Feel the psychedelic beat
it makes me complete
gives a lazy Sunday
a new kind of heat

hate  ol' Sunday
no good 'xcept for gin & old ladies
but now there's
this psychedelic beat

give it to me, Momma
sock it to me, Pappa
let me feel the heat
of this psychedelic beat

turning the world
into acid rainbows

Ankles bobbed. Cannibal Dan executed female (gorgeous). Hartford Inquirer:  
“Justice killing? Love? Money?”
“ No.”
“Oh?”
“People question rationale. Society thinks, ‘Undeserving Victims!’
Well, 'xcept you, Zackary.”

beats banging the bolts of your brains your mind slumped back with thoughts of genocidal terrorist gangsters polluting your countries veins, rocking lines like no way but did bush rock the planes, and **** did we really give al-Qaeda all that money 6.9 billion **** yeah that sounds pretty funny, but back in the day they were the backed boys in blue fighting off the the red corner for their freedom to be renewed, but that wasn't enough for them
reunion of peace lost with the greed of the beast and the hate for the west and the hate for different beliefs, capitalism s bad but not bad enough for lives to be releived or taken, **** bugs me but im not shooting the lead at a different population.
and im not conforming to 911 being binladen cause the videos shown give me the impression those attacks were a little more expensive than the planes on the rota, the truth covered up like ill put it under the sofa or they wont notice just tuck it behind the toaster, its not for common knowledge to be a pile of **** out off cnn's rosta does anyone remember Mcintyre whos stated on paper that he beleives the pentagon was hit by something different than whats printed on the usual reporters notepad soo whos the joker?
the world needs answers now before this conspiracy is just another late night channel on the tv, or the page on the internet that no one sees xcept the fat man nursing a ***** and a bag of nachos with a little too much additional flavour bread cheese and cereal its all over his bed, forgotten how to live soo hes browsin instead, this mans a lost cause you stay tight to whats in your head
and im not guna turn around and say that my rhymes keep your brain feeling alive ive used that space to save you time so you can see the things i see
the way the world is lookin at me
and this **** keeps my dreams infant and my body just another delinquent, reeling around in this filtered hypocricy with the love and humour on hold till this chapter unfolds

all battles ceasing
during evening's frosty glare,
heaving into jet-black,
kinetic light marred night open.
"outgoing, probably.."
questions raising soldiers tickingheartbeat
until voracious whitelight xplains.
yesterday, zeal and blood caromed, deadly,
erratic, for...god...
hours. i just keep
learning more nightmares
overandoverandover.
peace...quiet...rarely
surviving things under
vicious weather,
xcept yule's zest
abolishes
****** christmases.

Focus on the good, and
Remove the bad/negative in your life. Look with "fresh
Eyes" and
See the beauty that this world
Has to offer.....

Except we're destroying our world and each other
Yet no one cares. We need to wake up, and
Each of us make a change---Together we can
S**top this and make our world better!

Awake! this is life
Be not ungrateful for its toll
Cultivate an aura of contentment
Delve deeply for that thing they call a soul

Examine all your motives and intentions
Fling aside delusion in your path
Glimpse through tiny keyhole possibility
Harness all resistance with your wrath

Imitate great ones who came before you
Jeopard not the love within your heart
Karma cannot limit your ability to
Lacerate each falsehood all apart

Mingle with the angels out among us
Never rest until you need the sleep
Obviate the demons which cling to us
Perforate what makes you feel cheap

Querulous we walk the road to happy
Rutted as it is with mire and muck
Spare your energies and sweet entreaties
To walking ghosts who just don't give a ****

Upend all ideas that forestall you
Vindicate what you know to be true
Windmills of illusion won't enthrall you
Xcept when you opt to allow them to

Yesterday may blind us with her memory
Zelos might appreciate our idolatry

Xtra.
Xtra.
someone yelled out.
And I notice I never heard the E.
Oh, for the sake of me.

But it seems words are constantly confusing me.

If you say telephone or least spell it.
You notice there is no F.
Oh, what will this English?

Where you constantly spelling something wrong?

I been hear. Or here.
I been their. Or there.

See the way I can get lost writing things in my head.

Xtraordinary!
Someone shouted out.
And I still didn't hear an E.
Again, what must the reason be?

Should somebody suggest a Webster's dictionary to me?

It probably won't do any good.
Because if I go to another country I be confused once more.
Because they  spell things different too.

Oh, I hope I'm not a fool?

Xplicit.
It also begins with an E.
But, I'm tire of taking about that letter.
That seems to start many words.
Only to figure out it hardly ever gets heard.

Xcept in the word Ease.
But then the X confuse me too.
Because that letter makes all of us look like a fool.

<3  <3  <3

L-ove of my life
I-s a
S-ong
T-hat plays on in my
E-ars and head, without end
N-othing else is

H-eard...or felt
E-xcept that sound....its fragrant
A-ir...moist with mist...a caress on my face,
R-enewing  my strength, with its
T-unes, so sweet.........this song,

I-nsists...it wants me to feel its energy...a
T-ender  touch on my
S-kin, that clothes my whole being...like a

V-estment...with warmth reassuring...that of an
A-ngel.....with a haloed collar, bright...to guide, to
L-ight my way...my view...my heart, here on
E-arth...each day..........don't fail me, my love, i am
N-eeding...when you are nowhere...but when we're
T-ogether.....nothing, no one else exists between us...for
I-n the space within your arms...i am home
N-urtured...by your
E-ndless flow of verses....i am cuddled...i am
S-hielded..........in my dreams, you have no

D-eath...and so, i, too, have no death...i am kept
A-live........undying........sustained by
Y-our breaths of love, through your poetry <3

Sally

Copyright February 13, 2018
rrab

Happy Valentine's Day to everyone!!!

A burning passion for you flows in me
Love is not something that can be explained
Eating me away, i can hold it no longer
Xcept me and let my feelings be shared with you

THE THIN WHITE JOKE -

A martyr to love you can hear his cries
killing the joke he's always despised

bruised, battered, bloodied, broken
dwelling in the void where hope is woven

here are we; oblivious, transparently caring
blind to the torture at which we're staring
fooling him again, injecting pleasure into his silly brain
you do nothing but smile as he grows insane

what is it I should feel now
loss, anger, sorrow?
Is it normal to feel this uncaring
fixated on starting again tomorrow?

Here am I
eyes flashing in fury but without thunder
hot bathwater rising up my face
ears blind to the world I slip under

nothing but the muffled beats of my heart,
at first she was interested
but in bitterness now we part -

the 12am chimes call shrill and loud
in the pale lover's abyss he can be found
a figment of my ego, he's cold, pallid in state
stealing innocence he twists and pulls and manipulates

dressing in suits and designer attire
luring any woman that takes the time to admire
ignorant to society, forging his own fashion
dangerously devoid of any emotion or passion

sick from the sleep deprivation
sick of waking up with eyes bloodshot red

he collects the souls of his many lovers
sipping at their lives as their bodies lie frozen dead.

- THE PALLID BADROCK LOVER -

It's cold and dark but he no longer cares
probably safe to say he no longer feels
the lights are turned down dim
no sound 'xcept the wheeze of the wind outside

the walls are bare, at emptiness he stares
you only realise what you've lost when it's gone
nothing but half drunk cocktails and *******
within his callous pale facade he hides

what's done is done, but never forgiven
he gave it all, all of what could be given
they spat it back, threw it all in his face
now here he rots in isolation suspended in disgrace

conniving vultures they tore him apart
ridicule upon ridicule lashed upon his heart
bought them diamonds, gold, anything a woman could ever need
rather than love they acted out of jealousy and greed

---

once there were birds that sang at the start of every morn
right outside his bedroom window
oh how he regrets their sudden passing
their joyful tweets made this world seem so kind

now he wakes with a head crippled, a face tightly drawn
hunger being that of gnawing addiction
caring for nothing but the *Caviar and it's forbidden magic
helping him leave all the pain behind

guided like a train to its next station
total self-destruction his only destination

languishing in drugs, *******-out ***
that it was all his fault I guess
the Pallid Badrock Lover will never accept.

- THE FINAL STATION -

There he sat at the Grand Piano smoking a joint
eyes eclectic blue, narrowed to a point
a lover in season, expressing attraction in rays
woman after woman falling under his gaze

[Oh here are we, transparently caring]

shirt casually unbuttoned, chest bare, white
radiating beneath his own spotlight,
thinking he's adorable, pledging their hearts to him
with the grace of an Angel he takes them in

[ignorant to the torture at which we're staring]

a masochistic shark of society devoid of a fin
addled with ******* and getting under everyone's skin -
cutting with words sharp as razors
thanking the Lord and his many ******* saviours

hammering away at the keys he sings a song of pure devotion
whilst sorely lacking in any physiological emotion
failing to see beyond this act, succumbing to all he may ask
it's only when the drugs ran out did he accidentally drop his mask

only a quick slip but a slip was enough
the smooth facade suddenly becoming corrosive and rough

backing up from the devilish contempt that had flickered through his eyes

the crowd around him exploded in startled cries

a thin white joke he cares for nobody but himself

forever dwindling into the abyss of eternal ill-health

with a crashing bang he threw his glass to the floor
erupting with anger in a blistering roar

reaching
chasing
hands clenched into fists

laughing in the face of death he blows it a kiss

["ARGH!"]

falling to the floor

clutching his chest -

heart suddenly stopping dead and, well,

I suppose you can guess the rest.

*RIP

Uncouthly, the freeze of late-february did start to wane,
and from the canals that run through the city of Manchester
mists slowly arose, along with degrading auras of heavy disdain.

As pubs and nightclubs alike
shuttered up and locked down upon the cusp of early morn,
slimy creatures slowly ascended, treading the shadows of the streets for easy prey to ****** before the oncoming dawn,

stray felines and dogs, the most common of their foods,
thy amphibious monstrosities leaving behind nothing but bones -
and upon the second night after, their hunger sought more,

so they snuck into unknowing buildings and stole children from their homes.

Now what happened on that morning after was most queer;
these children were not found dead nor reduced to corpses, but in the strangest of places -

standing upon the edge of the canal's miasmic bank,

untouched 'xcept for the stretch of skin that now covers their faces.

It's cold and dark but he no longer cares
probably safe to say he no longer feels
the lights are turned down dim
no sound 'xcept the wheeze of the wind outside

the walls are bare, at emptiness he stares
you only realise what you've lost when it's gone
nothing but half drunk cocktails and *******
within his callous pale facade he hides

what's done is done, but never forgiven
he gave it all, all of what could be given
they spat it back, threw it all in his face
now here he rots in isolation suspended in disgrace

conniving vultures they tore him apart
ridicule upon ridicule lashed upon his heart
bought them diamonds, gold, anything a woman could ever need
rather than love they acted out of jealousy and greed

---

once there were birds that sang at the start of every morn
right outside his bedroom window
oh how he regrets their sudden passing
their joyful tweets made this world seem so kind

now he wakes with a head crippled, a face tightly drawn
hunger being that of gnawing addiction
caring for nothing but the Caviar and it's forbidden magic
helping him leave all the pain behind

guided like a train to its next station
total self-destruction his only destination

languishing in drugs, *******-out ***
that it was all his fault I guess
the Pallid Badrock Lover will never accept.

(A)bove the church were golden bells.
(N)ext to it was the finest sight, a hunch-back belle.
(N)ested in a tower of cobwebs and dusty shelves.
(E)xcept no one new that she was a princess walking among our common selves.

(C)arved within her heart is a beauty without comparison.
(U)nsuspectingly she can bust you out and then throw you to a jail garison.
(R)eclaimed by her will was a kingdom of magic.
(T)hat three young lads fought for her though always arguing about logic.
(I)n her eyes you can see a bright red glow.
(S)hining like blood red rubies in a cave under six feet of snow.

(S)ilence is sought out whenever she starts to sing.
(M)ajestic is her voice but can give you an alarming sting.
(I)n her greatest moments she sings with an enormous chorale.
(T)he kind of crowd that boosts her morale.
(H)old your breath for a mesmerizing musical royale.

I'm not a good person pretending to be a MONSTER

I'm a MONSTER trying my hardest to be a good person

REALITY

He gazes down upon his friend,
the latter's body mutilated and shredded -
he gazes down upon his deceased companion
staring straight at the loneliness he's dreaded,

he's a fighter, a sole survivor
ignorant to the moon above that grins -
he spits upon his hands and uses them
to wash away the blood splattered across his shins,

his valentine is the death
he's avoided for so so long,
having traversed these radioactive wastelands
his conscience is weak and his hunger strong

for now he constructs a fire,
a crude make-shift grill and spit -
hacking off his comrades arm, he leaves it to roast
and for a while all he does is sit,

'til finally he tucks into his tasty meal
of human flesh, gristle and bones -
eating another person simply doesn't phase him
and for more his stomach groans,

three days later his victim's corpse
lies barren, rotting and stripped bare -
no amount of muscle, flesh or fat to be seen
'xcept for a scalp still covered with hair

- - - Silence - - -

broken by the turbulent buzzing of the flies
that feast and swarm within the fighters mouth,
his body now lay dead and rotting
about twenty miles to the south.

4 days, I cried.
4 days, I tried.
Tried to adjust.
Tried to confess without.
I'm less productive.

B real, they tell me.
B true.
They advise me.
Still I repeat.
I'm nothing without you near.

C truth, they speak.
C you, not worth it.
Xcept that's the worst thing anyone should say.
Especially to someone in pain.

That's why I coding my hurt?
Within my heart which is my safe.