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Zeeb Jul 2015
Hotrod
Verse I

Wrenches clanging, knuckles banging
A drop of blood the young man spilt
A new part here, and old part… there
A hotrod had been built!
A patchwork, mechanical, quilt

Feeling good.  Head under a raised hood, hands occupied, the job nearing completion.  Sometimes the good feelings would dissipate though, as quickly as they came, as he cursed himself for stripping a bolt, or cursed someone else for selling him the wrong part, or the engineer whose design goals obviously did not consider “remove and replace”.
He cursed the “gorilla” that never heard of a torque-wrench, the glowing particle of **** that popped on to the top of his head as he welded, the metal chip he flushed from his eye, and even himself for the burn he received by impatiently touching something too soon after grinding. 
 He, and his type, cursed a lot, but mostly to their selves as they battled-on with things oily, hot, bolted, welded, and rusty – in cramped spaces. One day it was choice words for an “easy-out” that broke off next to a broken drill bit that had broken off in a broken bolt, that was being drilled for an easy-out. 
  Despite the swearing, the good and special feelings would always return, generally of a magnitude that exceeded the physical pain and mental frustration of the day, by a large margin.  
Certifiably obsessive, the young man continued to toil dutifully, soulfully, occasionally gleefully, sometimes even expertly, in his most loved and familiar place, his sanctuary, laboratory… the family garage.

And tomorrow would be the day.
With hard learned, hard earned expertise and confidence - in this special small place, a supremely happy and excited young man commanded his creation to life.

Threw a toggle, pressed a switch
Woke up the neighbors with that *******

The heart of his machine was a stroked Chevy engine that everyone had just grown sick hearing about.  Even the local machine shop to which the boy nervously entrusted his most prized possession had had enough.  “Sir, I don’t want to seem disrespectful, but from what I’ve read in Hot Rod Magazine, you might be suggesting a clearance too tight for forged pistons…” then it would be something else the next day.  
One must always speak politely to the machinist, and even though he always had, the usual allotment of contradictions and arguments afforded to each customer had long run out – and although the shop owner took a special liking to the boy because, as he liked to say, “he reminds me of me”, well, that man was done too.  But in the end, the mill was dead-on.  Of course from the start, the shop knew it would be; that’s almost always the case; it’s how they stay in business - simply doing good work.  Bad shops fall out quickly, but this place had the look of times gone by.  Good times. 
 Old porcelain signs, here and there were to be found, all original to the shop and revered by the older workers in honored nostalgia.  The younger workers get it too; they can tell from the co-workers they respect and learn from, there is something special about this past.  One sign advertises Carter Carburetors and the artwork depicts “three deuces”, model 97’s, sitting proudly atop a flathead engine, all speeding along in a red, open roadster.  Its occupants, a blond haired boy with slight freckles (driver), and a brunette girl passenger, bright white blouse, full and buttoned low. They are in the wind-blown cool, their excited expressions proclaim… "we have escaped and are free!" (and all you need is a Carter, or three).  How uniquely American.

The seasoned old engine block the boy entrusted to the shop cost him $120-even from the boneyard.  Not a bad deal for a good high-nickel content block that had never had its first 0.030”overbore.  In the shop, it was cleaned, checked for cracks by "magnafluxing", measured and re-measured, inspected and re-inspected.  It was shaped and cut in a special way that would allow the stroker crankshaft, that was to be the special part of this build, to have all the clearance it would need.  The engine block was fitted with temporary stress plates that mimic the presence of cylinder heads,  then the cylinders were bored to “first oversize”,  providing fresh metal for new piston rings to work against.  New bearings were installed everywhere bearings are required.  Parts were smoothed here and there.  Some surfaces were roughened just so, to allow new parts to “work-into each other” when things are finally brought together.  All of this was done with a level of precision and attention far, far greater than the old “4- bolt” had ever received at the factory on its way to a life of labor in the ¾ ton work van from which it came, and for which it had served so dutifully.  They called this painstaking dedication to precision measurement and fit, to hitting all specifications on the mark, “blueprinting”, and it would continue throughout the entire build of this engine.  The boy remained worried, but the shop had done it a million times.

After machining, the block was filled with new and strong parts that cost the young man everything he had.   Parts selected with the greatest of effort, decision, and debate.   You can compromise on paint and live with some rust,  he would say, wait for good tires, but never scrimp on the engine.  Right on.  Someone taught the boy right, regardless of whether or not he fully understood the importance of the words he parroted.  His accurate proclamation  also provided ample excuse for the rough, unfinished, underfunded look of the rest of his machine.  But it was just a look, his car was, in fact, “right”.   And its power plant?  Well the machine shop had talked their customer into letting them do the final engine assembly - even cut their price to do it.  To make that go down easy, they asked to have two of their shop decals affixed to the rod on race-days.  The young man thought that was a fair deal, but the shop was really just looking out for the boy, with their herring of sorts.  
The mill in its final form was the proper balance of performance and durability; and with its camshaft so carefully selected, the engine's “personality” was perfectly matched to the work at hand.   It would produce adequate torque in the low RPM range to get whole rig moving quickly, yet deliver enough horsepower near and at red-line to pile on the MPH, fast.  No longer a polite-natured workhorse, this engine, this engine is impatient now.  High compression, a rapid, choppy idle - it seems to be biting at the bit to be released.  On command, it gulps its mixture and screams angrily, and often those standing around have a reflexive jump - the louder, the better - the more angry, the better.  If it hurts your ears, that’s a good feeling.  If its bark startles, that’s a good startle.  A cacophony?  No, the “music” of controlled explosions, capable of thrusting everything and everyone attached, forward, impolitely, on a rapid run to the freedom so well depicted in the ad.  

This is the addictive sound and feel that has appealed to a certain type of person since engines replaced horses, and why?  A surrogate voice for those who are otherwise quiet?  A visceral celebration of accomplishment?    Who cares.  Shift once, then again - speed quickly makes its appearance.  It appears as a loud, rushing wind and a visually striking, unnatural view of the surrounding scenery.  At some point, in the sane, it triggers a natural response - better slow down.    

He uncorked the headers, bought gasoline, dropped her in gear, tore off to the scene
Camaros and Mustangs, an old ‘55
Obediently lined-up, to get skinned alive!

Verse II (1st person)

I drove past the banner that said “Welcome race fans” took a new route, behind the grandstands
And through my chipped window, I thought I could see
Some of the racers were laughing at me

I guess rust and primer are not to their taste
But I put my bucks mister in the right place

I chugged/popped past cars that dealers had sold
Swung into a spot, next to something old

Emerging with interest from under his hood
My neighbor said two words, he said, “sounds good”

The Nova I parked next to was “classic rodding” in its outward appearance.  The much overused “primer paint job”.  The hood and front fenders a fiberglass clamshell, pinned affair.  Dice hanging from the mirror paid homage to days its driver never knew, but wished he had.  He removed them before he drove, always.

If you know how to peel the onion, secrets are revealed.  Wilwood brake calipers can be a dead giveaway. Someone needs serious stopping power - maybe.  Generally, owners who have sprung the bucks for this type gear let the calipers show off in bright red, to make a statement, and sometimes, these days, it’s just a fashion statement.  Expensive calipers, as eye candy, seem to be all the rage.  What is true, however, is very few guys spend big money on brakes only to render them inglorious and seemingly common with a shot of silver paint from a rattle can - and the owner of this half fiberglass racer that poses as a street car had done just that.  I'll glean two things from this observation. One, he needs those heavy brakes because he’s fast, and two, hiding them fits his style.  
Really, the message to be found in the silver paint, so cleverly applied to make your eyes simply slide across on their way to more interesting things, was “sleeper”.   And sleeper really means, he’s one of those guys with a score to settle - with everyone perhaps.   The list of “real parts” grew, if you knew where to look.  Looking was something I had unofficial permission to do since my rod was undergoing a similar scrutiny.  
“Stroked?”, I asked.  That’s something you can’t see from the outside. “ No”, my racer friend replied.  
“Hundred shot?”  (If engines have their language, so do the people who love them).   Despite the owner’s great efforts to conceal braided fuel and nitrous lines, electrical solenoids and switches, I spied his system.  The chunks of aluminum posing as ordinary spacers under his two Holly's were anything but.   “No”, was his one-word reply to my 100- shot question.  I tried again; “Your nitrous system is cleanly installed, how much are you spraying?”  “Two hundred fifty” in two stages, he said.  That’s more like it, I thought, and I then figured, he too had budgeted well for the machine shop – if not, he was gambling in a game that if lost, would soon fly parts in all directions.   Based on the overall neat work on display, I believed his build was up to the punishment planned. 
  I knew exactly what this tight-lipped guy was about, seeing someone very familiar in him as it were, and that made the “sounds good” complement I received upon my arrival all the more valuable.  I liked my neighbor.  And I liked the fact of our scratch-built rods having found each other - and I looked forward to us both dusting off the factory jobs.  It was going to be a good day.

The voice on the loudspeaker tells us we’re up.

Pre-staged, staged, then given the green
The line becomes blurred between man and machine

Bones become linkage
Muscle, spring
Fear, excitement

Time distorts ….
Color disappears …
Vision narrows…
Noise ---  becomes music
Speed, satisfaction

End
John Prophet Sep 2018
Toggle
flipped.
Spark of energy,
program
ignited.
Universe born
time flashes.
Universe begets
others.
Huge numbers
sparking into
existence.
Waves moving,
universes born,
live, fade away.
Left in the
wake.
Frozen
in place.
Fade into
deep time.
Program
expanding
beyond
time and space.
Who, what
flipped the
toggle.
Irrelevant!
Ancient beyond
knowledge.
We, mere
by-products.
Flotsam,
left
in its
wake.
Left to
simply
fade away.
Frozen
in place.
vircapio gale Oct 2012
the ego is a balm
for watching herds--
ezra pound is dead..

withought the ***** to make it rue
of wittier witter aphorisms never trilling forceful to undo

singular muse,
where do you come
in head or tip of head?
elusive beauty, disappear
i act in other barefoot dreams


typos bless the will to mean
of finality
of seem seam flawless be
i **** the emperor of ice cream
with concupiscent "words"
that verb the still to be a yogurt burv


single fractal frog
jumps like rhyme of toggle cog,
cutting grandma's mind

empty cup fills want
with other bristle sip+
eclipse Hypatia naked at the shrine
failure of a form
cones another phage
with peaceful loving bawl

freedom fighters flaunt
masturbatory rights of congress whim and taunt
crackle jackal fire sights
sing single missile lights

do i jest
or do i best,
lest simple techne tumble kite of waiting in the dark
of politician's lark
inventive lewd
of plaintiff plea
and rumble drum democracy

venous cud
of bovine mewing in the mud of affuenza's motherhood
strikes painful cords electric suds
that lather in the lackey's trodden figure's utter
venus aphrodite's *****'s foam

hopkins is at home
manley in the rub of constant loathsome comb
that preens a matish apparition's tomb

hello kind traveler
that takes me by the hand
rolling in the grass has never been as such
the band plays off Genghis Khan
like Gandhi spitting soup
in afternoon reprieve of ignoramOus fun

the meaning is ajar
i know i war with Stevens too to
bear the furry calousness of wartime's endless true
a bond of moneylicsious new accounted even in the dew
that sunders sounds to recreate a farflung brew
of history's adieu
which only sPeares you in the gut
(an existential reference here to trope the nom)
elusive Lear that wanders in the Foolish storm caressing cave to find
another mind
that only someone special kKnew of Kent
encapsulating time in brands that offer (a[0I]ether dust for tolling flight
growing down into the mushroom ground
spanning subtentious fraughtful nocturnes in the night
to bide that meaning's plight i wish i
wasn't altogether through
though happy to be here iwth yew
apparitions in a crowd
petals on a wet black bough...
“The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet black bough.”
Janette Jan 2013
Turns a soft pirouette of finger end
Along the ridges of discs that make the spine
And I mark a period to end the sentence
Written upon soft skin
Smooth as a relaxed sigh that escapes parted lips
In a gentle exhale of seconds ticked off
One check (tick)
Two check ( tock)
I scribe to small of back where hollow forms
Letting tongue taste the salt of sweat glistening
Before a rise of hip curves to please eyes
Or palms that might erase dark windows staring back
At the blank gaze of face lost inside
The mirage of dreams

Three check (tick)
Four check ( clock tocked seconds rhyme)

With vowels moaned to the whisper of poems
Glyphed a slow summons of wrists gently turned
To show the veins that lie beneath as I bled softly
Along the nerves a simple thread of heartbeat
Rhythms show how a verse ends
A metaphor for the ribs caged
And stone to hold apart the looking glass world
Of Cheshire grins upon lips wet with wry spittle
Licked by tip of tongue

Breathes soft once upon times
To inhale the scent of amaryllis bloom
Gracing glass of its own with fair heads bloom
Petals of delicate hue opened vulnerable to bruise

Five check ( tick )
Six check ( toggle along mark of hands the tock)

I scribe soft to the end of line and pirouette fingers end
Marking a period again to end the simple words
Brushed upon a supple velum
And begin
Seven check (tick)

Second hands slow circles
Matching my own...
I felt so much, I
could not control it.
I had to close myself off
from the world of experience,
I had to make it stop, lest hyper-
empathy tear myself apart. I had to

stop. Judge me, please, I only wish I
could be strong enough. For what
it's worth know that I always
ask whether the pain is
worth as much as this
sanity I've bought.

I miss who I was,
I've nearly forgotten;
I'll be happier when I'm lost

in the darkness
and in thought

where I belong.
When she said she felt sorry
for me I felt sorry too, not
for me but for the feeling I
had caused in her; something
I would not allow for myself.

I had closed the feeling off.
Realeboga M Aug 2015
Unknown.
Unspecified.‎

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for on the left we have The undisputed, most lyrical sensation in the world, Prodigy", The speaker announced.

"And on the right we have, the growing, unknown, unspecified the last Bounty Hunter, when she slays she slays", The speaker shouts.

PRODIGY 
Moving with the flow of beats, I serenade my thoughts with new symphonies.
New melodies, thoughts cascading through creating a lyrical abstract.

Now let my words infuse into you and misuse 
Your subliminal thoughts. 
Let me tell you the tale of a lost soul found by the soulless. 

It wasn't a nice summers day.
It wasn't a blistering cold morning.
There was no pain involved whatsoever.
The lost soul feels nothing but moves with the flow of the wind, whichever movement taken it will be accepted. 
The soulless saved me, from a whirlpool of lost and unknown souls they saved me and put me in a situation where feelings were unrequited, unnecessary, sociopath tendencies rolling in,
They saved me. 
Showed me the light of darkness but took me out the darker abyss.
And no amount of gratitude can show that when there's no existing feelings in the first place.
They turned me into a prodigious phenomenal.
Told me my words could get me anywhere.
Ladies and Gentlemen I am Prodigy
A legend amongst the dead, the living, the unknown, the unimaginable.

THE LAST BOUNTY HUNTER

I move with sensational beats,
Stomping to the floor getting down and *****.
Thanking the legends for showing me the streets,
The actual hustle the struggle the flow of the people.
I am the last bounty hunter.
The last of my people, the fighter.
I am like the Ruger No. 1 Varminter K1-V-BBZ one shot and you're out.

"Alright ladies and Gentlemen we got our introduction now it's time for the main attraction. The main topics, we will start of with Prodigy, your topic is Blissful pain".

PRODIGY 

Blissful pain.
Breathe and forget the strain.
Pop pills later and let them invade your veins.

It's Blissful pain.
Bloodshot eyes.
Shaky hands.
Woozy thoughts.

I drowned so much to forget you.
Swimming in liquor,
Taking strange detours.
Hoping to forget you.

It's blissful pain.
The drugs and alcohol make me forget you, make me smile, makes me laugh and free spirited.
The after effects hurt.
Rusty hangovers, forgotten nights and swarming thoughts of what we used to be.
Blissful pain.
Bitter sweet moments.
I miss you...

"Woah okay now it's The Last Bounty Hunter, your topic is Green hills"

THE LAST BOUNTY HUNTER 

Green hills.

"Save me", she whispered.

I watched her at the top of the hill.
Tears running down her face, posture all down,
Her self esteem gone, her entire demeanour broken into tiny little pieces of non existence.

"It hurts", she whimpered.

The green hills holding her in place,
Making her look down on what's meant to be her doom but is rather her freedom.
The dark green trees hold on to her praying she doesn't fall.

"Don't", my hand reaches out to her.
She jumps, falling down, the Green trees try to save her from falling each trying to catch her.

"I'm sorry", I close my eyes as I watch the green Hill devour her.

"Alright Ladies and Gentlemen the next match will be based on a specific topic and that topic is Hunted"

THE LAST BOUNTY HUNTER.

The days are the days of the years of the ages of our dreams.
Realising we aren't what we truly thought we are.
Focusing on dreams of being the hunter yet we are the hunted.

Maybe I don't understand, maybe he doesn't know and maybe she does.

We search seeking for answers, never really finding them but end up digging more in a pit of unanswered questions.

We toggle philosophy, entering the metaphysical ending up with the epistemological.
We complicate the simple, fighting complexity with simplicity.

Hunting.
I lay down looking through my lenses,
Searching for a loophole, a spot, to pounce on my prey.
Because let's be honest.
Our greatest ability is to find the weak spot of the toughest strongest.

Patiently waiting for you to mess up.
I know you know I'm watching.
I can see your insecurities dancing in,
Waltzing, doing oh so melodious moves.
I see them in harmony, in synchronisation with my plan.

You're scared. 
Not ready to fall so I leave.
Giving you a peace of mind till you relax, till you're ready. 
One two three, shots fired.
You've been hunted.

PRODIGY

I've never been one for words.
Never one for feelings and emotions.
I've just been one to move with the motion.

So when she stopped me I was lost, confused.
She put her hand across my cheek
Cheek burning, the sound deafening.

"Why", her voice cracked.
Her bloodshot eyes caught mine. 
Searching for answers praying that I would show her the light. 
That she might be the one I would truly fight for.

With confusion flowing through my mind I turned and walked away.
"I'm not that type of guy", I sighed.
"I can never be that guy". I left

He looked at me as if I was crazy.
"Even the wildest animals out there have feelings compared to you", He laughed.
"You're like a hunter, you **** and you get a thrill put of it and you don't put emotions in it", He spat.
"What the **** is wrong with you", He shouted.

I stared at him. 
Not enough running through my head.
I cooked my head and started laughing.
"Everyone is ****** up" I paused.
Took a deep breath and walked away.

"Well then the final piece is a freestyle feel free to do what you want", the announcer spoke.

LAST BOUNTY HUNTER

For years and centuries I've been a dreamer.
Praying to the gods hoping to become a great believer.
Trying to find the light so that I can become a controversial writer.

I had my heart caged on rage.
My soul flipped and sold for truth.
Hoping to find my true self.

I am the last of the legends.
A writer amongst the lyricist.

I've seen souls sold to the devil for the oblivious life.
Had dreams broken for the delirious minds.

My granddad told me I could be a hero someday.
That I could find wisdom by my writing. 

I looked at him and asked him if I can do it.
He told me "Son you are a Bounty Hunter you can do anything"

My words are my weapons.
This pen is my rifle.
This paper is my ammunition.
This life is my redemption.
Each story is an unravelling revelation.

"Alright ladies and Gentlemen next we have, Prodigy"

PRODIGY.

Alright this is a story of my father and I.
We were somewhat tight, close.
Regardless of my condition I felt something with my father, respect.
I looked up to him.

One day stating at the blue sky, watching the grey clouds, I asked "Dad?"
"Yea son?", He looked at me.
I took a deep breath, watching the sun get overwhelmed by the clouds, the blue sky getting darker. 
"Do you think I'll ever be normal?", I looked at him nonchalantly. 
"I don't know kid", He sighed.
"Does it bother mum that I'm not like the others?" I asked barely above a whisper.
He looked at me, His green eyes overwhelming me with answers, the got teary and at that point I knew the answer.
Reading his sudden dropped posture,
His sudden fidgeting of hands.
Trying to find his words, I raised my hand
"It's okay, I understand", I stood up dusted myself off and walked away.

"Alright that was deep" The announcer mentioned.
"Ladies and Gentlemen who is your winner?"
Meh, I was just trying out something, alter ego things
By flipping the switch,
will the world remain
no longer?
anastasiad Nov 2016
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Chuck Dec 2013
Cogs and free wheels chains and hubs
Twist and turns loud creeks and rubs
Sears and Snap-on won't do the job
Park and Pedro worth a few bob

Your problems are complex and real
You're tormented cry: squeak and squeal
Not a job for the feeble man
I have the tools, do what I can

Put you in my vice and hold tight
Crank the toggle bolt, torqued just right
I am the wrench to smooth your ride
Hand me the tools, stand by my side
Open up your eyes realize
Everybody out to get you sin through
Ya body mind and soul take control
Don't let the ******* bury you
Take a sip of this tangeray
To calm you
Picture your adversaries buried
Restin' with the rest of the dead
Puffin' **** clock Gs til.my eyes bloodshed
Look in my eyes tell.me what you see?
Ya see a nigguh down for the Revolutionary
Most see an early cemetery I never worry
God's on my side but I was put on this earth for suicide
Can't hide from the pressure
Since I'm.human I'm.prone to feelings
I mentally prepare myself Cuz I'll be murdered in cold blood
From a bunch of thugs
Naw! not street thugs I'm.talkin' DC thugs
They stay lurkin' in the dark
And there I was
Chillin' suddenly I seen a spark
Eyes flash quickly death roads ahead
Will I struggle and toggle to survive?
Or will I let the crossover thrive?
On me my soul wants to be free
Damage is done so theres no more saving me
Its time to go done being bounded on hells shoulder
Tryna find a heaven but I'm.stuck in this boulder as my body grows colder
I'm shell shocked
I thought I told ya this is the ballad of a dead souljaaaaaaaa!!
Ballad of a dead souljaaaaaa!!
Stephanie D Pope Jan 2010
Seems my mouth has created again,
thoughts of passions and crimes of sin.

The very pleasures that play the keys
to all my desires and wish to be's,

have become our own prophecies!

It appears what it is however it is not,
still the ripples of anticipation run hot.

The aura surrounding is milky thick,
yet the arousal source was a mere pick,

purposeful and complex,  complete to  trick!

I must say that the approach was titillating,
engaging in delusions of our amusements waiting.

Seems the temptation is a mind boggle
the decision and time we continued to toggle.

The dissection to tamper at bits of the  soul  
and manage the passions, they stay in control.

SDPope
Sag Nov 2018
I thought the nineties saw the last of leaving voicemails
I thought we left that mess of feelings back at the apartment on that bed
I thought I left your mind as well
I always felt we left too many things unsaid
You toggle back and forth between opening up and closing that chapter
You probably think the same of me
There’s an unparalleled sadness in getting rid of a book you didn’t get to read
The Forest Apr 2013
"I like the word, toggle, actually."
Andrew Drummond Sep 2015
flourishing man twigs
your skin binder
seperating into
live lizard leather

you voice is making broken mouth noises

too much suction
FROM OUT THE

choir nodules
limpid eye spokes spin

in a humane wood grain
in
calliper, or in plurale tantum

knee cap tattoos
of crawling skunk stars
toggle cap vegetable yoga
in giant pollen helmets

sports magnets
in half wi fi marathon

what kind of *** uniforms
are they hiding in the cenotaph
sunday war things perhaps
Muyi Mar 2017
For give me mothers if I take another son away
The ***** shouldn't a tested if my ****** wouldn't spray the K
2 the face
2 the point
Hollows in yo temple *****
Leave 2 dents in yo face like some dimples *****
+
Ugh
+
The devil told me that I'm coldblooded
Semi stoic look on my face n these hoes love it
Ain't got it on me when they shoot imma road run it
Never put trust n no ***** cuz these hoes covet
+
Ugh
+
Im like the black mclovin
Wit a wrap sheet 4 days
Tell yo mans cuz he shovin
N if low keep pushing imma have 2 start bussin
'Nother dumb ***** dead in the streets over nothing
Agh
+
My mama say that idk about the struggle but she don't know half if the **** a ***** toggle wit
+
She only know about a 5th of the **** I did
+
N if she knew me she would call me the apocalypse
+
Cuz I done did mo dirt then a Lil bit
+
N if this rapping don't crack imma cop a brick
+
These ****** say they were its at but the fulla ****
+
Cuz we the only mfs really taking risk
+
When I was 17 I ****** a ***** n she was 30
+
They call it statutory **** but I was hella flirty
+
I know some ****** out south that'll do u *****
+
Razor blade 2 yo face like that ***** birdie
+
Ugh
+
I gotcho sis on my lap
N yo fix in a sack
Text books on my back
Imma lowlife pirate I ain't even gotta act
N my ****** on attack
Lowlife just relax
Ugh
1+2

N I mean that ****
I was blind 2 it all now I c that ****
Imma show u mufuckaz that u can get rich
If yo friends turn 2 opps n yo main chick flip
Ugh
+
I think Im in love wit this girl I just  met really outta nowhere  but Im crazy so idk. I want her so ****** bad but I gotta wait. .....
Viseract Aug 2017
I'm not a sheep amongst the flock but a wolf amongst the sheep
Not a carcass left to rot but the butcher slicing meat
Because someone gotta survive, and its gonna be me
You can pull the wool over my eyes but you'll end up losing sleep

See you can lie to my face but i can sniff out the truth
Not everybody's buying *******, we are wiser than our youth
I may have a young face but my soul is in pursuit
Of old age, divine space, that's ruthlessness for you

See my stamina is boundless and i have that pack mentality
I can toggle between the two, loyalty or reality
You can make all these promises, but you cant promise me
That you're not another poser because you reek of it to me

Imma howl at the stars just to keep you awake
Outside growling at your window just to drive you insane
Because you messed with a wolf and thats a fatal mistake
Now I'm putting pen to paper just to put you in your place

You, dont know what you're in for
You, aren't getting away
You, are already falling
And now, in your head, I'm here to stay

You, me, crazy
You, me, crazy
You, me, crazy
You dont know what you're in for, and now you're going crazy

The possibilities are endless like the power of Infinity
You stop dead in your tracks like you just had an epiphany
You can't lose the trail when i **** my head, listening
Your voice trembles with fear and I'm feasting on the signaling

Your muscles race with adrenaline, a system overdrive
To face what you can't see admist the shadows of the night
All your senses quickening, preparing for the fight
Because you're in the corner now and there's nowhere left to hide

Hands shake, an earthquake, i hear the drumming of your heart
Jesus Christ, any faster and it could tear you apart
An explosion from the inside, you glow in the dark
From the heat that you expel like the embers of a dart

Eyes wide, pupils large you know this is your fate
Wishing you could go back but you know that it's too late
You meddled with a wolf and now you're filled with doubt
Things are getting serious: head down, claws out

You, don't know what you're in for
You, aren't getting away
You, are already falling
Check under your bed because the monster's here to stay

There's so much left to do,
And so little time,
With nothing left to lose
It's time to set things right

You can't play, Chinese Whispers
With me, because, I hear everything

You, don't know what you're in for...

You, me, crazy
You, me, crazy
You, me, crazy
I've got so much in store, enough to drive you crazy

You, me, crazy
You, look, wasted
You, me, insanity
You don't know what you're in for, and now you're going crazy
just a song i wrote for an EP
ya wonder why they called you *****
look at how them hips twitch
and twist
got minds in the matrix
stay playin' tricks
deep in the mix
i see these *******
plottin pregancy
to get child support
but wont let a ***** see custody
of his own kids
got **** they put in this bid long ago
they had a plan
to exterminate the black man
every brother aint bad
just cuz some of us
grew up without a dad
stop following popular  fads
society raising children to be glad
without a father
but it bothers
my intellect from safe to semi my trigger selects
aim shots at yo brain mentally
collapse yo whole mentality
let me break it down so you can see
why they call you *****
so stop being apart of the culpirt
my works is unfinised
til these devils replenish
my holy verses dropping curses
makin hearses
cuz my flow so deadly
this **** goes back to the sixties and the seventies
when the panthers were dethroned
black father's couldn't sit in the home
now she all alone
sitting by the phone
waiting the welfare to come
while daddy sittin in courts for the outcome
***** we both gettin played by the system
its all a glitch but yous a trick
and thats why they called you bitchb



now you sittin
over there in a chair
looking dumb
cuz you swallowed my ***
baby on the way
and already im facin judgement day
before his first birth day
got **** what a cold thing to do
***** thats why you a trick
and wonder why brothers switch
ill admit
ya had me for a minute
but i caught on
to ya tactics
thank the Lord for
for backing me up
like traffic
know im at it
with this stupid system
just cauz i made a mistake can't shake
these demons
filled with sin
open yo heart girl
and let me in
lets start over
but ya dont wanna
lose ya benefits
aint that a *****?
i tried to end it
on a good note
but you hit me with another smote
mail full of notes
court order just to see my son
**** the courts its my son
it aint there im in the air
like wind hitting against yo skins
all eyes in
on me as crush your demands ya see
cuz you should have never switched
tryna get rich off my little pockets
but it ain't gone stick and wonder why i call u a *****??? i betcha


I hope you happy now
How the **** can you smile?
Look in the eyes of our child
Growing up hellbound n wild
Even scared to call me daddy now?
Huh everytime i time i see you
I want smack the **** outta you
Knowing **** well im tryna get through to you
Confusin' my son cuz ya know he a chosen one
My *** be mystic never sadistic
Just being realistic
So makin a statistic
Same ******* be like they love they child
But never mention the man who created it to make that child
Uh only to grow up a ***** up
And see the same things
When he ****** grow up
One day he"ll probably say
Why daddy never came to stay
Cuz we all know that crimes pays
Cant find brighter days
Cuz im clouded by darkness
I hope my son hearing this
And in due time he'll probably
Being goin through this
Same struggle same toggle
Times of juggle gotta find a new hustle
To crush my sons ambition
They'll keep on lynchin
In jail cell talkin to me
While he clenching
Bar cells **** it never fail
My son caught up in thesame catastrophe as me
Aint that some ****
Now im in a fit godddamn
And you wonder why men call women *****??


This fr the women or ******* who make kids for profits
Of the government
Then the man they slept with
In a jail cell
How the **** can you live with yourself
Knowing that these ******* be killing unborn kids ******* **** yo life
And wish death to all the baby killers
And now thats why i call you ***** i betcha
This for the conniving evil soulless ******* who make kids for profits
Phil Stewart Jan 2011
Torn twisting through a nonsense dream,

no places left to turn.

Deafened by the echo of mind speak,

struck dumb by words I can't learn.



Strangled by the hands of future guess,

tortured deep on the inside of me.

Dealing through a deck of memories,

photographs of all that can't be.



Flicker frame fear, conscience on a toggle,

panoramic everything pushing on me.

Stuck floating through ports of my past,

daylights' lost beacon, this mixed up sea.



Trapped in the dark room with the memory mob,

midnight malice in the shadows of sleep.

Paranoia projector, slide show sweat,

Lifetime Productions Co. I watch till I weep.



Phil Stewart Jan 2011
Copyright © 2010, Phil Stewart. All rights reserved.
I... how do I start this?

Okay, I'll just, just get straight in...

I think of nameless things,
Weightless thoughts with withering strings,
Faithful thoughts of my distressed links,
Boneless thoughts now surfacing,
Stressful 9, and He stopped winking,
No two's and no signs and I'm singing,
So here's now what I'm invested in:

I like to sing, I like to write, there's a Sılver ın my mınd,
I also like to talk in rhymes, and keep the meaning behind.
No, I don't talk like this real life.

Just a little sometimes :}

Not so socially smart and strong,
That's why I like to stay between my walls,
It's a lot easier.. being you between ya walls, ya know?

I love to know, but am I capable at all anymore?
Lately I've gotten a little time-out,
And I thought it was a nice life treat (becuase, wow, obviously I've always been a lucky me.)
But now I lost my inner light, n my speed's somewhere at school & sixteen,

And I...hate all these I's... I use too much of those, don't I? sigh

So, well, here's my why: I enjoy writing because inside I'm.. just...

Well.
T.Swifting on my surroundings,
And 'my feelings, all my findings,
Schizophrenic analysis,
Drama addict's falls and lightnings,
A hundred more words off a Draddict,
But they'll fall out where the light's in,
And I struggle to finish my writings,
A quick toggle in the dark, a little change in heart,
This great flow of my voice... sometimes. I have to confess of my heart for the dark.
How did I get to write this section?
And since when do I blend songs & introductions?

My winter infection?

A little more than I should, I'm enjoying this dive down deep to the darkest dark. A little more than a little more than I should.
For the match of my heart with the darkest dark.

My first actual poem. Hope you liked it :)
Arcassin B Oct 2014
By Arcassin B


"Cheyenne"


As young as you look,
You should have been a model,
I don't even know why you want me anyways,
But , things happen for a reason I don't toggle,
When you look into my eyes,
I get sense of adventure,
And that night I kissed your lips,
Will always be a memory worth a rapture,
You always knew just what to say,
Some things I depend on you for,
Even lost my best friend,
Cause he thought you were a *****,
I love you always and forever,
Even if your brothers around,
You take a bird from its feathers,
And you then flew me around.


"7:39 Kiss"



I couldn't stop kissing you tonight,
Taking about our worries,
Bodies pierced towards each other,
Dancing upon your lips in the moons rise,
Escaping the erge to let you go,
Can't see how much we belong in the night sky,
Taking my breath away when we **** our faces off,
Not a ****** reference,
I like this night,
Sad that I left.



"Sticky Skin"


Fun day we had,
Wishing we could do it again,
Me , you , and your brother,
Going on esponola road for adventure,
This all happen to today,
I also like this day.
Soda and water spilled over all of us,
Horse playing lol,
Good times....
Me and new gf and her brother had a good day hanging out :)
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2017
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<*** id="poem1929646" class="poem poem-left " data-align="left" data-url="http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1929646/monotheistic-agony/" data-text="monotheistic agony by Máteùš Izydor" seepoem="/poem/see/1929646/">
  
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      <a href="/polaroid-scrabble/" class="nocolor poem-poet-name popover-profile" data-url="/popover/profile/662176/">Máteùš Izydor</a> <span class="poem-added s" title="Poem added 3 minutes ago">3m</span>
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      <a href="/poem/1929646/monotheistic-agony/" class="nocolor">monotheistic agony</a>
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      <p>you know what <br>              urinating with<br>               a ******* feels like?<br><br>next thing you know:<br>they'll be tearing off their niqabs<br>       and implying<br>              staples to the fake <em>kippahs</em><br> of the popes.<br><br>         and then tribalism from <em>brazil</em>.<br><br>           toes are a real agony...<br> fingers are slightly better,,,<br>               but do you know alcoholism is<br>such a burden?<br>              it's ******* exhausting...<br>                  once you get to the stage of <br>a litre of whiskey, in between 2 days<br>you're wondering....<br>                  i'm not being lazy about this....<br>this is the <em>fantastic 4</em> making an entrance...<br>there's  mr. fantastic / spastic  trying to samba fully<br>                                       extended;<br>   <em>limp ****</em> ever come across your mind?<br>            i'm thinking <em>squid</em>, or at least something<br>wobbly, or able to juggle, or with limbs <br>that have the consistency of a brain, i.e. fat;<br>   then all the bones are in their mouths and could<br>nibble on you twice-over - or <em>ridley scott</em> talking.<br><br>p.s. definite article            indefinite article<br>                              pluralism (simply...      es);<br>                           a very serious english complex.</p>

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Mateuš Conrad Apr 2017
message "<i>ālláh</i> saved successfully"
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<*** id="poem1929573" class="poem poem-left " data-align="left" data-url="http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1929573/allah/" data-text="ālláh by Máteùš Izydor" seepoem="/poem/see/1929573/">
  
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      <a href="/poem/1929573/allah/" class="nocolor">ālláh</a>
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      <p>it's so good to feel, something, anything;<br>   perhaps even crying while singing along to<br>       fiddler on the roof's <em>if i were a rich man</em> -<br>breaking into tears at the point where the song<br>breaks into... simply             syllables...<br>    oh what sweetness can be derived from <em>crying</em>,<br>from <em>feeling</em>... from engaging in the world<br> as must be necessary...<br>         in the evolution of theology,<br> working from polytheism...<br>                      yhwh      (the tetragrammaton)<br>is the reason, i.e. the god of thought...<br>                     ālláh?       the god of emotion...<br>        the god of song, the god of praise,<br>   so why would muslims need to respect<br>       the third schism, that's manifest in <em>wahhabism</em>?<br>        wahhabism doesn't respect music, yet<br>                 there's the song on a <em>minaret</em> to the count<br>of five times a day... unlike the church bell...<br>          there's a song in the minaret, fives times a day<br>    does the uvula vibrate from a song being echoed...<br>                    of the three? <em>sh'i'ah</em>.<br>but who then is?          the god of libido?<br>                             15/5/1986?              chernobyll?<br>that's really ******* audacious of me,<br>         i wonder if it's also towing behind that assumption<br>a second assumption, of: being auspicious -<br>               then i'll do my dance, pseudo-blind<br>  as in: dancing with my eyes closed...<br>                             then i'll also be found tickling<br>a candle flame, and do what i have done since being<br>a child... "twirling" my index against the thumb,<br>call it a massage for all i care;<br>      but what a glorious feeling... to simply <em>feel</em>!<br>to be able to cry, and compensate <br>                with out-of-the-body-like-experience of laughter!<br>oh? you want an explanation of the diacritics?<br>   well, since you asked... islam has been benevolent <br>to <em>poland</em> from what i gather...<br>         the <em>ottomans</em> have become neutralised,<br> the former enemy has reversed and subsequently become <em>buffer</em>....<br>i'll celebrate that word, in all it's glory like i would,<br>constantly thinking about the tetragrammaton...<br>                           so<br>                            ālláh:<br>    macron over the first ah      prolongs the vowel:<br>            aa      <br>                              and the acute on the second a? á?<br>              that sharpens the concept of the breath (soul), <br>                  that's borrowed from yhwh - with the clasp of the H...<br>for H                     and H              are god's hands.</p>

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Mateuš Conrad Apr 2017
message "<i>wysrałem si(ę) the ogonek is optional, hence encapsulated with bracket(s)</i> saved successfully"
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<*** id="poem1929634" class="poem poem-left " data-align="left" data-url="http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1929634/wysraem-sie-the-ogonek-is-optional-hence-encapsulated-with-bracke­ts/" data-text="wysrałem si(ę) the ogonek is optional, hence encapsulated with bracket(s) by Máteùš Izydor" seepoem="/poem/see/1929634/">
  
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      <p><em>the title? it just means i took a ****.... and it felt as good as ultra<br>homosexuality via transgender... or... whatever.</em><br><br>   <strong>why is         ęś      easier to pronounce than           eś...<br>                  or                      ęs?           in bracket?<br>         well... it had to be kept in bracket...<br>                                    the counter optional was simply e.</strong><br><br>the main point of this poem?<br>    i really don't know...<br>           i just like the way the word sounds /<br>                                 <em>sings</em>, to encounter <br>  my appreciation for it having a relevant counter<br>                                expression.<br>             i can't believe i just wrote: i took a ****<br>                                   in the most eloquent way possible...<br>seriously... it was a fudge hard expression of ****...<br>                    i think i started sneezing, or coughing<br>   while <em>liberating</em> this piece of ****...<br>            it probably resembled something akin to *******;<br>it's like i wanted some, and then said:<br>                        why is taking a **** so pleasurable?!<br>can i hasve some more?<br>       in all honesty?<br> the russians can't beat the expression -<br>                                                   <em>wysrałem się</em> -<br>i.e.: i just took a ****.<br>           at this point, the russian language is pompom...<br>boring...<br>                                             ­     it's just...            <em>dangling</em>...<br>                        like a yoyo...<br>                                                        t­ong... tong... tong...<br>i can't believe i found a source of <em>infectious</em> laughter...<br>    hence i know my <em>muse</em>... and her cat's name?<br>                   <em>kickers</em>...<br>                                           i know my muse....<br>   i knew my muse since she was 14 / 13 / 12...<br>             i.e. i don't really remember the day it was: love at first sight.<br>and that was in the year 2004...<br>                                 she's still a secret to most if not all people,<br>and will remain so... <br>                             but not to her elder sister...<br>                    hmm...<br>                            ­                       what a gratifying thought:<br>it's like memorising certain things in my life<br>                      as if in a crucible of pretence: that they didn't.</p>

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Sombro Mar 2016
Sit naked
Like children matting the lives they may never have
Pit patting innocence on the floor
With tiny, ***** feet.

Simplicity in the curve of her bottom
And the writhe her legs give me
Infantly pleased to see me
Heroicly ignoring the bitterness of an espresso

We can sit together, one day
And chime on our shields
She can play me music
And I can draw her worlds

And toggle life from death
Switch from fight to flee
While she makes melodies
That answer to my name
Just my funny name

I can't imagine
Anymore
Crisps think less
Chips have been sectioned
Never knowing,never fearing
As something so unlike myself
Z Atari Jan 2016
There is no feigning love
Only a light switch little boys toggle in a big room lined with the belongings of the ones who left it last
Tents made from the frayed and bleached garments of playmates who had to return home for supper,but not before changing the light bulb.
That is not the fear, foundations made of bone covered in soot from flames whispered out with secrets
Nails jagged and loose and I can't afford repairs
Paper thin walls with dixie cups full of crayons
Doenning Jun 2019
Heartbroken, cut open,
Your knives stuck in my back.
Misspoken, I'm chokin',
Trying to get my life on track.

Dark places, many faces,
Where I've been and what I no longer see.
Make haste, and go away,
This depression I'm in is killing me.

You model, men ogle,
You're no longer what I fell in love with.
I toggle, and down a bottle.
This alcohol is a poison's kiss.

My heart turns to stone when our eyes meet.
I'm frozen here in place.
Deep red blood now turns to ice,
Flowing through these veins.

Your memory, I'm not forgetting,
I dream of you when I don't try.
I can't erase you, you're haunting,
Me, and I can't live my life.

I resist, yet you persist,
To linger in my state of mind.
I'm not happy, you've stabbed me
In the back two years ago in time.

You cheated, I felt defeated,
My world collapsed around me.
Our photos, deleted
But my mind still won't leave me be.

My heart turns to stone when our eyes meet.
I'm frozen here in place.
Deep red blood now turns to ice,
Flowing through these veins.

Your beauty, shoots through me,
But you're a cancer inside.
You're looming, you've doomed me.
See the pain in these eyes.

I've tried, and I've cried,
Too many tears in the time you've been gone.
It's humiliating, and complicating,
Everything still feels so wrong.

I've fought, and I've sought,
My demons, and anyone for help.
I'm rearranged, and I'm changed,
Not for the better because you've made my life Hell.

My heart turns to stone when our eyes meet.
I'm frozen here in place.
Deep red blood now turns to ice,
Flowing through these veins.

Medusa...
This is a "poetic" version of how I feel after being cheated on in a 4 year relationship.

I haven't seen her in person since the break-up, and I hope that time never comes.
I was
hers and
still toggle
their feature
as this
cluster in
maudlin with
alluvion tears
as rain
only to
gape acquiescence
there and
strengthen peace
of mind
or frizzy
hair ends
the medallion
Marshall Gass Apr 2014
Its easy to toggle between keys and numbers
shifting relationships
saying the same thing over and over again
balancing between copy/paste
until the formula comes right. Sometimes.

Print is easy too
Ctrl+ P- sometimes an imprint can occur
not often does it work if the partner is smarter
she might just get a new keyboard
or a whole new faster bandwidth
and move on
at times it can be messy
if you catch a bug
or get bugged too.

If we design love based on a set of keys
the result may become
an out of tune romance
that needs to be rebooted often.

Otherwise you may just have to put up with
an old fashioned typewriter.

Author Notes
IT is happening.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
People stop fallin' snooze to the news blues and new crews showin' bad valuables only to loose
Deep in this deadly game it's a crime shame people don't even know the origins of their own name ??you could be a Queen or King sibling but too many dribbling on thoughts drained from a quart of blood going to the brain ya slow stroking it hard to get ahead when all you think about is bread many heads deads in fear of the feds cuz they ain't takin' their meds feel the reign purple thunder we creatin' wonders
With my Hendrix spells it ain't hard to tell as my brain cells sail the spiritual ocean still coastin' and toastin'
Those who ain't floatin' on cloud nine rain bullets from my nine til enemies flat on their spine I'm one of a kind paragon makin' thinking marathons that no one can sustain I'm shattering things from the bling of my pinky rings kin to Solomon controlling wicked demons leechin' in breathin'
In the realms of heaven and hell from the smell
Running all of earth since my birth knew this worlds was cursed
Leaning on a axis the fact is I'm sick of the bids tryna live everyday a struggle to see a new muscle and toggle how many sick of the troubles
Nation's put us through only a few see what I view politicians sticking us without a word to trust but say believe in us but wars involved see the cannon smokes another joke being told on us for shore too ******* been ready to die only for my energy to multiply shadow the universe and blow away the skies
Including the sun and moon sittin' as a spiritual heirloom as I consume the star dust becoming an antimatter custome

— The End —