13.3k views, 2xBest Poetry Period. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind. |
All things yellow began sweetly before bitter, sour, cultivated a taste. Salty, simple sweet in their dark. Walls gleamed, light-bent streaks — but break? Heaven forbid stirred drinks deceit. Jonestown day soon to arrive? Gulp it down before it’s gone amid the throng gathering, suffocating, elbow spaces, wedge wayward to the stage? Climb on up, get the first draught. Sip, savored slow, built resistance. Their preen wings, fluttered soft, eyes fire aglow all things yellow. You arrived child. Down on your knee, feel purpose, worth, eternal wealth with us — eternally heal amid your huddled souls. The stage is bear and you stand there, sap flows everlasting in a thick head, weary soul. Nowhere to go but sit all alone, rub a fresh, pale heart. Nothing bleeds like this. How was I to know. So, I roamed… Chapter 2 written on my heart as red as this face shame for misunderstanding the true purpose of an indifferent space, without much grace like Samson tore it down felt a frown fire singe those phony wings Truth did sting. Stung retribution did not come but … More to add Chapter 3 Building to something For citizen journalist When You’re Defeated Shun me some more Bring it Fire glowing bright Make it burn hotter Don’t start respecting me And disappoint villain You on the ropes? Who’s the protagonist and antagonist When victors write his story Battles won, war fixed But I’ve just started Loving our game I’ll keep you standing When you’re defeated Asking to give it back Is like asking to give back all memory Even the good, and forced to refuse And conform because your yellow is wings like ours But, you’ll never fly, but could become Our anti-Satan. What does that mean?! Level up to our heaven, or Be forsaken. By who? Faceless? Who?? Shut up and drink gd koolaid conformist, I mean Child. Work in: The Daily Interrogation Collect it, disseminate it Get paid, no harm. What? We’re selling odd human souls, their collective worth Piece by piece. Junkyard/salvage yard scrappers Of decaying minds and broken hearts Hoping your love transcends their writing Into profits sold off site, black market, Under tables, while holographic corpses aimlessly drift How beautiful the carcass angels. Too bad They weren’t one of us. Florida is a good place To set up shop, card table, three card monte And dream of the big con, payday. 10.10.23 {line:╭∩╮(Ο_Ο)╭∩╮} |