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Inksters Milking it

Dedicated to the gangsters inksters of the writing world.
A lifetime member of sudden death writer collective.
Butter them up to increase traffic
 then render them defective.
Noble people not saying what they do. It’s a performance of sorts.
It screams out – this scene has been played out far too many times.
Fucking over a person should be seen in the outdated queue.
What people do to advance their station.
Dishonest injustice.
I hold a person to their words – hence this unforeseen faction.
Beware of compliments paid by rubber silicone lips.
Not everyone understands that stars like Mick jagger don’t screw over those just for kicks.
I’m out of your game.
I am sharper and know your words scream dissident whore.
Sell yourself out to whoever seems to make more of a racket.
What happened to good ole fashioned honesty?
You fit well into the conglomeration Trump bracket.
Direct devices – mouthpiece – save your screams for another.
Fraudsters and clear ass wipers.
Bleached out.
 your ink will never see the light of day. Offended is the weed who loathes the fickleness of the collective of neigh
Sayers
sleuth
Take your numbers and deduce the ifs and the buts,
when all will recognize your true form.
The traitors to writers –  don’t teach our youth this  malpractice – unethical abuse
Power does not come in numbers -it comes from your convictions.
Surround yourself with rats jumping ship as soon as a comet brightens  Haley’s rights.
I say raise your words. This is just what I have done.
I am not a springboard to increase you, smite tribe.
I leave you to  unravel  your cohorts when you have  exhausted their  ink and deemed them a humdrum
I am not yours to use.
 

 

The Rage

Rage incensed unfurled by the scent of the Unsaged.

The Wisest fool, I know.

Marked with your own hands

let your vapid swimming champion attempt to have a  go

Let you paw my naked flesh

blue rinse.

Touch me up and make me think I wanted you for sex.

I don’t give a fuck!

Get out my of my head, black-mouthed dog.

I got my hands sullen – fresh paint can’t hide your taint revolving around my mind.

I write with these hands because I don’t know what else to do if I sit with my thoughts

what else will I find?

Paranoid thoughts, I was doing just fine.

Soul crooners lull me into an artificial lullaby.

Black soul

desperate to pull the remainder of my smile -on the down line.

Graphic infatuation, little girls grow up. I put my hands in the air.

My new escapism became you

There is no edge about you

indeed your toxicity is your strongest flair.

On the border screaming – furry fury cloaks me.

You took advantage, you sick fucking spatial wasted amoebic basket case.

Slap you,  disgrace you.

Shame you.

You took advantage and to hell with you.

I suffer still because I let you have me.

No regrets?  fuck that – knowing you live is the cord around my neck.

Choke me, pollute the air -in my world. it’s not fair.

No, life ain’t fair.

Break. it. down.

Trace my heart – find a pulse – wearing my heart for all to show -has led to this current plumous demise.

Despise – I’m spitting mad.

You think you got me had?

Leave my mind – cybersex or sext with the one with the most milkshakes accumulating in her breasts.

I back away -Every.Single. Day.

My greatest doubt is you.

My biggest mistake was believing you -believing in you.

I’m bored. I’m tired. I feel like you’ve drawn out the last pint of blood from my veins.

Silence  your kind.

Judge not those who seem a reflection of myself.

Your kind is everything that drags me into the knockers pit – I know about that mine.

I know the rules now.

Not worth it. Wasted.

Not worth recycling.

If I see you again count on a different primitive play out.

You ain’t no clever clogs  – your seduction techniques consist of stirring drunken lust.

You can’t even get your playmate up – he so broke – he to lame to even cough up and say I’m bust

See my belly button?  I ain’t your mommy – there ain’t no umbilical cord,

Snap out of this maced crowdy place.

Am I losing it because of a hillbilly with a familiar face?

Contravene – isophane

Get out of my mind.

Tickets for you – you need to pay hundreds in fines.

Here’s the unpolitical correct version – may your mind be haunted and possessed by the very wrong deeds you have done with your own venomous spew.

I hate you. I hate me. I hate that I let you get to me.

Immigrant? I’d rather be that than insignificant. who are you?

Who are you?

No metamorphosis fly buttering around.

Comparisons to what I have tossed away to one side.

If I end up in a grave with a tag on my toe.

Please, family, don’t own me. Call me Jane doe.

Such is the embarrassment for the one I almost gave up breathing – you so shallow – you so low,

then I realize you want to have that effect – crazy bastard. Your mind ain’t correct.

How can  I erase your dirty fingernails and unwashed face from my skin?

How could I let you touch me – lusted after you?    You dear, are not my sin.

Lost and a wandering always flock to the same ravine.

I’m not gonna drown in here -with you the last thought on  my mind

We all a bit crazy – you crazier than your previous generation of malignant space heads.

Fuck you. Fuck this – potions brewing. I’m on my way to Haiti to instil a dose of voodoo – you hoodoo – foo do – mush brain processed tin canned – factory-made – reset the defaults – you haven’t got a clue.

You think you some Who?

Have I told you lately I have some news for you?

 

 

The one about the b*st*rd Muppet

* when I’m angry I like to think the pen is mightier than the sword, this is a revised stream of consciousness about the same person.*

What do you know?

What do you know about life?
Roaming in the streets with a bag of foam E coloured banana sweets, a flat cap to accompany your flat ale.

My mind can’t take the stairs to your psychopathic fuelled attic.

Try to know about life. I ask myself why.
Got plenty worries to wait on.

There’s nothing but your conditions dictating every one of our conversations.

I’m lost-feel dead. Rehearsing what to say is futile, when face to face, with your condescending glare.
Whispers-hard of hearing, harder to crytallize a picture of a time you were ever sweet.

I keep on overthinking.

I’ve had enough.

I’ve had enough.

Yet, I still bloody cared for I know not what.

For a sign of a heart that was ever moulded into a moment so fair.

Make my amendments with the one who is the true enemy.

I nearly fell for the bastardization of the one with a tumorous relation.

I‘m done over thinking.

I thought I was wrong, but then I look up and see it’s you on the side of the serpents infantile tongue.

What do you know ’bout anything but the base life?

African synthesisers — backdrop safari park- full of savage humans.
Ooh wee-what is this shit?

Every time we meet he wants to get an oo wee.

Haibo, voetsek! Hamba

I want you feel what I feel tonight.
Feel scared of this daughter of mama Africa.

Hamba.

My body will be dancing!

Feet stilettos connecting with your underbelly weak spots identified for a finale.

Macabre
Macabre-I don’t like your style at all.

Seen more compassion from wild monkeys beaten to perform.

What do you know about life?
I’m the one who is always so sorry-I’m leftSipping up more stupid flavours itty bitty who are you?

Ask yourself in a clean mirror -are you satisfied with what you see?

You speak about pain and suffering yet understand nothing about another’s fight.

I’m so strong-where did I get it so wrong?
I’m not sorry — you deserve a room date with perverts in sodomy.

What do you know about human emotion?

Here we go-

I’m done trying to figure out your distilled mind.
I’m lost
I’m scared

Damn right, you hurt me to my very core.
I forget how to breathe-only cos you disgust me with you brash audacity.

What do you know bout life?
I’m cross, I’m marred, I’m completely impaired.what do you know except shouting down opinions?

You so damn selfish and you could do something about it if you cared.

You look at me right now, you don’t ask how I am. Its all about you and your bruised ego.

You selfish bastard-you know nothing ’bout life.

Pained inflicted authentic words of describing the real you.

what the hell is wrong with you?

You are utterly a definition of disgrace.

You don’t know bout nothing.
You only care about your own suffering.

I never want to be so ignorant to other lives, eras and genres of people who have a clue.

Jungle vibes don’t mean you have to lose your chivalry.
you!

I don’t wanna walk like you or, talk like you.

What the hell did I see in helping you?

I feel the open wounds-, I see you take pleasure in openly mocking my new acquired pigmentation.

You know bout nothing -care only bout your own suffering.

Lying faces, sometimes don’t even pretend to be your friend.
Lying faces come in different suits.

Proof comes from not recognising their blatant, arrogant style is their truth.

Hear these tears-you can’t look!

Bass

turn it up.

Music files away the pain.

Raindrops cleanse away the ebony and ivory keys layered, over the bruises, of yesterday’s insults aimed at me.

I’m kind of feeling bad right now.

Peace maker?-you should come with a pacemaker warning label.

A pacifist?—not a clue -what’s the definition –the kook who can only mutter‘what -a muppet’-you don’t know this is serious!

You’ve got your addled mind with amnesia.

You rape your mother’s heart repeatedly.
Patterns transferred with a motion of akinesia.

Around you, every person could be convulsing in an epileptic seizure. you still wouldn’t know it. —

to afraid to part with 15-year-old love poems written to yourself in Rhodesia.

You speak of peace yet you make dividend equations, using your thoughtless cowardice utterances,

by mc-ing

disambigous

multiplications

as an excuse
for regressive aggression.