"wesson" poems
She, a cavernous champagne glass,
he, a weary pony, who ate the neighbor's grass--
her name Ms. Wesson,
his name Mr. Smith,
they died on a slow Tuesday--
and stop looking Wesson clan,
if looking for a lesson.
Mid-afternoon
midst a love bent 69
Mr. Smith and Ms. Wesson
committed murder-suicide--
Mr. Smith turned from a man
back into a stain,
Ms. Wesson turned from a woman
back into a chain.
And the artist-in-neighborhood did rejoice,
subject matter for a painting to hang above
his licorice-colored memorial of a prisoner dove.
And the police did gossip,
was it love? was it ***********
What a fine piece of *** that could be living.
And it took the families two weeks to find out,
they wiped their feet on dead leaves,
daydreamt open caskets and planted juniper seeds.
Talk of another woman, talk of another man,
but God himself would tell you,
they were simply bored of each other's drugs,
they were simply bored of each other's barrels,
so, they barred each other from being,
and headed west on erosion's dime.
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 8:31 PM UTC
Yes its big yosef a true heavy weight makin' earthquakes through all states watch for the snakes
In the grass never front for the cash who wanna clash?
With a mighty Titan I'm on a God status love hoes with the **** size of Trish stratus
Now tell me who's the baddest
ya on a one way trip with Gladys Knight
On a Midnight train to Georgia no one heard of ya
Ya flows is wack your skull will get crack fuckin' with the mack
I make a love connection from my smif and wesson learned ya lesson no plexin'
On my team one man supreme like a lion i be the king makin' suckas sing
Lullabies I feel ya soul cry reaching for the sky
Ain't no ******* allowed puff a cloud til the city unda a smoke shroud
Fools Talk loud but die silent known to be be violent
If provoked by a fake loc my pistol loves to smoke it stays high
Leavin' holy bodies to fry
Who could outwrite this? my style will diss rhymes deeper than an abyss make ya ****
Out ya own blood as ya face down in the mud with no crud
Touchin' my eyes sleep with one eye
Open scopin' and hopin' got more scams than Ken Copeland I'm still floatin'
On cloud nine almost to ten sippin' gin never see me grin my lyrics touchin'
Every last one of you wack rappers so come again.....
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 11:40 PM UTC
I've been around for centuries.
And will continue on.
I don't control my action.
I don't control my operator mood.
I just get accused.
When I lay a person down.
I didn't purchase myself.
A human purchase me.
I didn't load myself.
A person fulfilled that need.
I've been carried by the law enforcer legally for years.
And by the criminal influence a little longer.
When you have me in your hands.
You're the one in control.
Smith and Wesson some call me.
Other names seems to vary.
I'm protected by the second amendment.
And have the power to make a robber or burglar flee.
Yes, I am a gun.
Design to protect.
Design for show.
Create no problems.
And I lightly I won't be seen.
Except there's always one source that needs to meet me.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
Scrapers will no longer scrape.
Fighters soon to lose the short fight.
Pilots are forced to surrender control.
Snakes on a plane will bank into a roll,
a scene that really no longer is scenic.
Leaders still read while getting a scare.
Huge landmarks that I swear were once there,
bridges in shortage are counting the tolls.
Dust that eventually will never be settled,
liquid support that used to be metal,
big bad crude that never was good—
things impossible suddenly could.
Answers quickly try to be drummed.
Future conflicts guaranteed to be won,
particles blocking our UV death sun,
days become decades and turkey is done.
Brave individuals are no longer bold.
Families’ histories are quite often told,
a baby’s bottle empty with no one to hold.
Government figures tilted but somehow sold
parades in protest with a circus in town.
A tiger got out, but why can’t he growl?
Seems that the cat’s got somebody’s tongue.
Another channel covers son after son,
numbers mounting, but not the right ones.
Cabbies still nose their thumb after thumb,
training centers destroyed one after one.
We should’ve just played “Drop the **** bomb!”
Fear is good, and of course good is feared;
it’s the only thing that drives us way over here.
Just like the Bible, it’s mostly made up.
The supersonic jet has just hit a rut.
The dirtiest of bombs versus our Smith and Wesson.
“Come on gang, why would you even question?”
Like death and taxes—there’s none that’s more sure,
but then there’s the free upcoming history lesson.
“Ain’t gonna do it” acting just like his pop.
This rancher really means it when tossing the slop.
“Still can’t find him—he’s with boys in Brazil.”
What’ve they done lately to lighten the till?
It’s time for the Allies to storm up this hill.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 5:09 PM UTC
Dearest Reader,
My name is Margot Dylan, and I'm a pariah.
On the 16th of April, I told my mother that I was gay. She threw the clay mug that I made for her before she found out I was gay, against the floral, peeling wallpaper mess of a wall, in our kitchen. The decaffeinated peppermint green tea left a wonderful aroma that almost cleansed the room of the stench of 'lesbian'.
I met Dylan Dunham a few days after that, and, a few days later, she was the first girl that I ever loved.
Dylan wore a red flannel jacket, and was a butch and sometimes a bitch-but I loved her even at her tomboy cruelest.
Dylan smoked a cigarette that smelled like lonerism, and she looked at me like she didn't care. My heart skipped a beat, as cliche as it sounds, whenever she would remove the cigarette from her mouth, exhale, and look at me as smoke traveled up her face. I looked at her and knew that she was everything that I wasn't, and everything that I wanted.
Dylan was Dianne, before and after school. Dylan was Dianne, who wore floral dresses and lipstick and who ditched her butch clothing in her locker before leaving. Dylan was Dianne, who was straight and who thought Tyler Wesson, from church, was cute. Dylan was Dianne, who had a short hair cut because of track and field, because she explained that she ran a faster time with less hair. Dylan was Dianne, who didn't associate with me before or after school because her parents knew that I was gay.
During school hours, the only thing Dylan did keep from Dianne was the lipstick. I was envious of the cigarette because of it's burgundy stains. We would stand in a stall, as she looked across from me, after each drag. She frequently offered her cigarettes, but I refused because I only let love **** me. If she ever brought alcohol, sometimes she'd kiss me. I told her that I loved her and she said, "I know."
The only thing that Dylan kept from me was my heart, before she started to smoke cigarettes in the bathroom with Annie Way.
I wish you the best moments so they can overcome the worst,
Margot Dylan
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
it was suggested
that there be no nexus
between texas and your pal-
omino - tagging the alamo, **
en el barrio, yo(u)-
and your gringa homecoming
queen in tight-assed jeans
-running with ms-13?
-playing twister with your hipster
sisters misters smith & wesson
oiled up and and ready to go
- new mexico?
i found you in tres piedras
at a place called ortega's
eating huevos rancheros
- shooting jose cuervo?
-muthafucka mara salvatruchas
in a red camaro and two bruthas
on a burro with bow and arrows
-stole your palomino?
*-they shoot horses
don't they?*
riding the black el camino
-on the blue mesa.
r ~ 9/30/14
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 6:08 PM UTC
Dear America,
I was built on a loose foundation
A table with three legs
to sustain the load of a table with four.
To make nothing from something but
For something to come from nothing you need some thing.
The most terrible thing to waste
The superlative of Man’s tools
What makes us as individuals unique,
On the contrary defines us as a social order
The mind, The M.I.N.D.
My Intelligence Nurtures Divergence
Always accepting of the opposition,
A bloodthirsty cheetah digging its fangs deep into the flesh of a wildebeest,
my mind feeds off of their ideals,
Further amplifying my intellectual power.
Expansion within the human intellect,
builds on experiences of failures and success
Be afraid of failure, but unafraid to learn from defeat
The world is a frigid place,
and even colder when you squander your most valuable weapon. “A weapon?
What beats an M16, double barrel shotgun,
9mm, Smith and Wesson, or Desert Eagle.”
Young blood, the divine power is in your head
Gandhi, Malcolm X, Socrates
Gone too soon due to minds considered Weapons of Mass Destruction,
Weapons of Mass Enlightenment to others
Since 1992 I’ve embarked on a journey
A journey to educate myself
A journey to realize the man I want to be
A journey to reach my full potential
Universally familiar words of my grandmother
“You can do whatever you put your mind too”
The future poses as an unknown force,
But within me fear is absent as my MIND is fully equipped for the ongoing battle of life.
I was built on a loose foundation
Tupac Shakur, John D Rockefeller, Oprah Winfrey, Chris Gardner, Christopher Wallace, Richard Branson, Steve Jobs, Walt Disney, Michael Jordan, Michael Jackson, Henry Ford, Bill Gates.
Expected to come from nothing to something
but had that one thing to become something
Utilize your strengths and bury your weaknesses
For with a strong mind the word weak is without purpose
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 12:05 PM UTC
Could it be thirty-seven years ago nearly
that I held you in my arms
Could it be thirty-seven years
ago that I said you would make
a good young man
I never once thought
that you were to good
for this world and that
Our Lord would call you
home three months later
from me.
Not one tear did your father shed
I could not believe
He was a heartless monster to both
you and to me.
I watched them lay you in your grave
so small and tiny. I laid you in the country
that is now call Zimbabwe but always
Rhodesia to me.
I am glad that you did not live to
see its ruin and shame all the European
settlers had to leave and now it is a third world
country.
This was your home and where you were born
a proud once country and now the people starve
because it is a third world country.
I think of you often my son and how my life would be
if you had grown up and become a proud young man
I had hoped that you would be.
In Loving memory of my late son,
George Lincoln Rockwell Covington
born March 31, 1975 and passed away
on July 15, 1975
A mother's love never dies for her children.
By Lucie Elizabeth Ann Wesson, © 2011, All rights reserved.
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 7:05 PM UTC
I’ve been stressing, dare you to start testing
Not in the mood, talk to Smith and Wesson
Can’t help a man who gets hurt but never learns his lesson
Life is a question, multiple choice, guess who’s guessin?
Running from myself is no longer an option
Can’t blow my composure, everybody is watchin
Always pay the price despite what it was costin’
I’ve been through hell and back,
Would you agree with that?
Stab through my chest,
Crush my head with a bat
People walk all over me, place mat
Guess I gotta man up, and face facts
Paranoia sinks in, you start doubting everyone
Ketamine breaks skin, my trip has just begun
Take me to a place I aint never been before
New dimension, jumpin in, diving board
I’m yours
I look in my eyes and see a shell of myself
But what I’d really love to do
Is look through the eyes of everyone else
Do I look hopeful and happy?
Or sorrowful and melancholy?
I got no love for myself, no love for another
Growing up all alone, and hating all others
I’ve got some friends, and I love em like brothers
But this cloud of negativity follows me, a steady hover
Push me to where I’m stretched to thin
Now it’s far gone and I’m empty within
It became easy living with sin
Take baby steps forward on scissors and pins
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 12:41 AM UTC
A lot of people talk loud but they aint loud at all
Sideline chat but Hush when its time to ball
Im surprised at yall,
U can have a thousand nines,a thousand shines,rock with a thousand dimes,Be on B.E.T screens like a thousand times
But Weigh us up u an ounce against my pound
I gets down for mine
Gottah keep it moving cuz im all about progression
Step incorrect Meet My friends smith n wesson
Real eyes realize real lies
Not knowing the future Cuz i dont think about the past
GOing on 6 years N still My secret is Cast
UNface the Mask of a good guy he portrays
2 years out of my life I was nothing but his slave
Been moving on But when I think it still hurts
Not that much respect since I was treated like Dirt
Nothing but a youngin scared to talk
Back then I should have known it was never my fault
Too much information that im Blazing so I continue to be a
Prisoner of Words UNsed
they lock me with chains, So broken inside my head.....
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 5:21 PM UTC
ey yo if you think that 9/11 **** is crazy, take a closer look at jfk pushing those daisies, you could mistake this for the facts of life theme song, sticking its head up the rabbit hole and now you just seem gone, but if you grab on tight and then you pull it, up comes boundless theories of grassy knolls and magic bullets, wheres the love when a 10 year old can a spot a liar with his vision, swiftly points a fat finger at the entire warren commission, what happened we all forgot how to ask questions? lips tremble from a holstered police smith and wesson, never stopped to think if its just water their testing, scapegoats getting arrested, and then promptly murdered, just to take this trip a little further, leaving a **** taste in your mouth like ******* down an entire bag of werthers,
people laugh at 9/11 **** and downplay all the evidence,
but would you put it past a country that murdered their president,
for political gain, theyll put 4 shots through mine and your brain, keep us detained, for days, chuck us in guantamo bay, and then one day we're on a plane flying towards some towers, or wait no we're picking out flowers, bang flash, for my wife, shroedinger's life on the end of this knife, so stop you ***** just listen, this **** may seem sick and twisted, but please wait there is absolutely no reason we live in a police state, thats just what you've been told needs to be done, had consumerism forced down you, and you're told to have fun, and you say thank you and walk way, i'll take my stand another day. and yeah that farmer was an ******* i loved when he got overthrown by the pigs, but we'll wake up one morning and want bacon for breakfast ya dig?
quis custodiet ipsos custodes
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 12:56 PM UTC
Still puffin' cigars in my sixty six jaguar
Made a hood star from climbing a far
**** the drug games I made my name
Through lyrics of pain easing ya migraine
Words pure as Columbian *******
That's means you'll go insane
Tryna hang with the dark Knight Bruce Wayne
Which means ya mentallydrained going
derange
My smiff n wesson lays a nice range
From the Midwest to the south of Central Texas
Get love from my barrio we stay thorough
Haters get marked like zorro so follow
The leader beat pleaser turn ebenenzer
Once I spit vocals take over ya locals
Can't Max me out my own **** hardest to hit
Ya swear it's back in the year of nine six
Slammin' all of the these industry clowns like Jordans did the Knicks
A Timely essence
Even if I'm chillin' with the dead residence
you'll still feel my presence no hesitance
To foes stained ya calicos wake ya up with a cup of
Flow
and I stay smokin' girls ******* holes setting fires to their mentals
My flows set on auto pilot causing riots
Baltimore rage untamed had to put my rhymes in a cage
Seen the guage
Cocked back ain't no taking away from that
Deaths in progress only blessing you seen
Is stress so take another hit of cannabis
Before you enter the eternal abyss hang ya body over the
cliff
Like Big Red record every word I said
And still can't get a word to the feds I'm the black
Hoover
got flats from Houston to Vancouver
Let me show ya who's the real bruiser
Spittin' rhymes that lay more bodies than Fallujah
Cruise right through
tha
My rhymes is tank shootin' missles with no
thanks
I'm only here to live out
My fathers prank
Though the devil keep me above all levels
Tryna stay from the goods I was made rebel
Fools thought they was Cain til they found out I was
abel
Killin' em with microphone cordless cables and
turntables
Read between my eyers n you'll see visions of many
halos
Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 8:01 PM UTC
Here's a lesson
and I ain't messin
never touch
my Smith & Wesson
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 2:36 AM UTC
~
**Wesson gives a lessen with a .357
David slings rock
cop holsters a glauk
Lizzy Borden packs an axe
Mac he packs the knife
Billy battles with a club
Tommy's gun is a sub
Kelly's got one too
Bazooka Joe is gum
Peter Gunn is not
Smokey has the right to "bear" arms
or did we just arm bears
don't let my gun become undone
never stifle my rifle
hear the whistle of my missle
think next I'll bring the tank
after that what do you bet? i'll come flying in a Jet**
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
All these sucka MCs I can't afford'em
You know I just let the Lord go an sort'em
I got y'all contortin' and consortin'
With the Devil to give me Hell
You can't tell that my sword fell
The fallen angel down there he dwell
Got it from Michael, the last half is Kyle
That's Hebrew for victorious
For Him I am fervorous 'n'
Mother Fuckin' Furious
The world's situation is serious
Y'all straight out of it delirious
Overtaken in sin
You're way too curious
Where the hell do I begin
To let you know how to win
Against the Ego, deal the blow
Of submission, help you win
That is my mission, this is a confession
Let's start this session
Begin the lesson
Don't be stressin', soon you'll be bestin'
And bullet-proof vestin' through the wild west son
No need for the Smith n Wesson got a killer kush gun
You put on the Raiment of truth that protects one's
Youth; That's innocence,
Make sense?
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 3:27 PM UTC
.357
You hang by my side.
Solid, powerful.
You don't lie.
You are true,
sharp and refined.
Every gleam and bump.
Found a reason over time.
You don't stray from me,
For a second in time.
I know you can be trusted.
You never lie.
Ever sway on my horse,
You plod along too.
That cougar, that bear,
It might feel you too.
You snap with a bite,
You bite with a force.
You grab what I ask.
You make it no more.
You are what I need,
In those moments I face.
Do you know what you are?
You are my saving grace.
The last breath might instead be the start.
Because you are the monster that will eat the heart.
You are called wicked, along with your kin.
But my dear Smith and Wesson, where do I begin?
Searing in my hand in the moment of truth,
You could save my life and maybe even two.
The thick strong horse, may carry me far.
But far is long, when his heart beats no more.
The idle men of cities forget these moments.
They say that your power is the devil for rent.
That with out you there would be no pain.
But if I lost you, what would save me when I drop a rein?
When the predator decides that he wants me.
My horse is not that loyal when he could flee.
On that hard ground that I am ******
You quickly become my must.
Don't doubt your use,
Because the bones and ****** truth,
Finds you as my protector,
Above any other.
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 12:18 AM UTC
Your conservative stance lacks progression
Yet what we consider good, fair, and democratic: A turmoil of mess built for profit.
Your ancient religion lacks moral conviction
Yet look at the heart of them all - Same.
And so it was written, so blindly accepted.
Don't just accept. Read. Re-read. Analyze. Understand.
Ideals built by mad bricks melt by the heat of each new day.
Direct the inferno to keep what needs to remain.
Solids back to liquids. Innovation, restructure. Morality intertwined.
Everything is already at your disposal.
Buried within the confines of your cosmic being.
Let it surge and you can become you - Happy.
America: the Mecca, progression within the question.
What needs to be done?
What is our progression?
Does 'America' need to fall?
The holy trinity: mind, body, soul. Understand?
Understand? All three?
I cannot even get my mind to understand my mind.
The greatest powers: the most complex
Eye cannot say anything, but you will do
I will say.
My words will power action.
Full force that no one will be able to reckon with.
It takes patience and a mind for you to realize the 47
So stop investin' in the Wesson, more your fellow brethren.
Patience. Not this month, this week, this day, right now...
This year?
This decade?
This century?
I'm willing to work, bring morality back for my brethren.
Do what is possible, it will surprise the masses.
Shock the masses into beneficial impact.
The fear of chaos, the unknown, exists only in the past.
Organize the Chaos.
Written April 26, 2013 in collaboration with Jack Preston. http://hellopoetry.com/-jack-c-preston/
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 8:46 PM UTC
Shoot Straight, Sister
The Burly Man yelled loudly
Shoot Straight, can’t you?
Pointing my new gun proudly
Shooting Practice
My brand-new Smith & Wesson
I’m having my
Very first shooting lesson
Shooting’s easy
I hit the target’s bullseye
Brilliant shooting
Like Annie Oakley was I
Shoot great, Baby!
Where’d ya learn to shoot like that?
I’m scouting for
A new Wild West Circus Act!
Shoot straight, Mister
Only if I’m Top Billing
An Airstream, too
And for that I’d be willing
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
aiyo i stay with more muscle
than schwarzenegger
alpha and omega still play sega
high as ****
roll chocolate thai dutch
push a lexus manual clutch
what?
the **** is all the hate about ?
is it because i got clout
and i watch the birds fly
in the sky high as muthafucka
enticin' cluckas
to my **** cuz it hits
harder than mauseberg wear baggy jabos and iceberg
yea im half human half cyborg
and if you hater you can embrace the morge
curious as george
hear a knock on my cells door?
who could it be could it be?
my conscious layin' prophecy
to me true emcee
last of the Mohegans don corelone of this rap ****
and i aint gone stop gettin' lit
switch roll.another one
stay blazed stronger than sun beam rays
and shake my head but the high still stays
as i get. ..high! !!!
h im seeing illusion
got my brain in confusion
almost had a contusion abusin'
my brains cells is lit oh ****
i envision of me in a casket
though a *******
i stay true to the game lite my flame who got game?
my shot vicious as Ray Allen
this aint no love ballad
toss my girls salad no ranch dressin' while yall stressin'
i sin but still catch blessin'
my smith n wesson
stays by my pillow
paranoid as ****
every after ya bucks cant clutch
on the realness my skills
puff puff pass then i hit the gas
on the highway speed out
round my homies cuz we about
to get our chips in **** in
end all foul ****** that was never down from the beginning
win some lose some far from dumb
and if ya wanna test yo manhood
we'll make ya body numb
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 7:35 PM UTC
I had a brother that was older than me,
my mother and father took him away from me,
I was twelve and he was nearly twenty-three,
my parent's did not care what they did to me,
My parent's drove him out of their house,
This is because he could not live they way
they wanted him to be,
I was only seven and he was nearly seventeen,
They drove my beloved oldest brother, Larry, away from me.
He was an artist, a poet, and a writer just like me,
what my parent's did to him they did to me,
I just outlived both of them yes indeed, I made it until
I was fifty-six years old indeed.
Now these many years have come and gone,
my dearest brother, Larry, is an angel and
he still writes his celestial songs in the heaven above,
He left this world when he was nearly twenty-three, and
I remember the tears of a brother that was taken from
me.
In Loving remembrance of my eldest brother,
Benjamin L. Wesson
Born December 8, 1944 to August 8, 1967
I will always love you and I will never forget you.
Oct 6, 2011
Oct 6, 2011 at 10:19 PM UTC
We rip through bulletproof vest
Expose meat on your chest
Curved like a crest since my adolescent
I was made for the battle snappin' rattles herd em in like cattles death to enemies who tattle?
My wordsmith be sharper than a barber blade sliced then fade this is a takeway
Like tom hanks they the get the cast away
Casket I means on display so bump the negativity
When me and Mac come through ya know how we do
Rip through vocals and spinal chords
Mortal combat bloat em like snorlax stuff em like kotex give em a klennex
Cuz they bleeding from they neck
Like an attack from Black Dracula
Rhymes spectacular connect with my vernacular
I be the rappin' consular eat em up like jentacular
braille em like macular
Once the taste my rhymes they embrace saccular
Knock amateurs yo Mac diesel we too ******** for em
Its the aeon of seclorum rhyming in foursomes me myself and I and the universe connectin' durums
Sound the drums the wars is coming techs is humming you can see the pain dumped in
Hearts exposed from sin tacklin' the uncontrollable djinn'
Huh I was made from within
A spiritual divine giving cursed inside a blessing
Flash minds like a bang from a Smith and Wesson
Hope these critics learning they lesson
Im a king with the five point stetson
Turn fakes emcees into a depression
Causing aggression make em change directions
Persona skills pursuing pressing with my intellectual weapons
Takin' souls captive addendum to my collection it was destined
I give em mercy once began intercessions
Whoaaaa!!!
Dec 25, 2017
Dec 25, 2017 at 2:20 PM UTC
When I was very young,
They sent you away from
me,
This is because according to them,
you could not live the way they want you to
live and be,
They had such plans for you at birth,
but you wanted to be yourself,
and this was not in their plans
so they threw you out.
You found your faith in the same
church that I have found my faith in now
They sent me away too because according to
them I am failure now
No matter how hard we tried
it wasn't good enough
so neither of us had a home
but we were sent upon on own.
The one thing they could not do to me,
is turn the men who said that they loved me
against me, but I must admit that two out
of three marriages was not meant to be.
The one marriage that was happy, Anna and the state did
ruin for me, and now I can't forgive her although I have tried
to again and again, I find impossible to do.
You are forever in my heart, you died so tragically and needlessly,
I don't think they cried for you, they cried for themselves you see
They separated us for each other by death but we have
eternal life that will us together for the rest our lives.
In Loving Memory of my late oldest brother,
Benjamin L. Wesson Jr,
born December 8, 1944
and died August 8, 1967 in Rock Spring, Wyoming.
I will alway love you.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 8:08 PM UTC
Hello God are you there?
I'll start but this time I'm hoping for a positive answer.
Not like that time mom contracted cancer
If your in control who do I fear?
Will you ever grant the request of last year?
If winnings not my destiny then why am I here?
Did you choose me to lose?
Or is this just a lesson?
If so after class is there a blessing?
The basis of the burdens I bear keep me stressing
In the struggle to live I think deeply on my neighbors Smith N Wesson
I'm pressing issues cause if got issues
My feet are weary I need new shoes
Where are you?You still there?
bruise after bruise you said you'd be there
Am I just a muse
just another pawn you can use
Slowly I advance up the board dreams of being great
failed En passant what can I do but suffer a fools fate
smarter than destiny so you wait
one day I'm gone win the mind game...God checkmate!
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 10:32 PM UTC
am i hearing voices in my head?
maybe its just a call from the dead godspeed
my heartbeats to the ***** streets enemies in a creep
will i be put to sleep or will i
evade the conflict? cuz everyone on my ****
i gotta make a move quick strategist from past war tactics
makes me react quick oh ****
there they go i see shots galore I'm on the floor
i see man the mirror with mad gore
is it god tryna store in a blessin **** sessions
my spirits full of aggression **** i shoulda had my smith n wesson
will i die or will the lord spare me an eye?
and let me live so i can i see my future kids
sippin' on this henny aint makin it no better
i got mad pain i remember my homies blood stains
tattoo tears hidden my fears bo longer worried
so i aint scared to be buried dead or alive im like a beehive
honeys surroundin' me tryna milk me for my money
but they gets nothing but a gun blast then i laughhhh
right in they face trading places eradicate the racist politics happy bday *****
know yall goin to the ditch
crooked i in the media eyes but they cant help it until i die
i get hated then cremated back to hell where i originated
dont care whos there empty rooms for the wombs
while im sleepin in the tombs earthquakes hearts shakes
once god tears drop satan just waitin' he aint in hesitation
ghetto heaven is my destination
uh cops is full of **** tryna get every brother in my hood hit
then they try smile like they happy just like they did my grandpappy
but papa wasnt no punk he had to dump
eyes red bloodshed im seeing pain ancestors speak to me
while im on liquor mayne half down the bottle im feelin' queazy
so when ya see me take it eazy
im just rumblin born revolutionist truth hurts the most
enemies stay real close til ya a ghost
light up a blunt to keep my troubles loose i aint scared to die
my only fear of death is coming back reincarnated
cuz in heaven there no phonies just gangsta *** homies and thugs with galore drugs
and slugs hit it?
cuz my own fear if being reincarnated after death
Mar 16, 2017
Mar 16, 2017 at 6:03 PM UTC
The evening dragged on like the burning of a candlewick. My mind drew a blank page as I tried to remember what I was doing. The house felt bigger that night. I longed for him to come home complaining about the smallest things that I took for granted whilst I poured brandy into his glass and lit the fire to heat his cold hands from the blasting winter. Flick- light of the dying bulb illuminated the drawing room projecting shadows of inanimate objects onto the walls of peeling paper. An uncanny sensation churned at my gut. Trundling down the narrow corridors, I reached the kitchen, catching the eye of a half empty rouge drowning in its own sorrows. I took a sip, admiring the gleaming cabinet holding his armory, clenching to the wall. I pulled out good ol’ smith and Wesson, inspecting its little impurities. I noticed a chip in the receiver and a **** in the barrel but surely this would not hinder its performance. My mind filled with dark thoughts the longer I held the revolver, so I placed it back in the cabinet locking the door. My hands shook from the exhilarating fear that swept over my body as I raced to put the key into the drawer on the other side of the kitchen, in order to smother the malicious feelings that had seeped into my mind. Sip. The tasteless wine slipped through my lips and made its course around my hollow body. No matter how much I drank, it would never fill the black void that his love once called home.
As I held the dwindling glass, I looked around the empty shell of a room. It caught my eye, the raven sat upon my window sill, his eyes dark as night. I looked down at the rouge as if it was never ending like the river of amnesia pouring down my throat but no matter how much I consumed, the raven always seemed to be lurking among the shadows like a renegade. How did he know of my where abouts? He disappeared before I even left the woods.
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 5:59 AM UTC