PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I thought I could count my sins on one hand,

telling God I'm getting better, but I'm coogi sweater chilling in someone daughter bed. "Wake up shes here" shit, she pulling on my leg. When she want it, she need it, fuck it, we all greedy, her girlfriend dont even fuck her mind, and she love me because I always keep her wondering how. She never leaves my side because she know it's Bonnie and Clyde, I'm always down to ride. I'm getting better, I tell myself, God you sent me between them, I'm there to help. She texting me she want me, I'm trying not to want her too. But I hear her say it as I read it and I know it's true. And I want her to touch me in a way she's never even touched herself. Her mind melting in-between my legs, no consciousness but all head. When she done ill pick her head up by her chin.. 'I'm getting better'. And she'll kiss me cause she knows its true. She know I'm better right here and she is too.

Her words spit out as I  
feign interest with a nod.    
Then silence,    
A forceful pause,  
Her stern gaze pries.  
Though I’ve learned to hate her way,  
My words come out wrong.  
“I will not go!”  
“I will not be who you want me to be!”  
We start throwing fire.  
No breaks,  
No giving in.  
The words revolve around  
My spinning head.  
In her house,    
I could barely breathe  
With all these windows  
painted closed.

Oh, here-we-go again!

Dancing...

to the tune of the drum,

Dancing...

to the beat of the bullet,

BangBangBang,

Then faceless feet skip a hasty retreat,

while life-blood drains deadly,

streams down the street,

And it’s always the same, 

God given colour…

RED!

'Fenian Fucker!'

blindly echoes

'Black Bastard!',

crippled cultures

fervent rants

doused in petrol,

colours hatred chants

strike a match

take a shot,

'flegs' and voices

drums and guns 

to each their own,

noisy protest taunts,

unforgivingly

hatred haunts, hatred haunts.