As the bulldozers crunch the concrete, there shall be an empty void where there once was a playground-
Children will surrender silently as the sun plummets to its death and the moon turns to blood-
We all walk around the green lands with shards of glass hidden underneath fallen leaves with blindfolds on our minds and daggers in our hands-
I convince the eyes’ of watchers-by-
Fool them with my slick walk-
My confident strut with a goofy heart-
Incapable of premeditated murder but always resulting in destruction-
Is it possible to transform this purgatory-facaded world to the heavenly earth it is known as?
Not in my eyes-
I see the end of a strenuous struggle as the start of a bloody conflict-
War wages and the end is only an illusion-
She’s got the heart of an angel and the scrutinizing eye of a detective-
Catching my phony slick walk and sometimes blaming it on my goofy heart-
The pointed finger’s fully unjust-
The heart is innocent and all of God’s children have their own slick walk-
The lone highway spans the void-
The connection that runs through the minds of two lost souls-
For every slick-walker is truly lost but the lonesome highway makes them feel found-
The feeling may be the truth, and the truth is relative to the feeling-
I know that I am home when I feel that I am at home-
When I feel that I am at home, my goofy heart comes out to play-
When my goofy heart comes out to play, it sometimes lays orange construction cones on the lone highway-
Nail clippings on a breezy Saturday night caused these orange cones to fall where they may-
Beliefs underlying beliefs, buried, rediscovered-
Excavation throughout the lone highway-
Potholes filled to perfection with tar seeped from love-
So it is no surprise to me-
I am my own worst enemy~
The Sound of Thunder
This chaos, this mess, reconfirms my ignorant belief-
What’s the point in doing what we do?
Who cares?
A tall building-
And explosion-
This tragedy brings us ever-closer to there being no point-
I can smell the anti-care, let alone the non-care-
After our missile spans the gap between two lands-
After their missile hits us-
After ours hits them-
After they use ours against us-
Before we did nothing-
We will be past the point of there being no point-
Surrounded by lines of fire and cinder born from forecasted destruction that had reigned too soon, too hard-
I stand in the middle-
A stoic man-
Back hunched, physically grieving, internally twisted-
Waiting for the morning to come-
Thrown into an ambivalent neurosis-
My watch is missing-
When is it time to cry?
Inconsistent events haphazardly trigger random spasms of lumps lodged in my throat-
Appearing, shivering, forcing out strong breaths of hybrid sigh-cries through my nose-
Then disappearing-
Not knowing when to return~
The Spectrum of Emotion
Two tons of pressure on my shoulders weigh me down-
Train station’s drowned in piss and the stench attacks the town-
[Breathe]
A deep breath tries to grip my soul-
But tonight I won’t gain control-
My knees buckle and my legs give way-
And I lose three steps for every one that way-
It’s dark as death but it’s only five-
And I pray ‘Lord, bury me alive’-
Two minutes for an hour, the dragging flow of time-
And I can’t seem to get the rusty hook out my spine-
People mourn me with their eyes-
As they brush past my side-
I welcome what they offer, only after they have died-
Petrified in silver stone-
I prefer to sink alone-
Sip the bitter potion-
And fall into the ocean-
I need something to rekindle-
No more liquor, no more indo-
Only a shaft of light through that stained-glass window-
Fired like the sun and attacked by black-
It stood erect, with demons to it’s back-
Out of the water, a deep blue steeple,
Fought time, and chaos, and selfish people-
Hope’s a survivor-
Took a bullet in the heart from a Remington revolver-
Never comes in last, always qualifies-
To show me the world through rejuvenated eyes-
The air seems fresher-
The colors seem bright now-
And there’s not a moment when I feel I should lie down-
Blood pours through my veins, my heart races-
Radiant glows cover everyone’s faces-
Twigs snap as I walk and I rejoice-
That nature has such a crisp, clean voice-
I follow the path that the willows tend to lead in-
And breathe in the lush greeneries of Eden-
Everything blooms with a green-yellow glow-
Even the oil-stained shitty brown snow-
The blue jays and sparrows chirp to sing for me-
(Hope none of this sounds too corny)-
Bliss – a chunk of ice melts slowly to serenity-
A scarlet-twisted collard green puddle can’t stop eyeing me-
Let it be-
My steamy vapor soul flows knowingly out my ears-
Hovering above my Candyland fantasia still intact-
A new ingredient-
Shy yet bold-
The brittle clay is cracked-
The balance shifts and equalizes, rising to its peak-
My soul is losing tranquil flavor-
Far from dead-
Close to weak-
Midnight merges with high noon-
The crack in the ground slithers to the dune-
Beckoning thunder to consume my world-
Not now, it’s too soon-
While the fireflies and fleas are swimming in the breeze-
I’m on the verge of break-down, moaning please-
While the dust from the evergreen trees makes me [sniff]-
I trip, fall, scrape both my knees-
Uneasiness, it’s too quiet, look into the puddle-
A slight tremor is the ripple, the ripple equals trouble-
But there’s silence on the soil and quiet in my world-
I await apocalypse in the eye of the spiral-
It rapidly approaches before I realize-
And engulfs the whole horizon before my very eyes-
Boom boom in the distance-
Shrapnel, dirt, slugs fly-
Who pulled that goddamn trigger, I’m gonna kill that fucking guy-
Bones on top of dirt and dirt on top of bones-
The late king of the hill is Little Johnny Doe-
Struts and shocks and a long wooden box-
A killer in us shackled by God’s ancient locks-
Rip the locks off the gauge,
Half a cooked dust sprinkled sage-
Why me, why this plague?
And they wonder why I never act my age-
Where the hell am I? What happened to my life?
I was all about love, all about peace-
Now they call me the bloody knife-
I was found on top of smokey,
In the midst of Stokes-
Now everyday I wake just to toke-
And toke away the pain-
And choke my soul to sleep-
And strangle away the past-
Hoping that the roach ain’t stuck in the sleeve of my coat-
You see, he comes from the wild black yonder-
And limped past into the deep dirty south-
Blood poured out his mouth-
All his teeth were falling out-
And he couldn’t help but smile-
‘I ain’t going for a while,’ he said-
But he lied and I’m confused-
My mind was badly bruised-
I understood, forgave, for all the comfort that he gave-
And little did I know that ‘a while’ was actually good-
Life and the tango-
Hand in hand-
No mistakes-
Strictly missions~
Transition
Transition is the phase, bought the sky as my element-
Can’t help myself, lend a hand, or stay obstinate-
Cop the dirty day, and the everlasting night-
Hold it sacred, like Charlie gripped the gobstopper tight-
Flip the lid of my third eye-
But I still don’t see it comin’, runnin’ down the toxic corridor-
Lost my breath, kept on gunnin’-
Past black plastic bags-
Biodegradation didn’t last-
Overflowing with rejection from generations past-
Nasty stench rising, trash piling-
Sinful structures in my path-
Lights flashing in my head-
Red, sirens, see the door is open-
Gotta stand straight, got my back hunched – scoliosis-
Moses parted red waters-
Splitting muddy waters harder to part than you think-
Separation of purity from the stink-
Pitch black, silence, God bless the everlasting night-
Break away from the chaotic mess-
Drill a hole into my eyesight-
Light shafts shoot down from the heavens and the clouds-
I go there every now and then, but never say it out, loud…
Shrieks of misery, sanctuary intermingle while I bleed-
Incapable to free the thorn that’s jammed into my artery-
While I push it further in-
Beg myself to scream, steel piston pumping pain-
No oil, viscosity-
Bile ducts shut down-
Vile sludge pulse through-
Champion-style lost his crown-
Dehydration from the truth-
Quench my black thirst with the red-labeled bud-
Green buds, light-green orange hairs in my buds-
One blast from the chalice and I never hold a grudge-
Move on-
Sober-silence-
Time to meditate, contemplate on my plans-
Hesitate on my move-
Procrastinate-
Kill the bishop and the pawn to prevent checkmate-
Otherwise deteriorate, till the next phase beckons-
Infiltrate-
Stay in sync with half-steppin’-
To the next level-
Inevitable transition is the phase-
Sold the earth as my mineral~
Break On Through
Salamander shades engulf persistent ways-
Curling around green taps engages focused craze-
Muddled thoughts return with vengeance to corrupt the dying young before they engage in active thought cycles-
Provoking before Armageddon holds hands with the good dying young-
Crying while we breathe in sweet agony of the known-
The damned await-
Fingers crossed with precision because of the time-
So much time to hate and love, then hate some more…
Forced to break on through…
Memory
The wind mischievously stings my ears-
The rain softly pelts my skin-
My senses awaken to the moist, autumn leaves strewn about the streets-
Despite the tender, wet nipping-
The world is warm, scattered with fragile sheets of gold-
I see innocence and beauty of the caramel city-
Shielded from the world-
I cling safely around my mother’s neck-
I feel carefree-
Without worries-
The smooth swish of peace flows through my veins…
I never thought my world would vanish-
And it hasn’t~
Fallen Leaves
The sky begins to darken and tear-
I pray my brothers above will guard me-
They are dying themselves, those near and dear-
Cold and wet, I cling to my mother’s wood knee-
My voice is unheard, I am blown to the ground-
It takes two seconds but feels eternal-
My freefall ends, wet slap to a dirt mound-
Mother weeps, her children die, no revival-
I yearn for the warmth of the golden sun-
To dry, sweet breeze carry me back to-
My wooden home so, again, I’ll become-
Boy among brothers, son of mother too-
It can never be, for Nature is God-
And death must exist for life to go on~
Useless Knowledge
Give me one minute of your time so I can force-feed you useless knowledge-
See you nodding like the dolls on your dash bobbin’ heads during stop-and-go traffic-
Doing damage-
To your chin-
Spinal cord, breast bone, hits home, lethal blows to your dome, thought flows decompose, reconstruct all your bones-
Subtle tweaks all along your visual zone and how you think-
But I’m just an assistant in assisting in separating the purity from the stink-
Just listen for a minute so I can finish what I wanted to start-
As my thought sparks a flame in your heart-
Full flight in your vein as it travels to your brain-
Maintain-
Keep composure – sew together what’s apart-
Be proud-
Grab yourself by the hair-
Wile out-
Stand yourself on the chair and shout-
Say it loud-
What the fuck is this cat up there talking bout-
But still compelling you to listen, till you feelin’ what I say-
Till you’re too sick to eat, too cynical to pray-
Can’t stomach my flow that I spew forth raw-dog, bare-back style-
Close the hospital door-
Ain’t well enough to leave-
Just stay-
For a while-
It’s forever break-time, dive inside my idle mind-
Cause the frontal lobe in my dome has grown from a devil’s playground to a hole in Satan’s soul-
Are you twitchin’ and shakin’ – dead fish out of water that I’m smellin’-
Rather F-E-A-R, exactly what I’m spellin’-
Well on the way to POST-MOR-T-E-M-
And the pain got you screamin’-
No one hears that you yellin’-
I keep handin’ heart attacks out cause no one else be sellin’-
Trying to tell you there’s no god-
Blasphemy’s the remedy-
Hypnotism is my job-
So you see why you should stay and give me my chance-
I’m the blood-dripping wire barbed up on the fence-
Ripping out your mind and selling me your self-
Is my one and only last line of defense-
Forget 1 to 10 bids and a whole life sentence-
The only thing I feel that’s worth to mention-
Is I wanna truthfully believe you when you say I make no fuckin’ sense-
They say one man’s garbage is another man’s treasure-
Now an insecure man speaks for the sake of his own pleasure-
Trying to reconfirm his existence right before they dead him-
I say one man with mic is a whole lot better-
Making it ruff like Cube or smooth like K-Dee wearing a Casmir sweater-
And if you’re in the mood, get your lady friend wetter-
Have the mentality in the room rise up to one level-
Convince my man in the leather to put down the Beretta instead of plugging up the crowd, turning glass to confetta-
So when one of my fellow poets wants to come up and do whatever-
Grease the mic with saliva-
Till he’s dehydrated lying weak on the stretcher-
Emit consciousness, truth and power, tie up mental ends and come correct, or
Spit nonsense, useless knowledge, prophesize God’s great lecture-
Fuck encouraging his ass-
I’m a make sure he gets up~
Ephemeral Initiatives
Nightly-
I fight me, myself, and my lonely-
Incite 3 brawls to snap from zone 3 to zone invincibility-
Ignite green packs of menthol cancer sticks till they hold me, liable, and force me
To spit up blood all over my clothes, please-
Like I said, I do this nightly-
Pound a 1/5 of Jack or Black, throw it in my hatch-back and try to back-track to my flash-back where I doubled up with the last sack of bills I had and the house beat me with a Black-Jack-
So after years of these midnight debaucheries-
My face is sallow like butter filling up nooks and crannies,
Of my breakfast muffin that Thomas still owes me-
Thwarted by invisible hands that never cease to leave my vicinity-
And taunt me, and prevent me-
From re-organizing my penchant and only then can,
I accomplish all my deeds, satisfy my needs, flee pessimistic pleas-
Remove the goad from my head and stab it in my chest so I can be who I am, not who I need to be-
Having ephemeral initiatives is a degenerative disease-
Gets you hopelessly broken just like Duchies and trees-
And has you open like the ocean across the Seven Seas-
Muthafucka please, I said I do this nightly-
Jim Bean in my grip, alcoholically equipped-
Till it swirls in my head like a defective suicidal trip-
Wise men to my left-
Demons of the flip-side-
Crip-walking, homicide stalking the tab that’s slowly melting on my tongue’s tip-
Delusions, inexcusable, supreme psilocybin dream-
Quietly-
Retire me, myself, and my lonely, at precisely, a quarter to complete anxiety-
Right after sanity cease and vulgarity flees-
But it don’t bother me-
Why?
Cause, I do this nightly~
Benjamin is a Bitch
When your 5’s and 1’s end up in Desire’s panties –
You think that money owns the bitch, but truthfully, can he?
When you save up your loot for a girl that ain’t yours –
Not today, tomorrow, or next week, the door is closed,
And locked down, no entry after 4 –
When you’re working overtime for no overtime pay,
You come a dime a dozen, and can be easily replaced or disposed –
When your daily grind consists of only tuna on rye,
So you can see the pennies that you’ve saved pile high,
Just to be sure the gas still flows in your stove –
When you’re scraping up crumbs off the supermarket floor,
Breaking your back, past the point of being sore,
So you can live another week without your home foreclosed –
The shylock has you hog-tied with both your bows,
Behind your back, wrists hang off your ass,
Ill-exposed –
Your nose grows as you lie about your ends –
Your profits been down 100 percent –
But it looks like the cash money steady flows –
You see, money gives you power because it is the power-U –
Like a broken chicken-head that shit is used and abused –
Flipped and banged around so much, skin’s faded and bruised –
Don’t know where she’ll end up, blind-foldedly confused –
Stretched to the max, marked up black and blue ink tagged up her toe-tag –
Ready to disperse, mad Grants in the Coach bag –
Compelled to dispose that, glad to enforce bad habits though they never pay back –
Best just believe compromise is overdue –
When you’re traded for some goods, strictly for the use –
Dutchmasters and juice, when you’re up a few, get your hair braided if you could –
10 Abes down layaway for Playstation 2 –
You’re not a person, you’re an object of man-ip-u-la-tion –
Contemplation prolonged for spending and wasting –
Save your paycheck as Benjamin gets thick in the basement –
Flippin’ through this cat can cause mad hesitation –
Feenin’ to floss your jewels and your chains and
Knowin’ you’ll be broke right around first payment –
But remember, Benjamin is a bitch –
That’s the end of my statement~