A false sense of security
is set to the Jesus conception
of doing what you please:
He died for your dreams
to do as you see,
without any accountability.
After all, you believe,
He covered all your deeds.
Yet, what most don’t get
is that this is an invention of the West;
a Western mindset … that is.
So, as long as you go
under this false sense of know,
you won’t be forgiven a damn thing,
until you address it with the one named …
oh never mind,
for you already believe
your false sense of peace
as the West continues to dream
about a man god as their king.
Maybe one day
you’ll find your place
when you drop to your knees,
facing towards the mind of the East;
understanding the precepts and decrees
of whats real and not make believe.
It is better to love than to hate;
For one brings us to edify and create –
the other … complete retaliation
within the mind … until its too late;
but rather a hellish fate;
a life empty and drained –
a melancholy state;
left for dead;
alone with no hope;
for all who tried to love,
you rejected like a rebellious son;
the rain fell,
disdain did swell.
If I could get away with murder,
this is what I'd do;
into the forest we would set loose,
to play a little game between us two.
Hide and seek would be our little plan,
without you ever knowing what was at hand.
For as you counted, from one to ten,
as the numbers ticked with every minute spanned,
I would slide behind the tree where you stood
gliding the rope around your neck, so crude.
Inch by inch, I would squeeze your breath
until unconsciousness brought you closer to death.
And onto the tree you would be tied,
covered with honey from the bee hive.
Next I would rustle a hungry brown bear,
leading her, to a treat so rare.
Then in an instance you would awake,
as you watched her bringing you to your fate.
Limb by limb, she would tear,
as I watched you screaming in agonizing fear.
And when she was done with her little golden treat
I would cut the rope as you slumped to your knees.
Twenty-four hours after the deed was done,
I would call the police with a story so deep;
my friend and I were on a weekend trip,
he took a wrong turn and slipped down a cliff;
tumbling down he lay limp by a cave,
just like a man dead in a grave.
Then before I could let out my breath,
I watched in horror as the beast brought death;
she ate my friend while he was alive!
This would be my perfect alibi!
You know, just like they teach on prime time TV,
and at the movies on the big screen;
An object to fill your every sickened vice
that's deep inside man's repulsive twisted mind.
Someone to bow upon their knees,
to suck and lick as she pleases her king,
just as society teaches us upon the silver screen;
the fifty shades of filth,
as they try to soften the obscene.
It is twisted and sick;
moral's filled with wickedness;
it is godless, hell bent,
leading to a deadly eternal abyss.
For these ladies are your mother,
your wives, your brides,
your sisters, your daughters,
not your goddamn device
to use and abuse as you see fit.
They are to be loved;
as a bride,
as a beautiful wife,
as a partner for life,
as a love that is met,
sitting with you side by side …
in honor, and held high.
They are to be the apple of your eye;
not something that is eaten once in spite;
spit out and left out to dry
like a piece of trash that Hollywood
so sets the visions in your mind.
It is time to reset,
readjust your compass in life,
and look upon a woman with love,
not wicked sensual lust.
They are your bride, your wife;
a gift to be cherished for the rest of your life:
not a passing moment in time
to fill your goddamn sexual appetite,
regardless of what the industry tells you –
they lie, women are not for your appetite.
is like the preacher preaching,
his toxin of hate,
against all who don't relate
to the views that he spews
from his good news
of hell and death
to all that don't accept
his visions of life after death.
Morality is not about people's beliefs,
it's steeped in their political speech.
Left vs. right,
black feuds white;
doesn't matter in the political plight …
as long as the allegiance is right;
Whether one kills for political tension
or lives from the pressure of political succession –
they are brothers in the fight for political suppression
against all who deter from their political obsession
of bringing a world of equality through political correction.
For in the end all that matters
is the opposite side grows tattered;
beat down, bloody and broken
if they don't accept the political token.
Down the street, around the corner, sat a charming house decorated in
white. She rose two stories toward the sky, surrounded by a whitewashed
fence; the kind you saw when you visited grandma's house. And she would
win your heart. It was love, at first sight.
But if you stopped and listened, she whispered, "Keep out, or die."
For she was alive. Behind those French laden doors lay the most demonic
of creatures. She peered into the hearts of men from her bay windows.
She enticed them with her beauty while veiling her eyes with the frail
shutters she wore. And when crossing her threshold, she rained seduction
upon their souls. There was no turning back.
Those that entered her womb, she aborted with fury. She turned men
against women until murder flowed into their subconscious. And when they
lay across her bosom, caressing her every curve, she became their only
desire. Self-destruction became their world. They carelessly plunged
into the abyss of her wretchedness; fallen, smitten by her dark brown
planks of love. They filled her wooden veins with their last ounce of blood.
And as I turned the handle, I knew, but I walked into that house anyway.
Traveling the Egyptian desert in search of artifacts, Sam found a cave.
With a torch in one hand and a bag in the other, he entered. A hundred
feet in - SNAP! A backhand to the head. As the torch flew from his hand,
blood gushed from his head; he could no longer calculate the way out.
Staggering, he tripped over molehills and plummeted into a pit of
mummies. Face-down, something touches him. Startled, he watches a mummy
rise in full battle gear.
Half dead with his back broken, he snorts the cyanide as the sword bears
down upon him.
The newlyweds burst into tears when their grandparents offered them an
incredible gift; a house, with one condition. They had to use the paint
the previous owner left for the interior.
Without hesitation, they willingly agreed.
The next morning they raced to their brand-new home. Upon entering, they
noticed in the middle of the room a note taped to a bucket. It read,
"The rest is in the basement, have fun."
They removed the lid, laughed and said, "what a dark, sexy inky red this
is." Let the games begin!
Without a brush, they plunged their hands in, smearing it on the walls,
and each other. Oh, what fun, they roared! Once the can was empty, into
the basement they ran.
And what a horrific scene it was. Red liquid dripped from the ceiling.
It covered everything in sight. Alarmed, they turned to the left
observing chainsaws and butcher knives soaked with this liquid
substance. The bride leaps back in terror. Glancing to her right —
dismembered human remains.
They screamed in horror; "this is human blood, not paint!"
Sitting on death row they learned their grandparents made a deal with
the mob. Twenty years later, the debt was paid.
She's fully aware playing her part,
When her soliloquy brings its art.
She leaves her mark on the hearts of men;
Twisting and turning the whorish pen,
That writes the lines right into their heart.
She writes of dreams, with her loved filled dart,
Playing the tart, with every man's heart;
Supplies their needs, every now and then,
She's fully aware.
She is a temptress, playing her part,
Taking these men, destroying their heart.
With the flick of her tongue, she will pen
Any word needed to play these men.
For though they walk blinded by her dart,
She's fully aware.
Seventy times, they cried, they sang
- "Salvation belongs to G-d"
then with vocals paused,
they whispered Selah,
as they gave glory to G-d;
as the singers did end,
to offer veneration to G-d;
Eight o'clock Sunday morning kids up, dressed and ready for church. The
family huddles for the morning hug. Once done dad yells, "BREAK!" as
they sprint to the van. Baby in the back, teens in the middle, mom and
dad sitting front and center. Dad storms off to church as mom screeches,
"What beautiful children, we have my dear!".
Thirty minutes later they arrive. Worried they were going to be late for
the special ceremony, dad smiled at the children and said, "Wait here
for mommy and me, we will be right back."
Exiting the van, hand in hand, they make their way to the church. Upon
entering, mom glances back, waves, and then close the doors behind her.
Turning towards the altar, she draws the shotgun out from under her
skirt. As she waits anxiously, dad continues forward. He steals the
money from the offering plates, shoving it into his pockets. Before the
reverend finished the prayer, dad tabulated the earnings and yelled,
"What a blessing the Lord has presented this day!"
Frighten by the yell, a baby awakens screaming in terror. Immediately,
the clergymen spring to their feet, noticing offering plates scattered
upon the floor, and a man dressed like a priest running down the center
aisle towards the door. Not grasping what has happened, they yell,
"Stop! Call the police, we have a thief in the house of God!"
Before another word was expired, mom fired, blasting Jesus and the
crucifix. Dad plummeted to the floor as he watched in horror as the
cross decapitated the preacher. In that instance, they knew arrest was
inevitable. They would be incarcerated; taken to the midlands for
This idea, they were not entertaining.
Into the van, without a sound, dad rushed off. With the accelerator
pinned, he drove like an asshat on crack. Two red lights, then four,
hitting ninety miles an hour, blowing by the cops, the pursuit was on.
Dad screamed, "Good Lord, were through!" Heading for the freeway, he
accelerated to evade the cops. Veering in and out of traffic he smashed
everything in sight. He thought for sure this would stop them. But not
this time, the police closed in, they were determined.
Knowing it was only a matter of seconds before they were apprehended, he
laughed sadistically as he looked to his children, and then his wife,
screaming, "They're not taking us alive."
One Friday night Sally was home alone. She danced to the tunes of her
favorite Beatles album as she prepared for the auctions. She packed
every single knick-knack she knocked off around the neighborhood, with
care. Tomorrow, come noon, she will score big. In those boxes sat a gold
mine of cash.
Startled by a flash, she turns viewing the emergency alert, "Rapist
escaped, last seen on Downey Street, armed and dangerous!"
At once, she ran and locked the doors and windows, waiting with the
shotgun by her side. Thirty minutes later a knock, a click - the lock
got picked. Sally stood fast, waiting to teach this pervert a lesson. As
the door crept open, she seized her assailant's attention; stripping and
spinning as the sick bastard watched and sung a melody to bring fear.
But to his surprise, she grabbed him, shoving the defender of death into
his gut, forcing him to masturbate. And when he least expected it, she
reached in — SLASH, CUT — pureed at high speed, right into a cup.
With the barrel pointed, taking his last breath, he forced himself to
drink. BANG — she blew out his chest.
When Megan was young, she heard whispers everywhere. Many believed it to be the devil, others swore spirits of the dead. They didn't realize this was a gift, a gift allowing her to transcend time.
As the years past, the whispers transformed into vocals of rage. They sang of terror, of murder, of mayhem, forcing her to watch as their songs unfolded.
She would cry, "No more! Make it stop!" But the haunting continued. The time arrived for her to welcome this gift.
She joined the force and rose through the ranks. She worked day and night, case after case. Every case assigned; she closed! The felons would plead for mercy; for they knew and dared not challenge. In return, they received life without parole, instead of the electric chair.
Then one day, things changed. She was assigned a case involving a young girl that was beaten and left for dead. The damage was unimaginable. Sickened by the report, she went home and slept until the voices came telling of the horrors.
"Megan, three men entered. The organizer, in his twenties, was whipping
the child mercilessly. The second feckless perpetrator suffocated the
girl to the point of unconsciousness. The third shattered her eye socket
and jaw. They raped her Megan; they left her for dead."
Awoken, she could bear no more. "Justice must prevail!" she cried.
She calls in the lead at once, checks her weapons and heads out. Within
sixty minutes, she arrived at their location. She storms the building
finding the three men, stinking of whiskey, out cold. One by one, she
served them justice. She slit their throats, stretching their tongues
through the opening. The mark of a Mafia hit, the Columbian necktie.
They each gasped their last breath. Once finished, she fled unseen.
The next morning the newspapers read, "Gang violence: three men found
butchered in their apartment."
Her colleagues, aware of her ongoing investigation, worried she may have
been one of those murdered during the attacks. When Megan walked into
the precinct, relief overwhelmed them.
The case was now closed.
As she headed towards her office, the Captain replied, "Megan, we deal
with so many cases that never get resolved. You, however, never stop to
amaze me. How could you have known the mob targeted these animals for
She turns towards the Captain and smiles as he assigns her the next case.
This morning the quadrants of my heart were coming apart. My car
wouldn't start, no matter how much of a nudge I gave it with the sledgehammer. This was my first interview in four months, and now this!
So I did what any other rational person would do, I seized a brimful of
whisky and chugged every last drop. Right then, I knew I needed a win. I
could not forbear paying rent any longer.
I called the taxi and exchanged all my paintings for a ride. And to my
surprise, drunk and wasted, the job was mine!
I flicked off the light, turned on the tube to enjoy a show. Little did
I know the raster from the set would drive me insane, like a jet that
had to climb; missing a flagpole sticking out of the towers head. So
instead, I flattened the damn set!
Then, I tried a little herbal; self-medication to sooth my nerves. The
kind that makes the mind run wild as it races through your head; blowing
by the cops with the detector left unset, leaving you drenched in sweat.
sniper pulls back:
targets are attacked;
no more color of black.
Civil forces complacent,
as they sat in adulation;
worshipping their marks on the paper,
where bullets pierced the images of men.
Taught Oral Tradition,
not the precepts of Christian law.
by blending Judaism -
a new religion called Christian.
Teaching Paul's law, not G-d's.
Converting all to follow Paul -
engaged for eight months,
then we became transformed.
Married to my one true love,
until the day his veil wore thin;
he would undress me, then abuse me,
descending upon me in vicious rage
as I kicked and screamed in terrorized fear;
his unlawful act of carnal hate
overlooked by society;
hid in the vows of marriage;
the bride not heard or seen
until it's too late;
one more victim;