face off

pieces to the puzzle.

the white canvas splattered with grotesque colors mixed, unique and alone.

listening to empty words & emptier songs

promises? more like sausages

stuffed and dying on fat and oil & living off fake acknowledgments

no offence but i got no defence

and i might just throw you over the fence

for this poem is not making sense.

where was i? high as a kite on that fateful night that i despise and tripped on vicodins

old soul, yes. sold out, too. cold stoned cells and stone cold soul.

waiting to go home. home? the place does not exist.

the home is the mind, the thoughts and the streets.

we shall never be whole. but then wholeness is overrated.

forget the words i stated.

i’d rather be loved than hated. fated to this albatross around my neck.

too beyond and over demanding for respect.

and these claps, don’t mean a thing now.

i’d rather not sing now.

cause these crowds were thinned out when i actually had something to say

and wanted them to reach out.

and now these clouds & their tear drops.

miss out on those across the borders that were man made

and we are bound by the fate of which side we were born on

and the law and order is the soft porn on which those in power get off to stay in power

while they continue to devour those that can’t fight back

and we know it is all gonna be over soon anyways

so lets just make mistakes & miss steps and mismatch and miss, wet?

eighteen hundred degrees to scorch my bones

and i don’t get torn, cause i am strong

when i am in my zone i make ‘em moan

and on innocent souls i feed.

word of advise for you to heed:

stay off the fence.

don’t tread on me.

i am a zombie with a telescope.

and i got u in my scope

i show no remorse

9 mm in your throat.

but wait.

where are those words? oh yes, i can do those too.

spread my arms wide, keep u in my arms and save u from the gloom.

kiss u from ur head to toe and make u swoon.

write words that won’t do justice to ur beauty but try to.

make u feel loved, cared, respected and make u laugh through the afternoon.

cook, work, fuck, open doors for u and spread ur legs like woooo!

or make it romantic:

a candle light dinner where u actually get to speak

listen to your words and feed on your lips oh so sweet.

wine and your eyes.

knock on ur door and make u smile

all truth and no lie.

yes, possible. take u back to how we met.

but i won’t now. where is this poem going?

just like this prose, the thought’s dead.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s