Liquid Salt

There’s only people here,

7 perfumes, or caloans, I can’t tell,

Well “colognes”, I can’t spell,

Tear…tear gas,

Smells like armpits and fresh ass.

 

What are they covering up,

I think it runs a little deeper than body odor,

Maybe self-disappointment…the type facilitated by manipulative people,

The type we think simply goes away as we get older,

And then it doesn’t…so we invest in stay-away spray and cook in it in a social oven,

They’re spraying their lower spirit trying to convince the crowd that they’re approachable.

 

No air current, frozen as fear does us,

The metro railing providing a cool beat that takes us,

Just for a second,

Away from these metal cages,

The brakes hit, the metal rages,

Screeches, teaches us that we can trust our sense to judge our surroundings,

Paranoia binding our palms to the bars,

Around the cars the railroads wrap,

8 steel tunnels the rail cars trap,

Us within ourselves waving like meaty blades of grass,

Tear…tear gas,

Salty armpits and fresh ass consume my early morning.

 

 

 

 

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Vibe

Amazing orchestrations,

The mixture of dimness and warm sound massage my chest in ways I will not be able to explain,

Sheet music and swinging strings give tangibility to my pain,

And defines the existence of my soul prancing around between my bones,

Power in quick silence and that luxury in sustained tone-

Are depictions already known but displayed in states never better shown to me,

I am imperfect in the presence of something great,

I am worthless, I am presence without weight,

Clinging to the perfect reflections of what these human hands make,

Those vibes, those vibrations to cause the soul to stop and mediate on what this reality can offer.

Afterlife

What I look for in my afterlife,

Does not involve immortality,

Does not involve resurrection,

Does not involve obvious impracticalities.

 

But involves different floors, different sections,

Dedicated to a specific time of my life,

I am a time traveler removing thorns from my side,

Giving sickness and sorrow to those who eventually would decide to be betray the generous nature of my character.

 

I would take a straw broom and sweep the path before my steps,

Brushing my ground while I  knowingly watch my body proceeded safely without harm.

I would watch me become…

What the world wouldn’t allow,

And spring from the unyielding darkness I wish I could now.

 

What I look for in my afterlife,

Does not involve immortality,

Does not involve resurrection,

Does not involve impossibilities,

But only a clear direction, reflection, and inspection of a past life I couldn’t live.

 

I wonder if I’m dead right now looking down on my past self but not really doing a good job at the sweeping, but that’s okay…I’ll eventually get it right.

A Snake

If a snake slithers do not question its duplicity,

If it stares you with warmth do not doubt its tendencies to do harm,

 

If the rattle of the rattlesnake shakes do not be surprised of the sting,

If your knees buckle do understand that his poison has made you weak, and your systems will soon follow.

 

Do you feel the basic emotions flooding your nervous system?

It’s the temptation of the unknown,

It’s the aggressive curiosity that curses the wandering mind,

Ensuring you remain blind to the fragility of your condition,

You will always be placed in the position to make the right choice,

It will absolutely always be your decision to break the souls of those who care for you,

And with that awful tunnel vision your support will shatter like glass on the ground before you.

 

You will not be the first devourer, you will not jest the first joke I’ve had the pleasure to laugh at,

I am recognizing a familiarity in areas I would rather be naive,

The snake speaks in a language you want to believe,

But do remember,

A snake is a snake,

And it would not be the snake’s but your mistake,

That would break the hallowed ground we’ve taken years to create,

I pray to God in heaven that you did not soil yourself for a temporary pleasure,

For that is a mindlessness for which I cannot relate…

A snake…is a snake,

So help you God.

 

 

Untouch

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.

 

To Be Treated

You look trapped in your pictures,

You cannot exceed the frame,

He grips your side with a smirk,

You look down smiling at the dirt,

Let’s be honest, it’s obvious you’re hurt,

It’s obvious that what goes on at home must not be seen at church,

He’s obviously abusive,

And there’s a reason why he wants to keep your relationship completely exclusive.

 

You have like 2 friends, your two older sisters,

And when you need something, both of their responses couldn’t be swifter,

But you never say you need anything,

Even though you’re hungry for validation,

You need no other external influence to bring you to the realization-,

That his love is blisters,

He gets jealous when you talk to men at work…

 

Transactional communication coated with copious aggression,

He always has to teach you something to make sure you learn your lesson,

At least three punches a night,

Not a fight,

Because you never hit back,

You just wait for him to finish and you apologize for the slack,

Your face is perfect,

Too perfect,

Mounds of makeup,

Smile is overexerted.

Stories you gotta make up,

Wearing foundation at the gym,

A relationship polluted with glum and grim-

Representations of control,

The society advises you to step off the battlefield before the battlefield takes its irreparable toll,

You’re a glutton for pain, so of course you’ll stay,

He’ll eventually snap one day,

And crush your head on the wall,

Your sisters would be at your funeral crying at your call-

To not speak to your family about the throes of your fall,

He would run away…well crawl-

Into a hole to evade the police,

Your body would be left on the bloody floor with your name still on the lease,

Just because no one taught you how men should treat.

 

2020

They enthused about the idea of massive genocide,

Slamming their broken bottoms of their flaming forks into the ground,

They disowned the colored women they once sleep beside,

Shortly after those same women tried to run aww and were chased and captured by hounds.

 

Year 2020, the black no longer the minority,

The pail ones feel the falling of their economic superiority,

Convinced that us blacks intended to start this fire rekindled for centuries,

Convinced we were not meant to integrate, that we worn enemies.

 

The phobias spill from their chests and cover the streets,

The parts not covered by their stomping feet

Their attempts to enervate-

The base of society –

Further snapped in two,

Head honcho gringo screaming provocations to the foolish folk,

The community crashed, the tension broke,

Law enforcement struggling to cradle the clashing clans,

Action on one, response on the other hand.

 

This is the future of the dramatic few,

Wanting nothing but continued violence and historic residue,

To drench the streets.

 

There are us, the unaffected ones,

 

 

 

 

Clinging to the reality of the issue,

It only exists internally, bound to our ribs,

Hatred actually has nothing to give-

But dissension and upheaval crushing the sorrowful communities zeal to love,

 

So I chose, to not talk about racism and keep it trapped inside those rotting corpses until it starkly affects my surrounding brethren,

I am not oppressed.