callous addiction stealing his pride

Inside the feckless locals gather
Of nameless baby dads they caw & blather
No sign of insight, syns nor points
Weight of burgers on their joints

Red-eyed middle management jostle for WiFi
Ketchup spilt upon his tie
Spreadsheets, targets, bonuses forgotten
Awareness at last. This lunch is rotten

Light bursting inside his head
Realising how easily he's been led
A new day. A Golden New Dawn
A middle-management minion reborn

Now with joy. Now with flourish
New skills, his mind does nourish
Never Stop. Ignore what they say
And make this day. Make this day. Make this the day.
Written on a misty morning in Birkenhead. A McDonalds on the A41, overlooking the Cammell-Laird Shipyards provided the coffee.
With golden thread
You mend the tears in my pockets
I am only allotted one item per day
So let's stay here under the stars
And face the neverending promises
We laugh at memories of pain
Harboring no need for tragic romances
Or life's fragile remembrances
It's already exacerbated by boredom’s wastefulness
So we decline more license plates and credit cards
And instead compare our hearts to targets
Quite often crime plans to send you to laugh later to cry
They arrange to get eyes close; ears close
The idea is none to help
Everyone has been asked to sleep

Also to look crime random

Crime creates their means
Some given promotions to meet their crime targets
They create a scene for their fun
Silently enjoy the victim

To others; it is a usual day

Crime plans long-term
What you see is just-a-head
The victim does not know
They have arranged; laugh-to-cry

But the victim sees it later; how it happened

Many stopped living; crime makes you conscious
They know crime is always ahead
There is a network
To make you fool


Provoke (or motivate) to do the wrong and then charge
A person can’t even imagine what contract crime does domestically and internationally; your day might look usual.

A person comes deliberately in front of you
To make you accountable that you are following her

You may make a person happier by stating, 'oh, you serve very fast'
Because you know that I will say; serve slow
Create impacts as required

There are many tricks crime deploys
You are well aware

Dr Baljit Singh
Monday 9 December 2019
Gods1son Dec 2018
I've got a lot on my mind that I want to achieve
I've got nieces and cousins that are looking up to me
I've got folks asking me for money
They think I'm in a country with the money-growing trees
But they aren't aware of the stinging bees
Or the super long queues that leads to the trees if they actually exist

It's not as easy as many picture it to be
As I'm also trying to make a mark (in this life)
I've got targets that I'm trying to reach
Still stretching, I've considered using stilts

I've got to keep pushing for my goals
I've got to keep pulling folks that are below
Definitely, I see a brighter tomorrow
Yes, we'll all make it to our promise land
If we don't give up at the times we feel low.
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