I have inadvertently given quiet refuge to the forbidden desires of a pure soul,

I have catalyzed the corruption by caution-less acrobats,

With electric hands and a caring heart-

She now resembles both the main antagonist and protagonist of my fairy tale-

I tell to myself every night before I rest to ensure sleep,

I am starting to notice that the rotting could run deep-

Into her mentality,

And deeper into her personality,

Which would neutralize those electric hands and numb that caring heart,

Her disagreeable complex would rebuke her individuality and spoil rotten her image,

She would be unknowingly a herald of normalcy,

A feverous heretic to my cause,

I would lose her to the melting pot of low youth living he high life in the middle of insecurity and ignorance.


I would close my doors to her black touch and reset the nature of my shelter.




No simple misfortune,
A violent disease of the blood,
I am constantly paranoid as to when I may just explode,
With a rare genetic anger, beautiful in its methodologies.

A curse from old origin,
The first drip of my substance,
To battle with my benevolence with logical negativities,
Presentations of stunning shortcomings, a catalyst to rage.

Stubborn women feed into my inability to resist the craving to dismember the mind of the oppressor,
Sly statements to pull the trigger,
Fluctuating urban tones to sharpen the bullet,
Utter disrespect to bloody the hands to confirm the kill.


If you were to place you fingers right between my vertebrae,

You’d behold what keeps breaking my back,

In fact,

It’s the evil cousin of dismay.


It sleeps in witched chambers of questionable thoughts,

The ones that don’t belong,

Strong, be gone, a song—

It sings off hollow walls that rot.


The brain be my beaten chamber of me,

Pink and free,

But bound,

Trapped, the sound—

Of what it screams,

Often worse than it seems.


I have given enough power to the passing moments,

I have given enough self to selflessness and atonement,

A thirst,

A thirst,

Not quenched,

A thirst,

The worst, is close,

The first of notes,

Of screams to a bursting throat,

That bodes a choke…

And finally breaks the cloak,

That she has up,

She the demon, she the beast,

That rips the joy from my face and base from my feet,

But no longer.