Cold & dead, tired of betrayals…

Dark streets, cold, cold concrete. This is a place that destroys the roses, no I’m sorry, roses bled red here. Mowed down, in groups – chopped to pieces.

Miss Diva Hustla-Divine lost her grip, she couldn’t keep everything together. All she had to do was plant the seeds, get the roses buried, so that when the time was right, they would grow and teach.

I was tired for a moment, my eyes won the battle and my brain shut down. I could feel the splatters, I felt cold. I don’t know how it is possible that I still roam the earth?

The doors of the church, flew open – WHAM, BOOM! The pitter-patters of ricochets and direct hits rang in my ears, the whooshes of air, the groans and moans, the last sighs. Handles long and black, trigger fingers slightly flexing and releasing, as the mass neared; smaller fare came out – tips of barrels broke noses, destroyed bones…


Footsteps cracked concrete, melted in it, slid and sliced and finally, click and clacked. Never-ending-slaughter….Waiting, tired of betrayals – when will this revelation time end? Lured into dark corners, outcast and forlorn.


~ by tashpoeme on February 5, 2009.

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