Anything But
Love me in the ways of fantasy, the rhymes of dreams.
Let rainbows of ecstasy shower and anoint me.
Wasted life stains the soft cotton (un)-covers.
The scene of a massacre,
Left to lie in ruins, devoured and left hollow.
Don’t I deserve the chase?
Don’t I merit disdain, anger and at last indifference?
Instead of work late lies, I am knees and elbows.
No dinners, no movies (unless I star, of course)
“That’s not us.”
“You not that type ma.”
I let you know me better than me because 7 ½ is better than cool sheets.
“So whassup wit that?” --is better than invisibility.
Right?
Better a backache than heartache.
Right?
Better to practice technique for Mister right.
Right?
If I must wear the bruises I may as well feel the sting.
Damn Right.
Dig deep and make some noise, I wanna feel it out and in.
You are right, that’s not us,
Well, it’s me but not with you.
With you,
fuck it, this’ll do.
Posts
4 comments:
Your spectrum is vast. That's about the most "street" I've read of you. Like everything else you write, I like!
indeed!
"Better a backache than heartache."
AMEN to THAT DERE!!
U certainly Dig DEEP, Sistah Femigog!
I come to pay homage to the winner.
Your emotions filtered through carefully chosen words at such high pressure made for a piece that was perfectly dark, intensely concentrated, covered with a thick, reddish brown layer of sadness, but with a very sensual after-taste.
Much respect,
Alizé (LoversA.blogspot.com)
Post a Comment