TOPIC: "Hell is empty and all the devils are here."-William Shakespeare
Title: A beautiful Struggle
I'm his little miss Loveable – I do no wrong,
A locket of life – I'm his gift...His charm,
I live those songs fairy tales comprise,
Open arm embrace...As I close both eyes.
A beautiful child birthed so tastefully,
Mother would die, still father would baby me,
Raised and cherished... Never begrudged,
Taught respect is earned and always beloved,
A gentle soul - with no wings exposed,
Yet he was tailored inside an angels mold,
This man's a saint, brushing hair from my face,
Whispering my beauty equals Helen's own grace,
I bend rules... Nearly snapping them in half,
He strokes my locks - teaching error in my path,
He indulges me in all my childish ways,
eating cheerios with the skies final sun ray,
He tucks me in, my cheeks press his lips,
this isn't earth, it's proof that heaven exists.
There's a demon in the closet - potent as ever,
His content is sipped – Angelic ways severed,
He breads darkness... In a liquid form,
A spirit that will burn in the wettest storm,
It's not often he binges, I can't remember the last,
But I'm little miss speed bag, while emptying a flask,
Months go passed – it grew worse indeed,
I shake, I weep - I need safe sleep.
My physical's tarnished, my emotions are baggage,
I try to take flight, but I'm a victim of habit,
A Barbie behind bars isolated with trouble,
As barbaric hands stifle screams to muffles,
Gropes evolve - and squeeze a life to plead,
if the throat can't wheeze then drop to knees,
When allowed – Lungs will open wide for Oxygen,
Or the throbbing member injected like collagen,
back to gasping...Eyes swelling with tears,
I beg “mercy”!!! - In French he just says “cheers”,
“You're welcome my dear”. Then shreds my brassiere,
He gnaws the areola until skin is pierced,
“God if you exist, please take my life...
I pray to die” . - Ironic because, I'm the prey tonight.
Legs agape – pounded severely,
A fluid released, the demon is weary.
I'm his little Mrs. Punctual – always on time,
A locket of Life - instilled in mine,
I'm late, it's fine – nine months will pass,
And his Demonic wrath... Will break my cage at last.
The seed he bore... Deep in my being,
Might mean I'm mom...And die while birthing.
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Topic: Both Streams of Thought Converge at Promontory Harbor
~Beating Time~
I was born in the 70's and raised on Hayes,
Both Issac and that green that makes eyes glazed.
Pop was Cuban - Mom such a Nubian queen,
Only ancestors raped so her pigment sort of a cream.
Picture me, a light skinned packing a magnum in jeans,
known for chasing and capturing any dragon with wings. See...
I float with clouds while slowly killing myself.
Teaching younger me criminals see minimal wealth.
When hood rich and dope binge meet at Critical State,
And negligence consumes at a cynical rate.
Needless to say - incomes a pipe dream - and I'm smoking away,
Life's a beach! The waves... steady crashing away.
Slowly drowning inside...
Between the “reign of poor” and sweat clogging my pores,
I some how ignored death whispering - and sailing my course.
I've gone astray with no map, stars guiding my path,
But the darkest hour, internalized - Blackness covers the facts.
So I sit back and laugh - needing detox I just keep tossing em back,
Allowing time to relapse - devour and excrete me out last.
Moments pass - I “rock” wicker back a shade of monotony,
Subconsciously knowing the pitch fork is what sponsors me.
I gotta bleed, stop... remove clamps from artery’s,
if honesty's key - Then I got locks for bartering...
Trapped - confounding - disguised...
Conceived. Released. A infant who needs to wean,
A bottle distilled – drinking the spleen gang-green,
Preordained – the castles key opened up doors to flood,
Lungs and liver trudged through the “gate-way” drug.
Change a life or lose a life the kids hold tight,
A boy raising men to see the “tracks” at night...
A light flickers - this Bic will guide us right.
For the kids, I'll live......even if I'm dying inside.