Each line of a pencil which is drawn,
I will dedicate.
Each color that was is and always painted,
I will devote.
In turn, this is to commemorate in loving respect to the one who fostered my spirit,
who gave not just my creativity,
who gave not all forms and format of communicative form of life.
in his honor,
with your powers,
to be in awe for you.
I got invite you here to reside that rest between,
my thumb and the index which all of the force from you,
and into my own.
A purple moon shone once upon a dismal day in a life of Cain’s dissaray.
A smirk once shed a smile on her eye’s that shone only a viloent lust that did thrust,
and yes she did trust, only to know.
If she did do,
kept her vengeance in sight,
not just that love of eden,
would and should have been hers,
She will need to wrestle all of,
and none of.
Only to see,
that this one,
came for her and her only.
I am with u,
no longer alone,
u r with me,
In a sense,
I wasn’t alone to begin,
There would be no end,
‘coz in you,
I am in a hell of a fight,
and purely in heaven resting in your light.
Move your mind with the rock of faith.
Move your heart with the belief of doubt.
Move yourself to the unknown and trusting the love of the unseen.
Go ahead mock me,
Go ahead try me.
I know in my head I am not even here,
I know in my head I will not hear.
Your pleas of your own suffering,
Your own affliction of your addictive conditions,
Then tell me you need me to exorcise your pains.
I will bear it,
I will linger in my own prayer.
Yet when everything is good on your end,
You turn around and give me to society and say:
I am the one who needs to be put away
to justify your ends and gains,
only to benefit your own ego to know,
you were not alone only to tell everyone
Tituba was with me all along,
that you said to them:
I am the king of Golgotha.
It said in its beginning,
. . . “In the image of us”.
Then let all those,
Who keeps to contradict,
Who keeps all hypocrisy,
Who keeps all records of its societies.
Wait. . .
He did said it best,
Two of each kind to be with “us” on that same boat.
Which one is it.
One or two?
Wait . . .
If there is good
There has to be evil.
If there is a male, the other female.
Ok. . .
There has to be two.
For if it were only one,
Then reproduction of life was asexual,
Not intersections of life.
Who is that on my mind,
Whispering such delight and delicate nonsensical emotional attack.
Telling me that I am righteous,
Shouting at me and gearing my Id to armor up.
Giving me that I can be,
That I could be,
That this should be,
That there would be.
Although I hear in my ear,
Choose wisely to know,
What is the deal with the muscle that which is none without its soul.
Back off asmodei.
Get away you little beelzebub.
Pesky imps that of Diablo’s counter-mind.
Get out you festering devils,
Get out of my head.