The rapist

I´m the unlawful rapist!
words conveying
the ugly saying
sexting while nippling
at ease woman
or I´ll insert the pen
screaming like a wild hen
I´m the unlawful rapist!
of
controversionalist
existensionaist
persionalist
and add to the fry
delusionalist
so,
the rapist of words!

Stay Frosty gents and gentesses

Witness!!

You´re about to witness
some crazy mess
of writing nonsense
but I got the beat on it
so go out and take a spit
then skip till you do what you do
do best and take a rest
since I like batman I have my own Robin
like Hussein got his Laden
busting and fasting
dirty waters
flowing word showers
you´re about to witness…
damn, I just wrote this silliness scam
while listening to some music
a bit of silliness
in middle of my mind wilderness.

Stay Frosty gents and gentesses.

Suffer.

She will,
only become,
aware of,
the severity,
in the things,
that she,
has insistently,
gone and done,
when she admits,
to the obvious shifts,
in the gazes of,
the Almighty Ones;
she will,
finally be outdone,
deep inside of,
the smoking barrel,
of a black market gun,
will she submit,
to the things,
that she’s let,
grow into beasts?
Or will,
the darkness,
finally,
swallow her,
in totality,
just to make,
itself regurgitate,
her existence,
repeatedly;
the day will come,
undoubtedly,
a day that makes,
today seem sweet,
like times of joy,
full of ease,
gobble them,
swallow them,
get down,
on your knees,
a day will come,
that defines suffering.

Weekly Challenge May4 – Duets – “Hell’s Hand Satchels”

Written by Mockingbird Down and Americana Injustica

“Why do we sit at this table, my Friend?
in the back of the bar behind the pirate’s curtain,
I believe that we somehow have each been,
on separate paths to the same trouble, again;
these kinds of places mean only one thing,
the scars on our faces are rather telling,
now let’s drink and divulge in our comradery,
but, why is it that your hands are trembling?”

“Don’t sip so fast, my dear. My hands only
tremble because of the quieted rage I have grabbing
at my chest. Can you see them, love?
The demons of the bastards and the whores as they
laugh and squeal in time to each others bleating?
I have brought us here, for clear and precise reasons,
and your scars will only serve you well by the time
the reckoning has begun. It is a very beautiful night.”

“Aye – you’re right; what a perfected, star-filled sky,
epochs in time, they still shine – a shrine to you and I,
a luminary mapping of the vengeance in your eyes,
a twinkling mirror image of the bastards that must die;
Now sit back and let your chains down, my friend,
indulge in the strength of our unity, once again,
we both know how it goes: it’s us against them,
in an infinite war for the Hell that we find comfort in.”

“You speak truth. I have grown weary of these chains
and the weight they add to my steps. My shoulders have
become accustomed to carrying burden of injustice; Hell’s
hand satchels; filled with the names of the hunted horsemen
who failed to do what we must do. But – I share this load with you;
my kin both in the infected shadows, and in the guileful light.
Intoxication it is, my friend, both of the mind and of the body.
Tonight we watch the stars unfold, and light the way for morning.”

Empty Seats.

Mocking Bird Down

mv-an-anatomie-in-four-quarters-dancer-empty-theatre-seats-climb_1000

The cold crept in, like dry ice on my own
private stage. The performance of a life time,
to be danced in the dark, with only empty chairs;
frayed and a dull worn out burgundy,
all numbered. Lights off, and just the
beat of a half remembered tune in my mind.

No grace in this face. Just heavy and jilted
movements. No perfect lines in this spine.
I ache when I move, but this is my own version
of a less than eloquent love story, and to me,
It feels more like an effort to breathe.
The numbered empty seats will not mock.

I don’t need nor want applause for my awkward
bended knees, or my outstretched hands, or for
the insecurities I fail to hide in my silly costumes.
All I care for is the freedom to twirl in time
to the one line of an old unnamed song…

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The Mirror Sestet Challenge: “Cat’s Tongue”

Cat’s Tongue

Thunderous were the nights that left our minds blind,
blind were the eyes – the voices of the Gods: thunderous,
Gone are the days in which we wore genuine smiles,
smiles that layered us with the dust of good days, long gone,
Time has been cruel and rough as a dried-out cat’s tongue,
tongue the inside of my many painful snapshots in time.

Behind shadows and darkness, the light will still shine,
shine down upon the carcasses of ourselves we’ve left behind,
Beneath the ocean’s swaying swells that lull the deepest divide,
divide the difference – multiply, delete what remains beneath,
Blind to the cohesive fabric connecting us along an invisible line,
line up the pawns and the rooks and the knights, the royalty is blind.

~Smother~

mystery

Woman of mystery
Writes her own history
Chooses what she’s sharing
Circumspect or daring
Changes her masks, one after another
Each designed and made to smother
So she can bury her emotions deep
Under each mask to keep
Anyone from seeing her true face
And each line you could trace
With your finger the pain and grief
Etching her misery

©Paris Poems 2015

~Declined~

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Please help me to understand

Your reaction to what just went down

Was it too much to ask

Did you feel it too big a task

Your anger disproportionate

Your venom inappropriate

Perhaps it’s just me and

This was how things were meant to be

Please direct me for I am lost

Was this your price, your final cost

Forgive me then if I choose to decline

I’ll just do it myself next time

©Paris Poems 2015