May The Bitter Soul Win

ElseWhere

Tales, from the back rooms in hell,
confrontations with scales asphyxia from the ganja smell. 
Trapped in fiery shells itchy fingers release me to my doom, I guess that this is farewell?
Command me to be well, 
Command me to be well.

[Part II]
Granny would shed tears and say "baby, please tread lightly on the verge of the dark and the light."
I said "they both converge there on the  horizon where man emerged as day turns to night."
The coffins are no longer quiet, no silence, codeine has brought the dead back to life.
The dead have come back to life.
Unconsciously roaming through slums packing my lungs with the remedy for greater insight.
Formulating alibis as to why I plummet into Nubian thighs, each an uncharted cave in search of the meaning of life.
For she is the creation of life, and unfortunately as of lately i am the harbinger of its demise, and our cur...

May The Bitter Soul Win

Im ashamed, not because I write poems for women like you to cry to.
But that I drink and you become the same women I lie to.
Again, I'm ashamed.
the architect of pleasure and pain.
And a broken vase isn't as beautiful when you glue it back together, the same concept applies to people.
Because bad memories shine bright through broken stain glass feelings in your souls abandoned cathedral.
The Hennessy has been poured, may the bitter soul win.

Genies in Hennesey

Hennessy bottles get fondled like genie lamps clinched eyes wish of symbolic fortune.
And it is only portion, of my mind left to sit in loiter, in abandoned lots where only remains of ambitions are left to wether the trials of times torture.
You know what's torture? 
the fact I think I just sold my soul for a pair of ***ing jordan's.
And a gold nuse.
My granny would be ashamed, but the chain was succulent walking through the garden these j's lead me right to the forbidden fruit.
Or am I the forbidden fruit, or am I judas to my own cause or am I just not digging deep enough to grab roots.
I mean if Dr. King and Mr. X could have carved their debates between the scars on the backs of slaves, I was supposed to be what they authored.
Cuz your four fathers aren't my four fathers, 
your amendment rights and my amendment rights are different charters.
Perks get abused like repeat offenses of domestic vio...

Roses in cement

This is for the the black child because the black child is a rose,

But there is no beautiful emaculate vace to protect them as they grow,

But somehow they bloom they blossom from the ugliest crack in a street of some forgotten ghetto,

Lord knows I shead tears for their souls,

Lord knows I pray for their souls

The Loss of Cleopatra

Cleopatra where are you black mother to hold and comfort me in a world where dreams of Children in gaza rip at my soul so destructively.
In a lobby as God holds meetings with facualty on wether I should be struck down for blasphemy in my lack of faith in whether he actually.
Whether he actually does care, or does he sit there in some Golden Chair acting as if he is unaware of the millions of children cimbing through clouds with young wings and halos that float over nappy hair,
I hope he is unaware And if he is aware I hope it all has reason, You know?a purpose.