Black Poetry : Maniac musings (random thoughts thrown into poetic form)

NileReflection

Active Member
REGISTERED MEMBER
Dec 9, 2003
31
2
Connecticut
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student
MANIAC MUSINGS
The Devil plays on the playground behind my mind, but only during recess-When I have Devil spelled backwards.
L I V E D
I see the shepherd flocking a wack herd of fake half-matical Pharisees-Out to kill me with Christ-Take a bite out of my flesh, host-I stay Ghost, mostly because I’m scared to be burnt toast-When I’m at the beach I like to wiggle my toes in the sand-Jiggle my prose in your hand-Thoughts of pickled roses-Frozen models pose naked, still-Some fake it still-even after the beat goes on, comes back and asks for the right direction-I give my man a night erection-By whispering the physics of light projection and gravitational pull-I possess hair of wool and feet of bronze flip flops-Dreadlocks and tank-tops that reveal my hips poppin’ to hip hop.
I give birth to multiple Earths, existing in the parallel dimensions-I want to escape, get out of this misty hell Dementia-Drowning in lunar seas of lunacy-I find no sanity-But remain sanitary from Diplomacy-I got a Diploma…see?
I don’t know where this poem is going-I don’t have a leash to restrain the flowing-My mind is blowing bombs over my friend Brad’s Dad-Too bad for Baghdad-Is that bad mommy, is that bad?
I’m only 17 years young but I have fantasies of boning in the backseats of taxi’s-And waxing my eyebrows in the shape of Crescent moons-I have fantasies of killing my foster mother who used to hit us with spoons-I swear the b*tch rode brooms-I have fantasies of playing laser tag in Timbuktu- And hugging all the Thugs at school-I have fantasies were I unplug the moon and rest my mind in the “colored” section of God’s bathroom-With the lights off watching all the saints masturbate and feel no shame-
It’s all a game ain’t it?
It’s all insane ain’t it?
So is you IS or is you AIN’T my bottle of black acrylic paint-Untainted by Global Warming-Five-O Gestapo swarming around Main street-My brain freeze like Pangea during the Ice Age-Give me a mic, page, stage and I’ll supply the Rage-I’ll consult the sage-“Oh, she’s just going through a phase, you know teens these days”-A million ways to graze this grass and get wasted-Green is free so why waste it?- Look in the mirror and face it-Look, he’s black, mace him-He speaks truth, trace him-He can’t move, let’s race him-Erase, Erace, Erayse-
My fingertips refuse to assist the Northern Resistance of my mind- so I’ll stop writing here (lie)- I stop time-But not mine- Catcher in the Rye-**** that bastard in the sky-A fly can’t bird but a bird can Fly-Don’t really know why, who, what, when, where- Sometimes I don’t care-Don’t stare while I put my straightjacket back on and inject myself with reality’s anesthesia…
 

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