† Pseudo-High

You give me that
pseudo-high when you look in my eyes.
My internal organs have been set on fire by the tension
between our written fate
because you know that your genesis was signalled
to coincide with my creation.
My addictive substance, my fatal lover,
you’re my nicotine downfall,
my ketamine destruction, my dose of lethal injection
and I’m falling into this descent,
running towards the verge of seeing this white light
but as long as you’re by my side
I know that I’ll be fine.

You give me that
pseudo-high when the roughness subsides
and we’re side by side in our fortress made of sheets,
scented candles wafting in the air as you
take the lighter from the nightstand and light up a cigarette
and drown our love in tainted smoke.
I breathe in your essence and I’m stoned once again,
becoming one with the sky and tasting a slice
of superficial heaven.

† Libra

I once spoke of cerulean skies,
but you ignited my dreams with your crimson fury.
I wanted to escape your desolate hell,
desperately running from your blazing grasp
and into the arms of serene waves
but I’ve learned now that my destiny is with you.

You balance me out.
When the tidal waves soar high above innocent grounds
and threatens to initiate its destruction,
your volcanic force ceased my uncontrollable rampage.
When your merciless soul cast a dry spell across the land,
my deluge gave them new life to admire once again.
At times, you are darkess and I’d be radiance
and our roles would often reverse but it remains true
that I’m safe when I’m with you
and I’ll be your hero until the word dissolves us both.
Be my savior and I’ll be your faith.
Lose yourself in me and I’ll be your guide.

Let my waves quench your flames
until night transforms us both into beasts
and I’ll let you ignite, let you drive our passion
until we reach the point
where our nest becomes an ocean.

† Friction.

I should be yearning. You got me all fucked up in the head, making me sway to the left instead of being on the verge of being right. You got me staying up past midnight, attempting to decipher your actions and the bullshit you’ve strung together, exporting silence and no traces of whispers. I should be yearning. I should be pursuing you as if we were caught in the wilderness, where you’re the prey and I’m dying for a taste…

I should be. I should be. But I’ve already got the taste of you in my mouth and it just won’t leave. I already shed your innocence and spilled your blood. Who knew that humans have such a power to great a grand facade? You say you’re pure? I know your impurities. I’ve pushed past your usual boundaries, and I’m satisfied with the hour long friction between my skin and yours. I’m satisfied with the excavation of your inner psyche, revealing the monster hiding in the deepest portions of your brain. Knowing that you have no limits is keeping me sane. We created fire, and now you want to burn us alive? So be it. I have no regrets. For that moment in time, I had no morals, but neither did you.

It’s over. It’s done. Fuck it, though. I’d have to admit that it was pretty damn fun. See you around, but if not, that’s cool too. This isn’t the first time I’ve been in a collision. Hit and runs are too fucking common to me nowadays.

(Source: jhayjhaythejetplane)

† Cannibalism

The candlelit room allowed me to get under your skin,
under the fortress made of sheets,
under your innocent guise,
and that which lies within.
No music plays, but suddenly came a symphony.
Allow me to be the conductor, my love.
I vow to give you all of me.
Start off the crescendo, let’s find out how far you can go,
let the flames burn within us,
let this moment consume us.

Tear at me, scratch my back, curse at me
and I swear I’ll make you mine.
Your flesh tasted sweet.
They say you are what you eat,
so grace me with your noise, raise the volume of your voice
and just for tonight, my dear
let’s practice
cannibalism.

† Bad Bitch Mentality

She rapped in the tongue of Kimberly Jones
and even stenciled in her bad reputation,
legs open twenty four seven,
it mattered not if they were fifty or two times eleven.
Living for dirty money and unsanitized needles,
dying for an hour’s worth of pleasure and tainted treasures,
accumulating drugs no matter how drastic her measure,
snatching up grimy glam at her leisure
because she was a bad bitch
and that’s what society labeled her.

Two shots of patron and a prick of rusted iron,
she’d find herself in a fucked up version of wonderland.
Drugged up bunnies squirming in a diseased hole.
Wasted mad men flaunting cash, religon not extoled
but rather thrown to the side,
no salvation could right this misguided soul
and she’d find herself bruised and cut up at the end of the night
but it mattered not whether it was wrong or right
because she was a bad bitch
and that’s what society labeled her.

She had her niggas and homies, pimps and lackies,
pistol in her drawer and cocaine bags stuffed in her panties.
She drowns in red and sees in green,
chases for the paper that’ll lead to the end of her days,
but she’s a beast and an animal with a torn out heart
and she’ll fuck who she likes, mug who she don’t.
She has no care in the world
because she was a bad bitch
and that’s what society labeled her.

Years from now, she’ll quietly pass.
Whether it be through a stray bullet or stabbed in the throat
with a sharpened glass and no one will speak of her name,
the newspapers won’t chronicle what led to her demise because to their eyes she was a bad bitch
and nothing more.
Just the death of another useless whore,
unadored, a soul abhored
and uncared for.

† Re: Sex, Marriage, & Fairytales

You call yourself a poet?
Let us engage in spoken word warfare.
I’ll be the armageddon in physical manifestation,
you’ll be the soldier unarmed, defended only by your skin
and your salvation from sin.
Here’s a bullet from my weapon of mass destruction,
can your religion put off your damnation
when the projectile pierces your skin?
Will your deity accept your penance to free you from sin?
Fools, fools all around us.
Fools disguised as good samaritans, fools that act
as if their words were truth,
and all else are lies
but when your words are stagnant and redundant,
who would believe your amateur rhymes?

Only those who bathe in stupidity
would state that there is only one solution.
Don’t you realize it yet, pseudo-poet?
We, as humans, hold the key to our very salvation.
You say love is a fairytale and we all worship sex,
but your rhymes ain’t complex, they just lack context
because religion may be a fairytale to some.
Yet you deny them the freedom of choice,
you deny them of their voice
so here’s our united shout from the whispers you silenced.
Here’s the final blow
that will send you to your proposed maker.
If his existence is real,
then will he guard your idiotic endeavors?

Armorless warrior, you are but a fool in the eyes of god.
Striving to fight in a nonexistent crusade,
making those in limbo into disbelievers.
We are god. We are religion. We are the church,
we command our own legions.
We need not no book, we need not no deity.
We are feared by all, we are
humanity. 

† White Swan

Voyeuristic desire, I seek it to feed my internal fire.
Her seraphim allure drew me in,
but as I approached her saintly figure, I began to think
of nothing but sin.
I felt the frigidness of my descendant’s synthesized weapon,
dreaming of ways to brutally maim that which I seek.
Thinking of a gruesome end for the epitome of innocence,
to spill the blood of a figure so pure
was my one and only wish.

To penetrate the mind of the uncorrupted,
to fill her head with my name and to revitalize my sick fantasies,
to turn them into reality,
I must shred her of her sanity.
Hidden in the shadows, masked by the forest that strangles the lake,
veiled by silence, I drew my weapon and slit her throat,
felt the warmth of her life on my hands
and I made love to the ivory until it faded away.
My white swan and I,
we bleed the same hues.

† Worship Me

You made love to the moon’s rays,
caressed the night sky with your prayers.
You swore to follow a path of innocence,
that sin is nothing more than a three letter word.
You sold your soul to a printed manual,
listing celestial laws and fabled disasters,
but your skin is made of sin,
your lips reek of broken promises.
Dare me to describe further?

Because the hands you pray with
slid into my pants.
I watched you grasp the growing beast
as my thirst for your love increased with the heat.
The mouth you used to ingest His body,
made its way down mine and you soon took form of a serpent.
One single descent, and you took me whole,
made me take the lord’s name in vain,
made me say your name in constant repitition.
Was I your religion at that very moment?
You seemed so focused, meditated even.
Was my pleasure your God for that one evening?
Your lips tasted his blood at last night’s mass,
but you pleaded to taste your hard work’s conclusion
and by the end of the night,
you made me a goddamn believer.

I love the facade you wear
when we’re not fucking in the car,
or making love under the stars.

† Birthday Cake

We don’t need to go out,
we can just lie in bed and replicate last night.
Light my candle and set these sheets on fire,
make a wish as you blow it.
I’ve never met your neighbors, but after our spectacle,
I’m sure they won’t forget my name
because you couldn’t help but keep it in your mouth
until you forced the icing down your throat,
until the fire consumed our passion and gave way
to aggression.

You tasted of vanilla
when I ate a piece of you.

Many of you believe
that love is a noun that we share.
If I’m wrong, then I’ll vanquish my sight
because what I’ll speak now
is a truth you won’t dare to rewrite.
Give me your all, my dear.
Turn the lights low
and let our bodies ignite.
We’ll turn love into a verb
for just one night.