wish and washo
asking for a prayer
gifted and quit it.
begging for the night
got the winter
the morning
the winter.
wore the crown
left your book
crown weighed a ton
ending the feud
ending the cycle
tour of france.
Tag: Blog
bubbles in this bitch;
rising tides higer bars loving times
they could never beat you;
they rubbed sand in your eyes
and you blinked in there face
bitch-
they can’t keep you down
your standards let them know that they are all clowns
probably should have inserted another noun
but it is what it is
the money makin’ ms
when you take the pop quiz
all the answers are b for back that shit up
i’m about to blowup
take a picture beacuse your makeup
could never look this good buttercup
blow bubbles on them babe
hit them with your cape
they are all just lesser apes
that gave up on their dreams.
i feel bad for them.
loading screen
adventures- here
gather around, this will take only a second
stop counting it’s a figure of speech,
you will lose.
respawn again and again
you weren’t the first
and won’t be the last
and it is okay.
the start screen isn’t the end
or the beginning
it’s today
jungle book:’
it’s raining;
a week of it or so
nothing stronger then the fire
you left and now everything is gunfire,
rounds in my captivity
less and less full activity;
the rain came and it was already a jungle
beast running wild prowling on uneaten remains-
i needed your sun
and the beast came
howling at night
hunting during the day
lay away pathway waste in a day
mayday – mayday
wish we could find the boat that day in may
and sail back, to an island
leave this jungle-
the rain washed away the map
in branches hiding from monsters
looking at the sky
hoping for a pause
looking at the sky
trojan horse
we fall
we rise
we find each other at the bottom
it’s not where we started but we here
here at a fountain;
throwin’ dimes
wishin’ for a miracle:
feedin’ weedin’ threw the muk at the bottom
can i get a dolla fifty?
fifty begging for air
yet
we got here
out of the weeds
through the open doors
into a day
where we could breathe fresh air
where the mornings are filled with jelly toast and cartoons
where the nights are not filled with open prayers and sealed letters
and this is Troy
blender
it swirls inside me
nothing i can do;
locked in a room and nothing but a light-
hearing the blade swinging round and round
a powerful swosh like top of nike hill
falling;
shaking with floating pieces of a being
i can’t make out
and everything goes black-
falling to pieces breaking bread with an unknown substance
racing the floor punishing like grapes meant to be wine
it’s not fine the blade has spoken
a mango blast
a tango last
caviar verse
jumpin’ off a building with a blindfold on
never feared the bottom when the lights go on
changed my id when light turns to dawn-
and jump;
-battered brain loose feel it ridin’ goose
–sailin’ true never lied or held the truth
—this is that moment it was never stolen (took you long enough)
like what’s up danger
i’ve been waiting for you
the miner
i challenged you;
further then i should have
the cracks are showing and your hair is thin
and i blame myself.
never told you when to stop
showed you how to quit
just a brick and a pedal,
and i only watched.
i should have asked what you were thinking;
what was the miner doing in the deepest part of your thoughts
was it gold he was finding or coal
but seeing your eyes i know what he was finding.
your hands were clean
yet your body ran red
the miner never quit
and you payed the price
and i blame myself.
i could have stopped you
maybe saved you-
now i search the miners left in the dark
the miners left in the dark
left on hold;
i wished for a miracle
i was put on hold;
humming along to we are the champion
i can see myself in a crown
before it melts
never replied
i’ll keep calling
you’re worth the miracle
silver medal
there is no where to escape
all exits are blocked
and i hold my hands
wishing on a star that i’m not acquainted with
not yet;
for an answer
the pedestal is so lonely
second; third is a ghost
and first, first is somewhere else
here and no crowd or medals
just a box with white chalk numbers.
no one would believe me;
with all these opened doors
they never checked the locks
no one remembered those nights wandering
smoke in the air – silence
no one remembers the phone calls they never got
dialed and hung up dialed and hung up dialed
just to hear an answering machine
to feel the chills down your spine-
no one talks about it.
so we just sit on a couch a ghost, the one who got away
and me, a silver medal
Saint's Muse 