"toying" poems
Your head feels foggy
you sense yourself unwind,
It’s the same dreadful demons
toying with your mind.
They wait till it’s dark
or the lights are down low,
unnerving sickly attacks
through your blood and bones.
You can’t hide your black heart
the demons can see,
they don’t allow any space
in your head to breathe.
They tear your reason to shreds
you need fixing.
A worn stone sinking
in an ocean that’s rotting,
you decay miserably since
you're forced to bend the knee.
How much more agony
can the universe bring.
Not even your screams
can get you out of the cold,
and you’d rather give up
and drown,
than go it alone.
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 11:34 PM UTC
You are annoying
For you are toying
This mind of mine
Or the other minds of nine
Stop being silly
'Cause it bothers me really
I hate you for it
I don't seem to like you one bit
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
Those eyes how they pierce into me and see all that I am. It's almost as though he's toying with me. He knows the way my body works. It's as though he finds pleasure in teasing me.
Those eyes how they pierce into me and see all that I am. He knows he has me and I've become submissive to his touch. So weak to his needs, only wanting to be everything he needs.
Those eyes how they pierce into me and see all that I am. Usually I have such control but he has me under his spell. Once again he has me wrapped around his little finger and he lets me know I am only his and his alone.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 9:09 PM UTC
Like a captive, I capture rapture wrapping around stakes that matter
Joan of Arc battered
Also tattered but, easily dismissive
Refracted from fractured prominent phrases people play with
Distinctly persuasive and evasive, dressed boyishly attractive, lax stature, dawning armor crafted by absence as if asked about it-
I’m drifted
Protection is principle prerequisite, when fire is lit
I sort of implore your aorta before it’s incinerated to ashes
Dethatched as a habit, with swords or hatchets crafted to singe heartstrings that attached it
While I slash slick Rick as a quick fix,
To fend for pretend pretenses or presumed tricks,
I can’t quit
Cause I hit lips against hash spliffs fashioned with dashes of passion all while rationing fireball cinnamon sips
Martyr to avoidance
I gaze at fabled dazed gossipers galvanizing grips on gritty grapevines while licking warning labels through smoke haze on blurred lines
Capably unstable
Other eyes attending scandal circles able to shout lies and rekindle handed arguments on tables with locked smiles stay boxed in
Avidly amiable
Searching for counterparts when combusted or branded
Toying with matches loses meaning when rules reseed
Those vagabonds claim love is some all end hard bent to mend what the same above can’t comprehend.
Breaking boredom, I pillage pillows with night terrors
And ardent arsonists yearn for flames that churn, turn, liquefy and learn learned thoughts and smoldered feelings
Completely complacent
Melting in one another they are completing each other like two candles tryst true at a wedding day
However later the blaze is severed, smoke sears, and charred black wick stands alone for them.
Aggressive and progressive.
As for me never pleading, fire forever fleets to streets between iron bars I built that cage in deep heat and seep dire dreams once desired
Suppose I’m a skeptic
Roasted or disconnected
Just jaded, just met you
Always over it too soon
Burnt but I’m amused.
I’m useful.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
there's ethical idealism:
where ethics is discussed...
there's ethical relativism:
where ethics is practised...
there's ethical realism...
where ethics is quantified
as an improbability;
and then there's ethical
absolutism,
where we supposedly
"progress" -
in this scenario are
the laws of physics actually
suspended:
whereby oculus qua oculus
is replaced -
a loss of an eye is "relative"
to 10 years in a cage...
really?!
ethics is
ideal, realistic, absolute or relative...
we're encouraged to live
in "realistic relativism"...
never in an absolute realism,
since realistic relativism
only compares itself
to ideal absolutism...
and nothing more...
ever watched that film
secrets in their eyes?
you ever wonder what
ethical idealism is to the ethnical
consequence that can absorb
a realistic libra?
i can only believe in
ethical absolutism,
ethical relativism is horrid to me...
relativism adorns idealism,
absolutism adorns realism...
a life sentence is worse than
a death sentence,
whether justified or not,
prison is sadism,
but at least ****** is simply ******
a space-time intact,
a ****** penalty is not
inhumane, nor a ouija board...
it's time for time,
space for space,
the actual punishment comes
with the missing adrenaline rush
of the unexpected reception of the wielded
weapon...
either send these jealous plonkers to
siberia, or sentence them to death,
for you are no more than they are,
nay, you are more...
you're akin to cats toying,
playing a sadistic games with half-mutilated
mice...
this is why i abhor
ethical relativism of the crucifix...
hence my belief in ethical
absolutism in the paragraph of realism,
which is perfected, by
being exacted, and never, ever,
being leisurely discussed,
on a farcical palette with a grimace
to boot: ******* a lemon;
compensating the horrors within
minutes, is never compensated
with ordeals that last years...
which is why i find the death penalty
an act of authentic humanity,
and not this quasi-humanitarian
act of pardon, ******* hypocrites -
i abhor the caged rat
more than the rat gladly nibbling
on a dead corpse...
at least there was passion
in the ******
waiting for death penalty is like killing
a vermin with poison,
disposing them with nonchalantly...
the wise maxim states:
ledo ferrum sicut id est calidi -
strike the iron while it's hot...
death is the dawn-broker -
a new tomorrow promise -
left intact, the fermenting process
of ethical dynamism takes over...
then again,
the supposedly "evolved"
preferred moral relativism to moral
absolutism,
because there was no
moral realism to speak of,
since morality could only
be talked about in ideal terms of
the supposedly so, supposedly
fashioned via: it ought to never happen to
me...
and then it might, and then:
oops... argument sinks like a wet fatty ****
into shambles of keeping up with
the presupposed pillar of argument
being "impenetrable";
hey, genius, back to the blackboard!
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 8:50 PM UTC
so, with israel being re-established...
why do we, us,hit
europeans... even need to bother
establishing authority,
utilißing the new testament?
i quiete like the old testament
logic of:
oculus per oculus
(eye for an eye)...
because the saxon concept of
justice: i rather see...
the implosion of
blackstone's formulation...
the 10:1 imploding to the 1:10
ratio of...
a shawshank redemption...
there is... redemption...
since! there's no justice within
the post scriptum of
the hillsborough disaster...
watching people walk, the lunatic walk,
20 years later?
disorientated by the court
of justice?
re-dem-ption...
the whole aspect of: innocent until proven
guilty is horrid!
this... saxon vernacular of
that branch of philosophy that's
bogus...
namely... within origins
of the forbidden fruit...
i.e. and you know?!
really?!
no... but i'll **** to make
a standing pivot of a pawn
on a chess-board.
savvy?
who, among the europeans...
actually needs such artifacts
as new testament texts, credo,
orthodoxy, sign of the cross
greek exports?
the state of israel has
been re-established...
i don't want anything to do
with this judeo-grecian banality...
you can have you little affair over
n
e w
s...
don't worry... i'll make sure that i'm
watching... people tell a lie...
yeah: hum hum bubbly hum-hum...
am i, or are there any arizona
inbreds?
who, the hell, needs, the news testament,
within the confines of history,
dispossessing europe of it,
of an established jewish state?
one book among many...
hence the scent of a yawn...
when entering a library...
i'll do one gesture, and one gesture
alone... inclined to a replica...
ecce libra!
i wash my hands from
having any investment in it.
**** the greeks can have it...
they can keep it, cherish it,
but they better not spaghetti the old testament
with their... "ingenious" plot...
not when the nag hammadi library
emerged...
no... not now... not ever...
i detest this greek book of overt
symbolism...
their pristine alphabet,
their diacritical application,
with the pseudo-romans toying with: deaf...
or blind... whichever it is...
sandpaper... instead of a kangaroo pouch...
of inflated... soft... flesh?
i'll rip your heart out
and feed it to my neighbour's dog,
beside a bowl of water.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 8:32 PM UTC
The way you play your harp,
effortlessly weaving your fingers
through those nylon strings
is oh so captivating.
The firm hold you have on your instrument,
secure, yet light enough,
being careful not to break
the mahogany frames.
The heedful ears you have,
used to listen to the echoing sounds,
your harp makes in response to
even the slightest flick of your finger.
The beautifully composed melody,
brought forth by the
dissonance and resolution
of the sweetest sounds I’ve ever known.
Wherever did you get the practice?
Perhaps it was from toying with my heart.
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 11:57 PM UTC
I hope that if you read this, you will understand fully the journey it took to get here.
i've heard every excuse, i've heard every justification. you have to understand, the worst part of it is the feeling that it is something about me that makes them do it.
i don't think you know how much it hurts, when you tease me about the mysterious stranger with whom you now share your bed. i know he is a stuffed animal, but until you stop teasing, until you stop toying, all i can feel is the ******* blood boil in my veins, and then the anger subside, and anguish churn my stomach.
everyone has their trouble, and i have mine. the trouble with me, is that i trust you with my life, and at the same time, i have learned from experience that i will always be betrayed. it's not me, it's her. i just wasn't there enough. i just didn't care enough.
i've always known that every excuse given was false, the truth is that i cannot provide anything but love and happiness. i cannot guarantee wealth, nor riches. and in a world where dreams die young at the hands of reality, i have no future. there is no world for me, only the corpses of my dreams, smiling cadavers, waltzing to their demise. this is a weary world for the honest and good.
i want you to read this, and at the same time i don't. but most of all i would just like you to know that i love you unconditionally. i would like you to know that i trust you. and i would like you to know that the sick feeling i get in my guts when you're not here, is not mistrust, just bad experience telling me that
things don't seem to change.
i've been through so much **** i was broken until i met you,
but you'll always be the one i think of when i wake, my soul mate.
Jul 26, 2012
Jul 26, 2012 at 11:23 AM UTC
Is the only thing worth counting on,
Counting on that death is just ahead?
While living is unavoidable.
I would have given an answer to you,
If I had never met you.
Now my affection will subside.
You can never return it.
Right now, that’s okay.
I don’t need you to feel for me,
Like I feel for you.
Just being is fine.
But one day, I don’t know.
If you start playing with my emotions,
And toying with my heart.
On that day I can’t be certain,
And I don’t know if I will be able to control,
Your death, Sagittarius.
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 12:30 AM UTC
Reputation, Reputation this is how you play
If you mess up your status will change
B
e
W
i
t
h
H
e
r
Or
F
o
r
g
e
t
H
e
r
Be with me or forget me
It’s your choose
You’ve kept my letters
We’ve taken walks together
You’ve admitted you like me and want to be with me
But apparently your rep means more
So you won’t go around with the girl who’s a beauty behind a pokeball hat
So I’ll sit here like a broken record repeating our good times together
In my head over and over again and again
Even though we part ways in the end
Not that there will ever be anymore good times
Not with us together anyway
Just so you know
I’ll be here for you
Always
What’s strange is you never got that...social with a girl except for me
You act like you’ve moved on
But there’s no other girl
I think it’s pretty clear we both know you haven’t moved on
But you still pretend to and ignore me
While holding on to my words and drawings
Sometimes it just feels like your toying with me
You play the game for the trophy and nothing more
What does that tell you
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 2:06 PM UTC
Every time
You extend your hand
I reach out to emptiness
Vacant
Words
Toying with my emotions
You play the game
Always winning
With your looks
Pale skin
Red lipstick
Smeared on my collar
Where your head would lie
All of those times you lied
You see it differently
Of course you do
Playing the victim
Saying I’m always attached
And that’s why you would never
Take this dive with me
In reality
Terrified
Of what would happen
If you committed to something
Other than yourself
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC
'The beggar boy is none of mine,'
The reverend doctor strangely said;
'I do not walk the streets to pour
Chance benedictions on his head.
'And heaven I thank who made me so.
That toying with my own dear child,
I think not on _his_ shivering limbs,
_His_ manners vagabond and wild.'
Good friend, unsay that graceless word!
I am a mother crowned with joy,
And yet I feel a ***** pang
To pass the little starveling boy.
His aching flesh, his fevered eyes
His piteous stomach, craving meat;
His features, nipt of tenderness,
And most, his little frozen feet.
Oft, by my fireside's ruddy glow,
I think, how in some noisome den,
Bred up with curses and with blows,
He lives unblest of gods or men.
I cannot ****** him from his fate,
The tribute of my doubting mind
Drops, torch-like, in the abyss of ill,
That skirts the ways of humankind.
But, as my heart's desire would leap
To help him, recognized of none,
I thank the God who left him this,
For many a precious right foregone.
My mother, whom I scarcely knew,
Bequeathed this bond of love to me;
The heart parental thrills for all
The children of humanity.
3.1k
they're the worst, and i mean that literally
imagine this, imagine that
everything that terrifies you, from any age that you've been
from the things that barely ***** you to the things that you are deathly afraid of
under one tent, an old worn down halloween coloured carny tent, filled with broken down rides and fallen apart structures and lit only by the moon
all with one intent, all of them working together to reach one goal
to get you, and have their way with you
and you can't fight back, every time you try to, they just get stronger
so you do the one thing you can do at this point
you run
you run faster then you ever have before, and none of this weird *** dream running where you move slowly when you're trying to run
i mean full out sprinting
you run and try to escape
but there's no way out, the holed purple and orange walls of the tent flap in the wind but when you go to touch them, they fill and turn solid
solid concrete below three inches of dirt, and you can't see anything to climb
you run and try to hide
the lesser terrors might try to help you.
trying to convince you that this place is safe, or to let them lead the others off of your trail
but they never tell the truth, they only do one thing
they help the greater terrors find you
so you refuse their help, shooing them away, and you survive for a bit longer
but its always the same, in the end, no matter what you try, every time it ends the same way
they find you, hiding on top of one of the structures, in a little cave, somewhere in one of the rides
and you're tortured
you're tortured worse than you ever thought that a being would do
sometimes your tongue is split into thirds from side to side, and is then cut from front to back
sometimes your limbs and body are twisted and contorted into strange shapes, making you into human art
you foolishly believed that these things might have a heart and not make it as slow and painful as they could
well you're right for the first bit, they do have a heart of sorts
after they're done playing with you
after they're done toying with your body
they don't just let you be, leave you where you are to stay there in agony
no, they **** you
nothing extra, nothing complex
just a stab through the heart, a ripping off of the head, and you're gone
unless they're being crueler
at which point, you have the option of fighting back
or letting them **** you in a gruesome way, hanging you from a rope over an open tank of water with lots of hungry creatures eagerly awaiting your fall
at least, that's what you think they do, you're never asleep long enough to find out
and that's why youre glad that they've only now begun to come and get you while you're awake
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC
Wondrous whirling worlds of words
Wander away.
Smooth musical tunes from the Muses melt my mind
And make my heart go boom.
Sunny sylvan scenes ****** my soul.
In a simmering silence
Broken only
By birdsong.
It starts with simple wordplay,
Toying with those letters
Until some magic kicks in.
Visions of versified viewscapes
Mess with my head.
Eureka moments marching across the mountains
Of my brain like screaming Banshees.
So thus a poem is born
From seemingly idle play.
Those words are worked again
And posted here
To brighten the reader’s day.
Paul Butters
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 6:08 AM UTC
Screeeeeeeechhh!
Thud!
Silence!
Hearts stopped
Faces turned
Jaws dropped
Prayers began
He left his assembled bricks and wood and furniture
and ran
ran towards the sunset
with nothing
but his silhouette following him
even years later
it felt like yesterday
possessed
he ran as fast as he could
Prayers began
blurry shapes hoarded around the car
his eyes refused to close
against the horror
of what lay beside
his high crushed
into water
his delusion failed him
his brain froze
He ran as fast as he could
to the beach
wanting to walk into the water
wanting to stop breathing
seeking unfathomable peace
that final peace
His brain froze
get out of the car
people shouted
was a life lost
he didn’t dare to find out
he just wanted
a few seconds back
just a few
seconds
back
please
That final peace
eluded him
waves silenced
by his cornucopia of emotions
his eyes now refused to open
the saltiness of the beach
was overcome
by tears
that flowed in secrecy
inflaming everything within reach
embracing his cheeks
toying with his lips
Please
callanambulance
sheisbleeding
somebody
tieyourshirtaroundherbleedinghead
isittoolate
is it too late
Toying with his lips
tears turning into questions
could I ever forgive myself
his sobbing heart
didn't acknowledge the question
it just faded
he lived
with himself
he died within
Is it too late
his wife asked
holding his hands
breathing heavily
her eyes averred
every moment that they shared
their feuds
their make ups
their teasing
their loving
her eyes were done speaking
and now they rested
He died within
wailing like a baby
he slept there
with parched eyes
reminiscing her parting words
etched in his heart
etched so deep
that it bled internally
bled and ached
to release a shriek through muteness
muteness, deafening
deafening his emotions
making them oblivious to his existence
his fists clenching
the vacuum of solitude
the moon and waves began their tango
and the water rose
higher and higher
embracing him within
maimed to be saved
releasing a gushing hymn
for she was now deemed
forever with him.
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 11:38 AM UTC
Siri. Type this:
More memories. Less Facebook moments.
Let’s go back to concerts filled with lighters — warm seas of flame,
instead of stadiums filled with phones and waves of blue light that keeps us from sleeping at night.
Our phones, it looks like we’re all telling one big ghost story around the campfire — our faces lit up from underneath in the dark.
It’s like a part of our bodies, a mollusk’s shell,
That we won’t outgrow until it’s torn from us and we’re eaten, still fresh.
It’s like we call it Facetime because that’s what we need, but don’t have.
Since when is being viral a good thing?
Viral means an infectious disease.
Viral Viral Viral.
I feel like I need a ****** just to surf the web.
I honestly can’t have a conversation with a person
without toying at my phone anymore.
We post our beautiful stories on snapchat,
the colorful blurred days of our lives,
and let it slip away into the ether.
Your stories are still interesting even after 24 hours.
Seeing that red notification, knowing I’m special, I’m wanted, I’m special.
when it turns out to be another Farmville invite.
Talk about crutches. Nitze called religion a crutch but at least religion helps people walk. Phones make people run into things.
I wonder if the New Messiah will have a social media account.
We are so close to just hooking up our phones to traveling robot vehicles and navigating our world from our home.
The future’s hangouts will be phones arranged in a circle
on a table,
all on Facetime,
as we take shots,
in our rooms alone.
Jerry smiles because he isn’t wearing pants
but no one can tell.
Our phones only show what’s on top.
Please share this poem, by the way.
For videos of my reading my poems, visit https://mateilatte.wordpress.com/content/poetry/
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
All these things,
mean nothing to me,
stop giving me gifts,
you can’t buy me with things,
I’m on a flight with no baggage,
only carry on so carry on,
just checking in I just checked in on a flight,
gone into the light of the night so if you’re checking for me I’m already gone,
on a flight with no baggage,
can’t get used to taking this abuse,
I mean I know we’re all monsters,
but that’s no excuse,
and I know we usually destroy our own lives,
so why even try to improve I mean really what’s the use?
Destroying our own cities,
look what horrors we’ve become,
toying with our own citizens,
becoming old and alone instead of together and young,
living long enough to see ourselves become the villains,
growing ugly and old instead of dying beautiful and young,
oh Lord what have we done?
And I just want to escape,
please I want to leave and go anywhere but here,
see you don’t own me I’m not your doll,
so don’t call me baby or sweetie or honey or dear,
I am not any one of your things to be given,
I am not responsible for your oppressed childhood tears,
I am bigger than that,
I am bigger than you,
I am the Cheshire Cat,
I am the moon,
I am bigger than big,
I am a monster to monsters,
so no do not try and control me,
because I conquer those that try and conquer,
a monster,
with metallic scales and electric hair,
I grip your tiny Hell of a shell and crush your rig caged fury,
I step forward the earth quakes and my black eyes rage,
little man please,
hitting me doesn’t make you’re weak self stronger,
and I know I put up with your passive aggressive attacks before,
but I’ve turned into a monster and won’t put up with it any longer,
you’ve turned me into a monster,
so I’m standing up,
to all the times I’ve been knocked down,
I’m getting you out of my life,
and I’m getting me out of this town,
out of this place,
away from these things,
and I swear to God I’ll cut off my fckn finger,
if that’s what it takes to lose this ring,
all these things,
mean nothing to me,
stop giving me gifts,
you can’t buy me with things,
I’m on a flight with no baggage,
only carry on so carry on,
just checking in I just checked in on a flight,
gone into the light of the night so if you’re checking for me I’m already gone…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 10:18 PM UTC
****
mit ein(e)
gernierung
of... ******
MACDONALDS
for the protestants
MCDONALDS
for the catholics...
and **** the rest of it
whoop di do d'ah
whoopsie!
**** it...
i always called the IRA
the ginger ninja brigade...
******* *****
ha ha!
is that even permitted?
like...
oopsies?!
oh ****
the steam-roller is
giving it a shot at reading
the earth,..
flat...
map on paper?
**** me... no app....
****** you ever navigate a car
through the German Rhine roundabout?
what's in it?
Dortmund.. Essen...
you know that constipated
part of the road map of Europe...
ever navigate that trippy
conundrum ******** of navigation?
beside me...
can't speak german,
won't navigate in german,
no matter how many
Mercedes-Benz they pump out
from the Henry Ford institute of
the reclining chair,
supposing
die krupps to be squidgy clean...
i think the european translation
reads:
die Dortmund Ringe...
das Rhine Ringe...
**** allocating yourself to a rally car...
navigate through that sort
of German ********
achtung achtung...
autobahn ende!
vorwärtskreis
might as well salute for a second
coming of... hítlear!
shaking Stevens?
huh?!
knee on the no contra
the know: bother...
the english won't know...
isn't that nay?
i listen to too much lawyer
jargon...
i'd love to listen to
poetry...
but... i figured...
lawyers play the slight of
the sly of hand that poets
exasperate into toying with words
to accomplish art...
lawyers? the impasse of
judgement?
**** me!
apparently the argument
goes:
down syndrome...
psychopaths...
'ere by god's grace...
much grace, my lord...
too much grace...
two salvation pointers:
(a) i won't drink with them...
(b) i won't eat with them,
(c) there is no "c" that isn't
a "d" that isn't an "e"
"f", etc!
you get a zebra...
you get a null bonus!
a ******* safari of an automated
anti hamster Boston outfit!
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 8:23 PM UTC
We're all looking for someone,
Whose demons play well with our own
Try to drown my demons
But hey,
The ******* can swim
Learnt every trick in the book
They've come to stay
Toying with my emotions
Their playground is my mind
The day is done
Light disappears
Darkness settles
They've come to play
Shall they have their way?
The dark invites them in
They're inside having fun
'Just one cut', they whisper
And it is done
My razor-kissed hand,
Is a pretty awful sight
No more space for damage
Where next shall I try?
They want to feed off my pain
They love to see my beautiful red blood run
What do they gain?
I've had it!
No more!
I'm taking back my thoughts
I'm taking back my mind
Kiss this place goodbye
Play time is over
Jan 6, 2017
Jan 6, 2017 at 12:34 PM UTC
Too many bottles of this wine we can't pronounce
Too many bowls of that green, no lucky charms
The maids come around too much
Parents ain't around enough
Too many joy rides in daddy's jaguar
Too many white lies and white lines
Super rich kids with nothing but loose ends
Super rich kids with nothing but fake friends
Start my day up on the roof
There's nothing like this type of view
Point the clicker at the tube
I prefer expensive news
New car, new girl
New ice, new glass
New watch, good times babe
It's good times, yeah
She wash my back three times a day
This shower head feels so amazing
We'll both be high, the help don't stare
They just walk by, they must don't care
A million one, a million two
A hundred more will never do
Real love, I'm searching for a real love
Real love, I'm searching for a real love
Oh, real love
Close your eyes for what you can't imagine, we are the xany gnashing
Caddy smashing, bratty *** he mad, he snatched his daddy's Jag
And used the **** for batting practice, adamant and he thrashing
Purchasing ****** grams with half the hand of cash you handed
Panicking, patch me up, Pappy done latch keyed us
Toying with Raggy Anns and mammy done had enough
Brash as **** breaching all these aqueducts; don't believe us
Treat us like we can't erupt, yup
We end our day up on the roof
I say I'll jump, I never do
But when I'm drunk I act a fool
Talking 'bout , do they sew wings on tailored suits
I'm on that ledge, she grabs my arm
She slaps my head
It's good times, yeah
Sleeve rips off, I slip, I fall
The market's down like 60 stories
And some don't end the way they should
My silver spoon has fed me good
A million one, a million cash
Close my eyes and feel the crash
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 12:06 AM UTC
A three-year-old boy in Cleveland,
Himself a very young little kid,
Shot a baby dead on Sunday night.
The bullet hit in the face of the baby,
Then it was rushed to a hospital,
But was pronounced brought dead.
Who is to be blamed now?
The kid toying with the gun??
Or the irresponsible parents???
I think it is the society's fault,
Needless are the guns in homes,
Shouldn't the society repair itself?
But are the blames enough now?
Can blaming bring the baby back to life?
No. A big NO!
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 11:23 PM UTC
I am allergic to idiots.
When their around I get mad.
When I get mad,
I'm scary just a tad.
The sky is blue!
How do I tie my shoe?
How to stay silent,
I have no clue.
Oh, how so frustrating!
Why do they have to try to be annoying?
Stupid questions, left and right,
With my patience, they are toying.
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 11:22 AM UTC
Its a horrible feeling.
It takes hold of your body.
Suffocating almost.
Toying with your mind,
you become someone you're not.
You want blood.
It creeps up your throat,
making you feel sick.
Its cold, thin hands crushing your chest,
causing your heart to ache.
Emotions tangle with anger.
A horrible, treacherous battle.
Anger always wins. Always.
Then you grow cold.
Its sickening breath rolling over your shoulders and down your spine.
It reminds you of your pain.
And you cant bare it.
The green monster has you by the throat,
and it wont let go.
Its always there.
Always.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 11:01 AM UTC
In the ballroom, half past the hour I struggle to find place where bleeding walls are curtailing chase. and in the crude mix of masqueraded hearts I found your true face I watched you stroll in and out of fits of love, destroying every good thing left to break
In the ballroom, three quarters past the hour I felt your cruelty pierce my skin and bone to a core, childishly toying with an old doll that couldn't take the pain anymore
so that one day when pride knocks on your door he'll bestow you upon the floor and may you rest there forevermore.
but in the ballroom, as the hour ends, for now you say amen before you feast upon the fragile thin of souls that belong to men whom may never love again. and may love never forgive you for this sin.
In the ballroom, for the rest of your extent,
may all the lost souls never forgive nor forget you for this sin.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC
UPON thy purple mat thy body bare
Is fine and limber like a tender tree.
The motion of thy supple form is rare,
Like a lithe panther lolling languidly,
Toying and turning slowly in her lair.
Oh, I would never ask for more of thee,
Thou art so clean in passion and so fair.
Enough! if thou wilt ask no more of me!
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