"vestibule" poems
I am what is around me.
Women understand this.
One is not duchess
A hundred yards from a carriage.
These, then are portraits:
A black vestibule;
A high bed sheltered by curtains.
These are merely instances.
9.3k
Dear Azi, I'm full of broken thoughts.
My insides are like a box of matches.
The moisture from my sorrow, wont allow combustion.
I get up every morning with a tourniquet in my hand,
seeking the self in the vestibule of my childhood.
Your caveats no longer reach me.
But, the sweet carousel of your laughter still does.
Each loss is a new vulnerability.
A subscript, for a long past bludgeon.
The only whisper that still holds,
is the one that tells of your past love for me.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 1:00 PM UTC
“What if God was a woman?” Asked Lois undeterred.
Well well well, if God was a woman — she continued —
Perhaps agnostics and atheists, wouldn’t say no with our heads
but we'd say yes with our guts.
Perhaps we would approach to her divine ******
to kiss her feet not of bronze, her pelvis not of stone,
her ******* not of marble, her lips not of gold.
If God was a woman, we would embrace her to steal her from her horizon
and you wouldn’t have to swear “till death do us part”
because it would be already inmortal by antonomasia,
and instead of give you AIDS or panic,
contagious her everlasting life would be.
If God was a woman, she wouldn’t lie far away in the kingdom of heavens,
but she’d live in the vestibule of hell waiting for us,
with her arms not closed, her rose not of plastic, her love not of saints.
My God, my God… — if for ever and from ever you were a woman —
how beautiful scandal it would be, what a fortunate, splendid, impossible,
prodigious blasphemy.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 1:50 PM UTC
of beautiful things
willowy warbler's
wax'n wings
silvery strumming
singing sands
languid lagoons
in luxurious lands
carvings of creosote
cacti create
fulcrum of flame
thru frivolous
fate
volcanic vestibule
vestments and
vestiges
historical hypothesis
harmonious
heritage
melanin melange
mellifuous
mild
woodduck waters
wheeling and
wild
crystal caverns
creating
light
nocturnal nymphs
announcing the
night
sumptuous sunsets
scintillation's
scream
dramatic dawn
drawn
from
a
dream
SoulSurvivor
(C) 12/2/2015
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 6:23 PM UTC
I do not shriek at bedtime, when the bad
cacciatore twitches in my belly,
and the mushrooms knock
a fearful tattoo at my throat.
Instead, I glide through the vestibule
of shadows that lies between
the bedroom door and the mattress
past the closet's maw - a crypt
from which I have exhumed many
a princess whose sweet caresses last
only long enough to cuff my trust
into terror; their butternut breath on my smooth
cheek scratching valleys down which my tears
may flow into my open mouth where
the salt tingles on my tongue as I cloak
my doom with the incantation of the innocent:
"If I should die before I wake...."
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 7:49 AM UTC
Where does solitude end
And the beauty of love begin?
We must allow our emotions to permeate
Our spiritual vestibule
Before rapture dawns
Like an empyreal gust
Within, upon, and throughout us,
Then our bliss will no longer be ephemeral,
It will be everlasting.
Someone on this existential expanse
Loves you
Beyond words, Beyond thoughts, beyond
Time & space,
With cosmic understanding;
Like, age-old supernovae
Radiating with stellar light
Until their macrocosmic romance
Waxes nebulous:
—Dust to dust.
You who are gleaning these words,
Contemplate your immortal value
As a living legacy
That Burgeons & blossoms beyond the day
Of your exodus from the Earthly Plane
For the soul is a seed
Radiating with the Eradia of Ages;
Therefore, shine
Until The Flora of Yore, Yggdrasil germinates within.
Lamentation makes you more loving,
Just, wise, and strong;
Yes, embrace every moment
That life brings
For Providence safeguards you
Within His Celestial ramparts.
"But the path of the righteous is like the bright morning light
That grows brighter and brighter until full daylight."
(Proverbs 4: 18) (NWTSE)
You have an undying will within you,
You are a vessel of sanctity
Intemerate & hallowed;
Yes, you have been set apart
For an ethereal crusade
With no known beginning &
An indeterminable end;
Exhale, you are Life, Love, and Liberty,
And a Spark of The Divine.
It is true, that you are the experiencer of
Your joys, your sufferings,
Your exultation, and your woes,
But you must ne' er forget
That you are not alone;
Therefore, walk forevermore
In the Baptismal Rays of The Sun
For you were borne with purpose,
O, Warrior of Light.
Jun 4, 2021
Jun 4, 2021 at 1:48 PM UTC
Little kitten
i would have your
purr
and bristle fur
inside of you
i'd be lion
strong
And you could scratch
and cut
and use me as your
post.
And i would drink you
up
up up
my tongue my throat
a
vestibule in time
catching and licking and suckin
and taking you in
sublime.
All fluid and raw flesh and blood
My hunger for you is feline *** canine
Bloodthirst, this urge
this roar
inside of me
for you.
Animal intent
I am your awakening,
the ache to your throb
you pulse through my veins
and i want to be taken
in your claws.
You are not submissive
and i am not Domme
but you'd melt in my paws.
Up high
Against a wall
i would carry you on my shoulders
your back against the wall
and drink and breathe and become your flesh
from within you i'd break and re-mould
and detail the design of your love
for me.
I would be your strength
embodied
a boy of flesh
of depth
of passion
of friendship
fashioned intrinsically
with love and
Oneness.
I can only be the only one.
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 2:24 AM UTC
Monday mornings are always easy.
Monday mornings bring a breeze South
Of The East,
North
Of The West.
Its caressing the exposed skin
of my flaky neck
like the lead cannon from Atlantis,
Flying for the grasp
Of the cactus from San Pedro
That provides mescaline to the tribes
Nearby, that pray to its being as The Messenger
From
The West. Beyond the horizon,
Like the jack rabbit, eroding, with a tube
Sock in the vestibule over The Dungeon That Sings,
Sideway neighbors to the uvula. If seen that way.
Beyond, the continual rings of Agorapho-
bia,
Challenging anxious mind,
With ideas
Of how it be the, not the seal in yestereen's heels.
Monday mornings
Are always easy.
Jun 30, 2022
Jun 30, 2022 at 5:00 PM UTC
Whirl and swirl
Down deep within
This heart-heat
Spin
Nosedive into
Outer limits through
Our imagination
With water and fire
Renewed
As we descend
Pulsating beats
Pursue
Ablaze
Beneath
Our
Skin
Evaporate with me
Moving away from
Swamps of...
Misunderstanding
Evaporate with me
Into a basin of
Outstanding
Rapture let
Me capture
You my
Sweet
Tears fall into pools
Rejuvenated
As we dive into
A puddle of mirrors
Can you
See yourself
Through the eyes
Of someone else
That you've
Become
In me?
Floating above
High springs that
Swell and breathe
You are the fire
That burns
Inside of me
You are the river
That flows
Indefinitely
An infinite well
Of flowing creeks
Buckets of
Flames and
Vibrant streams
Channeled into
Estuary dreams
Behold our
Atlantic destiny
Our Indian
Ocean of
Open arms
And misty
Colored
Schemes
Rivers and
Lakes
Harbor
Us Safely
A love-filled
Gulf retreat
Fists full
Of fire and
Adriatic
Seas
Evaporate with me
Moving away from
Swamps of...
Misunderstanding
Swimming in an
Abyss of believing
In our mystery
Paddle through the mud
Sweep through the debris
That would hold
Us back from
Wading with
Wonder
Carefully
I will carry you
With every stroke
Plunge into our
Outer limits
To evoke
The innermost
Parts that we
Confide in
One another
A pond of
Affection
Silver
Reflection
A soul-mate
Connection
Watch as the bubbles
Rise before our eyes
A reservoir of
Blue skies
Fire and ice
Intertwined in
White Light
Golden blue and
Coral hues
Vaporize and
Fade
Into a
Perfect
Sound
Surrounding
View
Evaporate with me
Moving away from
Swamps of...
Misunderstanding
Evaporate with me
Into a basin of
Outstanding
Rapture let
Me capture
You my
Sweet
My altogether vestibule
My love-lamp fuel
My golden rule
You are free to
Float here
In our
Pool
© tHE tERRY tREE
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 1:30 AM UTC
There is red in the forefront of my family crest, I was told
that meant outsiders were not taken lightly. We would pour tar
over castle walls and then many years later down our lungs.
One technique would take longer to die.
Riding a steam engine with a harmonica attached at my chest to make tips
I double-tasked with a guitar while tar burned
on the vestibule. Keeping those who didn’t like the smell out.
The engine burned killing pixie-dust flecks and turning them into cinders.
To Duluth and back
each mouth mimicked.
We used to abide by segregating those who enjoyed torture
and those who didn’t.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 4:37 PM UTC
Tired on the train
I listen
A young mother on her mobile
solemn faced but beautiful eyed
angrily confronts
her daughters father
with a maternal mantra
*How do I tell her
When I have all her tears and questions?*
I guess he keeps hanging-up
or the signal is lost
The words repeat
almost verbatim
and repeat
and repeat
No-one looks
everyone listens
And then in the vestibule
a smiling South African
recounts with passion
about the Jacaranda
turning Cape Town purple
around this time of year
...he missed his stop
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 8:04 AM UTC
~
There she was chasing a rabbit
with 1 am coffeecakes and weak tea
She didn’t notice I was watching
from the branches of an olive tree
A lone smile hidden amongst
swirling smoke rings in a foreign accent
To the gazebo she ran
with its straw grass tables
and pleated cushions in hibiscus
print fabric no one would sit on
My eyes followed her as she
darted around manicured boxwoods
and cherub statues spitting water
onto sleeping lily pads
She came upon a dandelion
and asked politely, “Pardon me,
but have you seen a…”
The **** interrupted,
“Didn’t, don’t do drama dreams
dancing deliriously down
donut distracted ditches”
“That’s dumb” she replied
with a giggle and a snort
This must be her fun, I think,
trying to catch a white ball of fur,
big, then small,
then smaller still like a
thimble seeking a thread,
when now she is stopped
in her ziggy zagging tracks
by a June bug singing,
“I see, I see, in front of me
Dessert, dessert, set out for free
A chocolate pie, a chocolate pie
in menus written on the sky”
Perplexed she climbed upon its back,
red leather shoulder pads
with black dots changing shapes,
ducking winged arches that
covered the vestibule they
soared through when a sharp turn
pitched her to the opposite side…
Landing with a thud,
her new dress now soiled
between the wrinkles in time
that had ticked away
on a clock faced sun named Ray
She cried carrot tears,
orange sherbet streams
on peach tone cheeks,
marmalade miseries
and mango miscues
piddling on her patent leather shoes,
ready to give up
When it appeared hopping happily,
jumping into her lap
and licking her face
She caressed its fur, removing
sticker burs and scratching
just the right spot, as its right rear leg
thumped with joy
Then lifting the bundled bunny
to her face, she kissed it tenderly
with wild cherry gloss lips,
or should I say…kissed me
for you see, all along, it was me
And you thought I was nothing more than a pretty smile…..
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 1:11 PM UTC
her maudlin ******** clad emotions
moved across her vivid motion face
she paused to fumble with the settings
but her steam engine heartstrings are
trying to re-write themselves
like a derringer she carries both smoke and fire
concealed in her compact chrome adorned form
i kiss her deeply with adoration
i kiss her with loves longings
she denies such things have realities
she says that its only the oily taste of aftersex with an unclean woman
that is real and good
i cannot wish away her versions of reality
she caged her fingers
with pewter rings in the shapes of skulls and dragons
but the real danger lay not in her blades and devices
but in the lingering i would do admiring her
so used to the vestibule of her carnal delights
i would venture no further
into the amazon jungle of her forbidden fruits
and i would forever one of her
treasured trophies in the neatly appointed sitting room
with the ticking clock and chipped fine china
with the blurry photographed crying faces
and a carpet adorned with images of plagues rampages
death is no mere stick figure
with some wicked blade
he's a carpetbagger selling cheap potions
in the twisted carnival of life
her thick tears are slow to escape her eyes
as she looks off into the oncoming night
and the face of the unbearable
her maudlin emotions vivid to me
as my hand holding hers in empathy is to her
she decorates the flawed image she sees in her mirror
and with mock flair unleashes herself
into the alleyways silence
she turns back to me and without a word
pulls delicate fingers across my cheek
in a gesture almost intimate
smiles and walks into the shadows
she is a figurine in the circus of night
a danger of delights
a mouthful of wonders and razors
she walks slowly back in
the thick grey of dawn
her step weary
her gaze downcast
i hold her in my arms trying to restore
but you cannot fix what was never whole enough
to get broken in the first place
i kiss her deeply and with gentle adorations
she looks into my eyes
and remains unseeing
this is not how love is supposed to be
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 6:41 AM UTC
crumpets and tea,
taken with grinning powdered wigs
go scrumptiously well with a Mozart piece played in the tired drawing room;
Tchaikovsky's Fifth
would have the subject alone
in the vestibule,
ear against the ballroom double doors of ornate mahogany,
muffled and muted and just being;
Philip Glass
Is
The oppressed past lit --
A futuristic glance
over one's shoulder
Regifting an overrated present
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
*Walking meekly in the shadows, avoiding nakedness,
this vestibule of self-preserving isolation, my 'padded cell',
has become my buffer against the raging tide of life.
This makeshift home has no place for exaggerated emotions.
Nothing comes in and nothing goes out; always the safest option
for the perfect existence. The gatekeeper controls all activity.
Shock, pain and denial brought me to this desolate place,
watching myself, the outsider looking in, as my soul was *****
abuse was the joker who played a hand in this game of cards.
How easy it's been to sit back and pretend to myself and
the world that I'm satisfied with all that life is offering.
who was I trying to convince? No I.
So many times I wished I could undo the done, turning back time
to where earthly utopia was intact, escaping this cage,
running carefree like an innocent child on a first new adventure
The hurt child lays dormant, but her will does not die,
she beckons and teases me to test my toes in the strong
currents of life's raging tides, seeking out its throng.
She reminds me of a halcyon era of innocence,
before laughter and confidence eluded me.
A time when I played, thinking only of the day.
Friendship, acceptance and self discovery have healed me.
Trusting my inner child, I gently turn the key, unlocking, tentatively.
I feel alive, seeing the light so bright and inviting.
Choosing freedom, pensively, I take one last look at my dwelling place
giving thanks for the sanctuary she offered me,
taking my first baby steps back into society.
Carried on the swirls of the tide to wherever they take me,
I am now Mistress of my own destiny.
Rebirth*
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 11:05 AM UTC
Egalitarianism
I’ve preached this practice
To its last final straw
Respite
I’ve hired the time
The strongest of clocks
Magnanimous
You’ve endeavoured too
It’s never true when you do
Coercive
I’ve attempted them all
The mightiest of guns
Vestibule
You never did let me enter
Probably knew I’d hide out
Vertiginous
Causation; I know it’s you
To Induce; I flail barely flickering
Transcendental
I divide you into parts
But your logic seems boundless
Perennial
I will continue to bloom
Even after your harvest.
Jan 16, 2011
Jan 16, 2011 at 3:13 PM UTC
***Book One
(∞The Psalm of The Star Child∞)
The Precursor's Psalm I-V
To the Child of The Empyrean. For ye valleity stars shine.
(I) ―En Fortissimo
1 Tender with sentimentality,
I fathom you,
2 That you draw closer, nigh’ with every waking moment,
Closer to ensconce ‘twixt my embrace,
3 That your towering arms
May aegis these benighted bones.
4 The Vestibule of Our Souls shall be
Assoiled by an Arcadian Eternity,
5 Shall scintillate in my every blooded tear, shed garnetiferously,
―Upon my crucifix, our crucifix:
6 A penance, pardoning our transgressions prognostically
Before by romance, we touched erringly.
(Se'lah)
(II) Celestial Communion
1 O, Star Child,
May your beckoning
2 Sow the Seeds of Somnus upon the sanctimony
Festering in my faith,
3 (A besmirched hope)
Tarnished by my reverenc’d doubt.
4 O Minstrel of Manumission,
Will ye sing unto me ye SoulSong?
5 The Womb’d Aethers bleed,
The Terraqueous Mother conceives, Gaian a dream,
6 Her Luminous Brethren yearn
For the Arbiter of Fates.
(Se'lah)
(III) Song of Wishes
1 Velleity speaks,
It whispers,
2 In the twinkling of the stars.
When shall it end,
3 When
It has yet to begin?
4 Be still― and become one with all things,
As time fades, consciousness begins,
5 The Experiential Cascade:
All that was, all that is, & all that shall be,
6 Circular & Cycling,
Forevermore.
7 Know that there is a reason,
Know that there is a place,
8 Know that there is a person,
In this world for you.
9 Open up your heart and see,
All you were meant to see.
(Se'lah).
(IV) Spiritus de Tempus (Zeitgeist of the Future)
1 ―Blooming in Reminiscence
The Dreamscape glistens,
2 A Redolent Reverie wafts
The Tenuous Air amidst
3 Her Zephry'd Lightwaves
& Crystalline Pulsations.
4 Ardently I pine,
For thine visage, groping for a rhyme,
5 Whence I can gaze once more upon thine
Countenance sublime,
6 All desperations been defied,
For thee I reverberate Love, The Spirit of the Times.
(Se'lah)
(V) Bastion Heart
1 The agony in existentiality
Unravels undying piety
2 And
Cloistered in cadence of solitude,
3 I, the Somnolent One,
Am roused by The Heart’s Resonance.
4 In wanting, there is life,
In desirelessness, wanting still,
5 Know thine Power,
Indomitable Will:
6 The Couer & The Amour of the Spirit
Are immortal.
(Se'lah)***
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 8:05 AM UTC
i once read that
there are names for the spaces
in between
body parts,
architectural structures,
musical notes.
names for spaces
as if they are
real
concrete
solid
and not just
gaps
voids
silences
like
buccal vestibule of the maxilla
is a space between the cheek and lateral face
or piscina
is a space in a wall near an altar
and
F A C E are the spaces
in between
the lines of a staff.
spaces with names
because they are part of something.
even if technically they are
"spaces" and not just
hollow
empty
blank
so i think their names suits them well.
because at least you know
what to call them.
but there is also a space
between you and me
it bears no name
and i think
this suits us
just as well.
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 9:37 AM UTC
Incendiary asperity:
The world's existentiality
Agony, the Merciless & Mercenary
Scourging me entirely.
The Angst of the Aeons
Are the pedigree, the genealogy, the history borne to emancipate Me as a Vessel of Sanctity
For the valiant souls
Are the souls of transcendence, who revere in remembrance
The Amour of the Yore
My Vestibule Heart
Expands, contracts, being consecrated demands just as
Starry-Wombed the Cosmos, we
Must grow, burgeon through our learning & yearning, deserving & pining for the Promise of Morrow
For we were not formed
To wallow in sorrow.
As I gaze to the heavens
O, ***** and Gomorrah I remember
The Wife of Lot looks back forever: emblazoned as a Petrified December,
Then Fire & Sulphur descended, mankind nearly ended;
What is the lesson?
Of faith we are descendants.
Why do you
Roil my ravaged and brutally savaged soul?
Must bitterness be the wage for days spent having prayed
On my knees, for armistice, by The Empyrean One’s decree?
Though I have fallen,
I shall rise up
For the Fate’s Auric Visage radiates light upon the leaven,
Dost ferment the flesh dominating mine spirit.
Hearkening to
The susurrus of the Sovereign of Songbird’s Sacrosanct Love.
Let the Ethereal Tides of Time
Bathe me in baptismal & divine tribulation, trial
For a writhing while,
Sacrality is a war,
The Primal Instinct’s Immemorial Diminuendo.
Where has fake paradise of the Sylvan Shine
Those forested, emerald Eyes
That glisten in mine dreams gone?
Your visage twas my divine.
Though I am forlorn,
The Cosmo-Plexus of Empyreal Love hath sworn
To the Days of Yore
That I shall soar once more.
To my Enfettered Soul,
Excelsior.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 1:20 PM UTC
Across the bed, she has lain,
Not breathing not in vain.
My mood is as stoic as her skin's hue.
It started early with how the day
Cut ***** windows with sunlit rays,
Was as southern as a slice of honeydew.
She was leaning by the gate,
Like Christina Applegate,
As willing as a pauper without a clue.
I never asked her name,
To me, they were all the same.
(Somehow, I think this one might stick with me.)
There is an absence in her eyes
I have loved since her demise.
She will stay this way in my memory.
I pour the powder on her pale,
****** belly, then toot, inhale.
Through my nose, I feed my mind.
Sticky dryness of my mouth;
It's time to leave the south,
Go somewhere no one can find.
I can still hear the sound
Of the drive by shooting down
On the street from around the block.
The room is a vestibule
To the starlit harlot's tomb.
When I'm done, I leave her on the cot.
As I move through the door,
And leave behind the *****
I muse, briefly, how I stay in the clear.
To all the good Catholic boys,
May you bang up lots of toys.
Have a ****** belly Christmas this year.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 4:09 AM UTC
she folds herself into the chair
and carefully takes her purse apart
its ten thousand pieces form fit into neat piles of
randomness on the kitchen table
she places a picture of her old lover on my forehead
a drawing of a photographic rendering
its open face page stares down at me blankly
and rants slowly in dead languages
of its oblique view of the universe from perspective of a blind beggar
with his relief at being free of handbag confines
the grieving young widow wearing her wedding dress
runs into the vestibule and assaults the coat rack
trying to find her husbands face hidden in the pockets
after all the cheating ******* always getting head from every floozie
left traces of himself all over all kinds of women
if lips could get pregnant he'd have a million children
she unwraps a notepad from her covered perch
and scrawls letters to famous dead figures of history as
she lurks in the coffee houses seeking poetic romances
she hangs round women's bathrooms for ***
there are large cracks in her family portrait
and she fills them with silly-putty and bubble gum
the widow is now running thru the wood
naked as a jaybird
she carries her wedding dress in a demon infested box
and she screams things to alienate them from any ideas of escaping
she would rather bear their burden than loose them on the world
she is a **********
and i adore her
and everything about her
i would do anything to help and protect her
i am in love with her too
if you knew her you would love her
she is a wonderful person
nobody else can manufacture a entire universe from a homeless bag lunch
build a castle with its knights in shinning armor out of cigarette packs
find something dumpster diving and walk across town to give it to someone
that would give it a good home
remarkable people like her are always close to my heart
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 8:29 PM UTC
with good guns
and ****** marys
in a slow-spinning vestibule
with chairs made of wicker
and wood,
and accidental great whites
smiling from the ceiling.
music slips in from her viola.
we wish we were in a class
of language
by Fridays and last night's
setting fire to station wagons,
knowing not how to prevail.
from our seperate young boats,
one last sip,
we watch the sunrise
and we let life be the same,
equal distance between our names.
the afternoon ends with abnormal thunder
walking overhead like dead neighbors.
on the ground we walk their way, too.
so this is Rhode Island?
then music slips in.
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 4:21 PM UTC
Wild and uncontrollable
Fresh air
To the vestibule
And saint's alive
Life is a headlong dive.
Flying squirrels
Little girls
Unpredictable
But equally lovable.
People feel things
Like kids say things
And everything
Is under a microscope.
Hate is a long game
Love has short reasoning
Feelings drive emotions
Fueled by everything but reason
Logic
Makes us murderous.
One plus one plus it's all ****** up
You can't swim out of this pit
Too soon to tell
But I think
You're going to hell.
But the future is unwoven
The Seamstress Union is on strike
Yarns of every color
Are scattered on the floor.
An industrious imp
Tosses in a steam-driven loom
It eats up all the bits
And spits out new histories.
So genes collide
In their secret unions
But messages get crossed
And we welcome new mutations.
In the wake of a mininova bang
Conciousness is all-grasping
Freedom unobscured and No Trespassing ignored
Tucked away in safe corners
You keep all your real answers.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 8:46 PM UTC
Ever so eager to be evil,
Only way to avenge is by revenge.
Committing sins that’s justified
When you amend
Like when men pray then “Amen”.
Convinced by the belief that you’re reprieved
When you repent.
You stick with it
Even though you know it makes no sense.
The only way to hit where it hurts is by malevolence,
Benevolence hardly hurts when it hits
So it’s irrelevant.
Why **** ‘em with kindness,
When you can **** ‘em with violence,
**** acts of kindness,
And act with vileness,
That’s about as mean and wild as vile gets.
Meanwhile, foul gets the best of you,
But what will get the rest of you?
Believing that god is still blessing you,
When karma starts addressing you,
God is really testing you,
Hopefully you catch it
Before you’re taken to hell’s vestibule.
Oct 2, 2010
Oct 2, 2010 at 12:19 AM UTC