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Acquainting The Bustle

She is the kind of girl to flash you and walk away
A tease
The kind that sit on the corner of your memory
Persistent , she won’t go away
She comes back in the weird places
Similar napkins ,she jotted her number on
The alcohol store you pass on the way home
That reminder
3 a.m. ten flights of stairs
She fell down
Bleeding in the backseat of the car
As she repeated that drunk girl mantra
I am just an ugly soul
Homicidal death threats to herself
You sit there wondering how
This beautiful flower has so many thorns
As her soul shreds you to pieces
Your only release is
That sad jazz melody
Playing over and over
Drowning out her memory
Her voice
You sink into your bed
Hug the loneliness
Yet her scent is in the air

I hung
Heart bigger than how
I’m hung,
Sniggers like nuts in snickers
Get under my skin and clutch triggers
You are all I need
Worth more than all I have
Less than perfect is the perfect I want
Yet you set your camps intents
Intense like maroon dessert sands
Your mantra is no more tantric
Than rancid Kcufing with your mind
My blood curdles like milk because I’ve been burned by the cow
Get off the steps of my memory and marry me
I’ll soak up your blood with my ivory and call it the path to never forgetting

This is a crime of passion that I’m aiding and abetting
Walk with me now, I’ll hug your loneliness
We can be the ish
Make me your only mess
Yes you are the girl who is prone to tease
But I am your cross and Yogi wont bare me

Impregnate me with your sins and I will bare them all

Pews made of cotton sheets

I genuflect

As I confess

I still need him

I need him to be more then a few faded memories

As I clutch to whiskey bottle

Screams bouncing off walls not in ecstasy

Silent hymns

More mourning then hallelujah’s

I feel the distance

More then your warmth

My walls may keep me secure

Yet the door can be opened

For the right price

How much are you willing to offer your heart back

When I already have it in my firm grasp

I am not the queen of hearts

Just good at breaking them

Yet i am also good at taking them

She said a diva is a female version of a hustler
In the worlds oldest profession who can really rustle her?
She be, on her grind, grinding, make up to wake up
How do you spell binding….P.I.M..P
Got the goods for take up.
Spread her rug for sale in minute or hourly turns
As she digs in her nails, ain’t only his pocket that burns
Make music and clap to it,
Half what he earns
How many halves make a whole girl?
Just the ones taking his sperms
She’s on her grind because a diva is a female version of a hustler

Crack for her crack because the rough stuff hurts
All she wants is a lover man not a brother from the corner
He got a nose for the cooking and only wants to put it on her
Big Black, China white, Charlie and Daddy
Bruises for excuse why she wouldn’t bareback gladly
She will happily bivouac, he just wants to beaver wack.
Till she met You yet you’re too nice to be with that
She has a history, a litany of misery, yet You ….
Want to unlock the prison and make her the captain of your mill

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Filed under Collaborations

Screw You and Your Status

I’ve got so many friends and only 2 say hi to me
I’ve got so many friends and nobody clicks like on me
I’ve got so many friends and they don’t pop up on IM to me
I’ve got so many friends I might not sigh quietly
I’ve got s many friends that this is a site to see
I’ve got many friends and they must be blind to me
I’ve got so many friends and their quiet as my library
I’ve got so many friends they don’t even lock I’s with me
I’ve got so many friends, so, so many friends…am I lying to me?

They’ve got subscribers, some are drinkers some are writers
I’ve got lurkers and hiders, Chinese whispers and biters
They’ve got fervent comments playing blinds
I’ve got fermenting reminders, invites not replied to
I’ll stomp my feet and cry – who – will see my tears
Forget the sum this is status of all my fears
Before this I waited all my years, for my peers
Stalled my gears, now I unleash my drive
Like my status, keep me alive
Go on…click like…let this caged bird sing
It’s not like I try to talk to you or anything

I mean come on now….I’m the sexy one
I’m the one with intellect
You’re just a cheesy ponce why am I receiving negelect
Your’e Times New Roman, I’m the hip Calibri font
Friend Request Me, I’m the one you really want
I’ve got so many friends, so many friends
The news never ends, this blues never ends.
This heart never rends, I am twitter trends
Click like on you …..well that depends
Psyche

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Filed under Society

Reality Got Talent

Whose sob story will rob glory, whose is the most gory
Who is so unkempt their rendition is bound to draw me
Like Tony Hart, except their art probably will morph me
Inform me then implore me because the vote nymph is horny
But the trash acts they bore me to the point channel hopping seems a daunting challenge
See we’re living through the evolution of the pageant
Where fame is 30 seconds scavenging, rich judges be ravaging, mental health damaging
And rehab seems like home, for the have not’s to manage in. Those who made it stave off panicking
Penniless having had the win, the real money was never seen – the cameras and the madness seemed like a sin
365 days later and dust settles, discarded like rusty metal unless the masses still buy your mettle
No more floors of rose petals have you still got your head?

What people tweet about, speak about, update FB about is more than what they be about.
We got knee jerk media hounds, Facebook groups that tear you down, jealousy queries and sneers with classic veneers, why their reality wasn’t all Hollywood smiles and fake tears
Is that where we’re geared?
We want it right now and we got it right here, talent battery produced not hand reared
Real talents lose their zeal and the feel for what they called real
Remember when virtual reality was just for computer games
Now we got virtual insanity by conveyor belts of fame
Everyone knows the rules and they still they complain
So when everybody plays the fool do you hate the player or the game?
Heaven the pie in they sky for which I aim
My reality is abides under the divine camera fame
But I’m a sucker for life and there’s no edits till I fade.

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Filed under Society