Mr. Quirky

© Aug. 30, 2014. All Rights Reserved.

They assume that I’m Christian.
If not, then I’m Satanist.
They’re confused just as often,
So I don’t just slit my wrist.
Yes, I do love Goth females.
Approach one, but it won’t work.
Honesty kills; no truth sells,
Yet I’m dwelling with a quirk.
Nobody understands me.
I’m just me promoting life.
Let greatness set myself free.
Where could you be my future wife?
Not that I need love to live,
But love really can help one.
A promise to more, I’ll give.
Yet, the future’s still not fun.
If the rumors could fade quick,
May I be lovesick or faint?
And this story’s really thick,
But it’s contained in black paint.

Genetic Light

© Aug. 30, 2014. All Rights Reserved.

The dominant color is black.
From genes, no original white.
Land felt black; it will come back.
Black, more powerful than the bright.

Light uses shine to fool the down.
True shine is where the heavens flow.
Light can blind the clearest frown.
Sight is black yet a white arrow.

They translate and eradicate.
Every Bible gets a word.
Every race supports a lie.
Mostly hope is money as fate.
Make it will; that is absurd.
Love cannot die; they can try.

Populate the world with white lies.
Subjugate the blacks for karma.
Black, a diversity of cries.
White, the fading era.

White traits come from the past blacks.
Outdated waits live as bright.
A hue is what the white lacks.
Light is no genetic sight.

Phase of Glory

© Aug. 26, 2014. All Rights Reserved.

In this phase of glory,
I could praise this story.
But the pages are torn.
My love was never born.
As written in letters.
Promise is what betters.

She was always written,
But she could not fit in.
There could be metaphors,
For my heart still explores.
How I cannot receive.
I am alone to leave.

Love was in a book.
How to overlook?
Love is the soulmate,
But will it be fate?

Why miss or never see?
She is from memory.
In my dreams, we share.
The pages are not there.
Give the title air, why?
Her name can make me shy.

I can feel the humor.
I crumble a rumor.
Pages are hard to turn.
Reading is my concern.
Love is missing in me.
Like words are heavenly.

No more synonyms.
Read more; the world dims.
Match me with my love.
What is it made of?

Nobody Hearkens to Love

© Aug. 26, 2014. All Rights Reserved.

All Cory wanted was to find love in this typical world. When women ask if he goes to school or works, he regrettably replies, “I’m a transfer student. I want to be a fashion designer.” So, he lives with his parents in order to survive life. Survival is not a promise from mind rape just as rape is not the only mental torture. Just as his family members either went to jail, or are in jail, the mental institute, or are poor, he is defined as a zombie.

“Witchcraft is the form of control,” his parents says. He never gets his own chance to live the life he wants. His parents argue why can’t he get a job, but tells him not to work at a slaughter house, ammunition store, and other places involving the mere thought of violence. Cory can’t go to the bathroom without his parents yelling at him about how he always frowns and doesn’t greet people. Damn, life sucks worse, for he knows he’s not normal enough to have a normal job with normal job skills. He’s simply creative though.

How can he approach the females without his parents trying to know everything? When where, why, how… The questions are endlessly irritating to how many times they’d ask in a day. Oh, he’s no normal 25-year-old, for he’s a bullied soul. He doesn’t just want sex from a woman, but the passion of love. Nobody hearkens a to his problems though. … Nobody.

You–My Curfew

© Aug. 24, 2014. All Rights Reserved.

Complicated to say.
I want you anyway.
You can breathe, and can die.
I’d marry you–no lie.

Complicated to think.
I’ll see you when I blink.
Everywhere I go–you.
You’re my trusted curfew.

You’re my true law controlled.
Parents yell–we’re not bold.
Policemen tell as known.
We’re apart–we’re not grown.

About the Toilet

© Aug. 22, 2014. All Rights Reserved.

Gasoline in the toilet.
I bring the lighter to sit.
As I shit, fire erupts out.
Now, you know what I’m about.

Satan Tells Me This

© Aug. 20, 2014. All Rights Reserved.

When the gangsters point guns,
They help the famous ones.
When the gangsters point knives,
They help the better wives.

Nobody’s gangster.
Satan tells me it.
Hate what I admit?
I don’t give a shit.
So, there’ll be murder.

When the gangsters point dicks,
They help the famous cliques.
When the gangsters point hearts,
They help the famous arts.

Nobody’s gangster.
Satan reveals this.
Forget this promise,
We can all rape bliss.
I know a prankster.

Cloud Sheets

© Aug. 20, 2014. All Rights Reserved.

Every time one yells in the “Cloud Sheets,” that person smiles. When one intends to strike, the touch never lands, so one is then pulled back a mile. The act of yelling is anger, but not sin. Thus, one has two more sins before exchanging places with a soul in hell. Oh, yes. … A soul in hell with unforgivable karma will never receive a chance at forgiveness unlike someone guilty of robbing. An unforgivable karma would be someone willingly eradicating or influencing to eradicate a large population of innocent people.

Heaven:

Angelina angelically speaks to Joseph, “I need you like a halo needs my presence, my beloved.”

Joseph forms a charming smile and says, “Tell me why I’d need seventy-two virgins in this haven when I have my love? Nobody shall separate us. Love is fate as God is love, and his knowledge is fate. God knows everything, so there is no true will. And He is a jealous God that I pray will not separate us. I beg of you my love, do not sin. I cannot fathom seeing you go and possibly never return. If you do, I’m waiting, and may you have all your senses and limbs in the form of a soul?”

“You have my word that I’m here for you as I promised in the realm of the Earth.”

Heaven feels realer than life itself and there is no need for time. There is no need for hate, but there can be hate. Just as Lucifer was cast out of heaven with followers, more angels can be cast down. Also, frightening Joseph, souls from heaven can be cast down to hell, for souls have free will. But God knows the future and is about love. The mere thought of God being cruel for allowing Satan to send souls to hell makes him panic, for God is plotting his place in hell.

After all the damn worship and all the time spent on Earth in hope for eternity of peace, there truly is none. The struggle for peace is slavery with prayers. God would be willing to separate him from his love if he has a thought of sin. All he can do is relax and cherish the moments, for he does not know his parents are in hell. Yes, they discriminated against other religions and sexual preferences.

Angelina refuses to use common sense, “Fuck Jesus! I’m sick of this shit!”

And the surrounding light battles her soul as she twirls down the darkness. Joseph cries with an outburst overshadowing the holy prayers of others. “God, I beg of you to take me with my soulmate.” Damn, the worse thing he could say occurred. The risk for love brings the couple to hell. So, the God is great enough to sin.

More is

© Aug. 16, 2014. All Rights Reserved.

More is a door to a sore,
For it comes more with a whore.
More is a score for a chore,
For it’s the floor to the door.
Or it’s the sore to the floor.

Shade Mopes in Shade

© Aug 14, 2014. All Rights Reserved.

Shade was his name, and he’d trade no shame. His routine was the same, and he’d never get paid. A girlfriend for him was never made. Shade cried in the shade. His only friend was the place where he sipped lemonade.

He’d mope, and he’d hope for all of his pain to cease. At least he had the only friend of shade to block his darkness from humanity. He’d please his pleasures, but the hope measured the myth of peace. Birthdays would always be missed. His eyes were in the maze of the shade. Also, his voice panicked to the harsh sound of the scintillating sun due to sensitive ears. Everything which crossed the path of his shade, he heard.

Shade would yell, but nobody noticed his voice. Shade broke his glass cup just to stare at the pieces. He’d wonder about how food would taste in the light, but would refuse to leave his best friend. His imaginary friends would laugh at him, but the shade would usually block their focus. With Shade having the shade, he struggled to rejoice, and laugh.