The Writing Thread.

[joust]

Hey i never saw a legitimate writting thread, so after reading the thing just posed in "Three In The Morning..." (which i really liked by the way) i thought i would start one.

So feel free to post whatever you've written. Stories, poems, lyrics anything.

Heres some stuff i have written. The first is something i wrote really really early in the morning so i was really crazey. the second is something i wrote while sitting with a kid at the camp i work at after he got in trouble, which he did every day. the 3rd is a random poem i wrote for this competition on www.poetry.com (i think thats the URL). I am a really bad speller so please stick with me.

Lo, but in the darkness i see no evil. For that is my will. To see with out fear what is truly in store for me. That which begrudged me from the day I was born. Though I may scoff at the matter, I find it fit to address it with the most elegant moral dignity. Although this false prophecy of a balanced spirit may through me off the the cobblestone, i will yet find the path. The path, though beaten and well traveled, has not seen yet its last day. For a new walker, a soulless one who's hollow eyes see complacency in everything. For when i walk this path alone, my soulless shell is not alone, their is the light one to guide me to my final destination. Fighting back tears I sit here and write. Sodium falls from my face, accumulating on the crevasses. Why you may ask? As i find it fit, i will answer with lo another unscrupulous answer; Why not? As I cannot control that which was seen fit to give to me, I cannot control this emotion from which this physical reaction stems. Perhaps it is a inner emotional trauma in the eyes of change. I fear change like a fear my own shadow, weather it is good or not has yet to be discovered. Then again can one truly study their own shadow without reflecting onto their own psyche the ideas of idealism. This phantasmal shape, no definition in its moral or dignified shape, simply a portrayal of its forlorn master, pondering its own ability to comprehend the notion. As I ponder the forlorn theory of my shadow, it brings to my attention the question "why the fuck am I writing this" but the answer seems all to clear the answer is like the tide; "im really fuckin tiard that's why"...



He sits alone in the office... the troubled kid. He mixed all the paint together in arts and crafts, and hit a counselor square in the lower back. Now, this once rowdy, angry boy sits quietly, fidgeting with the Velcro on his shoe waiting for his dad to pick him up. Gazing up at the ceiling, and the kids playing outside with pessimistic eyes; he releases a sigh. A 5 year old boy, looking like a 21 year old inmate on death row awaiting the inevitable. His condition is forgotten with the offered prospect of going outside to get his lunch box. I'm willing to bet that his mom in her power-suit making his lunch would have broken down had she known the caged conditions under which it would be consumed. The office is old news to him, every inch gazed at while waiting; lectured endlessly. Everyone knows that if you hit kids in summer camp, the downward spiral of reproductions, inexorably leads to your failure to graduate high-school, starting with the 1st grade. Every inch of the battered office scoured ... in a vain effort to avoid the ones containing prying eyes.


Phantoms,
Shapes in the dark
Reaching into my soul with cold dank fingers,
The tips scraping my very being.

When is it my time I ask,
The faceless reaper holds his tongue.
I fight, trying to cling to what's left of my life,
But the tide is coming faster then expected.

Sinking into the abyss,
The endless void of reality,
I press my face into my hands,
Grasping for a memory to hold on too.

-Musashi (my pen name )

thanks for reading and post on. Im sorry if i just totally missed another thread like this.

EDIT- yeah i know i spelled writting wrong in the title sorry.

[oblong]

very good idea
i have a few screamo songs written
be up soon

[FOEone]

man, i can just see this thread right now exploding into a forum for every 13 year old who thinks he's a poet or some tortured artist. oh well. have at it.

[Alchohlics_Anonymous]

^but FOE, didnt u like it? :blink: it was pretty good.

[oblong]

foe? waht if it does?
people are basically just expressing themselfs throught means wich are not art

[DNA]

some poems i did for school, might as well contribute

The Three Little Pigs that Lived in Florida

Once upon 2004, there were
3 little pigs that moved to Florida,
One moved into a romantic beach house made of
Reeds and bamboo.
The second moved into an economical trailer home
Made of cheap tin and drywall.
The third moved into a hurricane proof house
Made of cinder blocks and quick set cement.

So on the 13 of August, big bad
Hurricane Charley came knocking into Florida.
Charley said, “Evacuate, evacuate,”
But the 1st little pig said, “No, no, by the hair on my chiny chin chin!”
Charley said, “Let me in or I will knock your house in!”
So Charley knocked his house over and killed the little piggy.

So on the 5 of September, big bad
Hurricane Frances came knocking into Florida.
Frances said, “Evacuate, evacuate,”
But the 2nd little pig said, “No, no, by the hair on my chiny chin chin!”
Frances said, “Let me in or I will knock your house in!”
So Frances knocked his house over and killed the little piggy.

So on the 17 of September, big bad
Hurricane Ivan came knocking into Florida.
Ivan said, “Evacuate, evacuate,”
But the 3rd little pig said, “No, no, by the hair on my chiny chin chin!”
Ivan said, “Let me in or I will knock your house in!”
So Ivan tried to knock his house over but just couldn’t

So he tried to get his power down and lure out the little piggy out
He said to the little piggy, “I’ve made landfall now I’m nice and safe,”
So the little piggy came out and fixed up parts of the house mean old Ivan broke
Just as the little piggy got inside Ivan came roaring back.

He tried to lure the little piggy out two more times,
He just couldn’t catch that little pig.
So, he decided to try to go down the piggy’s chimney and
Blast him to the wall dead
When he got there he realized that the chimney had been hurricane proofed.
So Ivan finally settled down and went to Alabama.

Moral: Hurricane-proof your house and don’t try to ride out a hurricane.

____________________

PRICELESS

10 cans of Rustoleum brand spray paint…

$29.80.

2 Sharpie Magnum 44’s…

$7.20.

1 OTR .084 Flowpen…

$6.95 plus shipping.

Not getting caught by the police,

Priceless.

_____________

Seven Ways of Looking at Street Art

I
Among twenty tall buildings,
The only thing pretty
Was the street art writing on the walls.

II
I was of a million thoughts,
Like walls
In which were painted with street art.

III
The street art whirl like summer flowers.
It was a small part of a large piece of street art.

IV
A boy and a spray can
Are happy.
A boy and a sticker
Are happier.

V
I don’t know which to prefer,
The message of street art,
Or the simplicity of a sticker,
The slap of a sticker
Or just before.

VI
People filled the subways
With heavy breaths loathing the ever impending cubicle.
The deep black shadow of ink
Swirled around in circles and lines.
The mood
Outlined in drippy red
Left completely indecipherable.

VII
O bustling people of the city,
Why do you loathe such work?
Do you not see how people work,
To get you to notice them
And the name they put in?

________________

COUCH POTATOES

Lazy,
groping in there filth,
People are potatoes.

Greedy and self centered,
never an lending an eye for another,
People are potatoes.

Ugly,
ingrown eyes and flailing arms,
People are potatoes.

Unclean,
covered in dirt and grudge,
People are potatoes.

Dry,
personalities as lame as dirt,
People are potatoes.

[SALVO]

regoddamndiculous

[fuckgraffFLIX]

Iam a human being, Iam an artist, and one of the art’s that i do is graffiti…
U know what ? graffiti saves me…and at the same time it kills me…

U know when your girlfriend or your boyfriend is also a graffer, and u both live in the same town…well thats whats going on with me here…and let me tell u a little about it….

Iam going out, plastic bag in hand, true colorz, flat black, marker’s and a mop
Iam tagging along, getting stressed and loving it, i like to take my time…
I know ill never get caught, coz i beleive i wont…i never have and i know i wont…
Coz doing graffiti for me is a gift of love, a gift of god i give to any one who lays eyes on my simple tag or throw up coz then he or she will be touched by something beyond logical…its going to touch his or her soul…i dont paint for robots or maybe actually i give a soul matrix to them robots…

But then u know sometimes i go out with the person i love, we tag together, the human i love is a magnificant graffiti artist, my first influence, and iam not talking about some bullshit graff here…art that is perfect and so original that i admire…i feel such a magic…we look out for each other, we brag about the famous spots we just hit, we kiss…oh i love this person so much…and fuck do i love graffiti…lets go fuck baby…paint on our hands…hectic sex and amazing friendship ahead…

But then suddently my lover leaves me, just like that without giving me news iam going crazy and the only thing i can do to survive is to paint, make stickers, go out late at night and hit everything so my soul mate will see iam still alive…i wanna impress that person all again…hit dangerous spots on my lover’s road to work…with to much time on my hands i create beautiful things to never be forgotten ….will i ?

But u know what ? even if iam forgotten… iam fucking happy, even when tears come in my eyes becose i cant escape that person's presence who has tag’s all over my little part of town, iam taking over, iam buffing the walls with my paint, iam living my life and escaping sadness, suddently i love myself and life, and iam putting all my new colorful stickers in my coat pocket and then look at me…. iam fucking flying around the whole town at 3 am and iam fascinated by it all over again…passing softly my hand on an old tag of my loved one

Then i stop, in some alley in some staircases..i feel the city…i breathe it ...its so calm , no cars , nobody…

I then shoot an arrow of love in thoughts of my angel…prays that it reache’s…

I walk home and wash my face and my hands…throw my clothes in a corner and iam off to sleep talking pictures in my dreams of all the things that i put up that night until i get to the street of my baby and slip under the covers and squeeze my honey tightly ….low pressure…ZzZZzZZzZz

Aint i so fucking poetic HAHAHAHAHHAHA

:rolleyes:

[meks]

SCREAMO! YES!.......... SCREAMO!!!!!

[joust]

Originally posted by FOEone@Feb 6 2005, 07:38 PM
man, i can just see this thread right now exploding into a forum for every 13 year old who thinks he's a poet or some tortured artist. oh well. have at it.
im 17. and if people want to share what they write, who are you to critisize them? sometimes i like having people read my stuff and tell me what they like and dont like.

[Alchohlics_Anonymous]

Originally posted by meks@Feb 6 2005, 09:31 PM
SCREAMO! YES!.......... SCREAMO!!!!!
wha??? :blink: :blink: :blink:

[FOEone]

Originally posted by joust+Feb 6 2005, 09:50 PM--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td>QUOTE (joust @ Feb 6 2005, 09:50 PM)</td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'> <!--QuoteBegin-FOEone@Feb 6 2005, 07:38 PM
man, i can just see this thread right now exploding into a forum for every 13 year old who thinks he&#39;s a poet or some tortured artist. oh well. have at it.
im 17. and if people want to share what they write, who are you to critisize them? sometimes i like having people read my stuff and tell me what they like and dont like. [/b][/quote]
you misunderstand. im just saying that there are a lot of kids out there who think that they can slap some words on paper and call themselves artists. i wasnt referring to anyone in particular. not you or anyone else, but come on. you know there are TONS of people like that out there.

[joust]

oh yeah man i know, but i dont critisize them if they are really trying. People who slap words on paper however, are not trying and should be flogged with salmon.

[oblong]

Originally posted by meks@Feb 6 2005, 09:31 PM
SCREAMO&#33; YES&#33;.......... SCREAMO&#33;&#33;&#33;&#33;&#33;
:wub:

[Havoc411]

ugh. POETRY DOSENT HAVW TO BE NAGATIVE&#33;&#33; alot of theese phonies dont get that. and they make poems about killing themselves and about how they hate everything. lighten the fuck up. "things might be fucked up, but im still looking up" <-- words to live by

[Alchohlics_Anonymous]

^who said that??

[Havoc411]

nobody, just felt like saying that. cause all those "deep" wannabe poet fags only talk about dark and morbid shit and i hate it.

[Alchohlics_Anonymous]

hahaha sounds like those goth fags i see at school. fuckin losers.

[Skore_One]

grafitti bobeety banana fanna fo feety GRAFFITI&#33;

[inker]

first shit i ever wrote i wrote it today in homeroom cause i was bore
check it Murder Scene

Ill hit you with my paw right in your fucking jaw once yo fall ill beat you with my feet kid you cant fuck with this and if you try ill your fucking head wit lead this shit is ill you hear me and your heart fills wit feardont test your luck cause once your found im bound to bust cause I pack a glock and i keep it clocked dont even talk to me cause i might throw a fit and you will get hit man ill punch you in the dome punk go cry home paint and weed is all I need kid dont step to this you will get jumped once im done your face ill be plumped and your body dumped kid you aint nothing but a fake turn around and your bitch might get snatched complain about it and you might get smashed kid they call me soon but i dont go out till noon and when i do you&#39;ll be doomed punk i got a gun so i suggest you run go ahead test your luck lets see how fucked you are kid i wont fight you ill light you up kid dont hate on me unless you want to test your fate kid you aint no killer your a fiend and once my gat spots you i&#39;ll end you ill hit the murder scene with gasoline and matches ready to turn you into ashes

wath do you think

[inker]

ill your fucking head
ill fill your fucking head wit lead

[inker]

hahaha sounds like those goth fags i see at school. fuckin losers.
fuck goths&#33;&#33;&#33;&#33;

[tre'tre']

so inker you carry a gun?

[inker]

so inker you carry a gun?
na but i can get a couple barretas if im in too deep

[tre'tre']

or do you just makes up shitty rhymes so people on the forums think you
"hold a glock" and make "murder scenes"? so youll make them think your all badass and hard?

[tre'tre']

like murdering people is cool?

[inker]

or do you just makes up shitty rhymes so people on the forums think you
"hold a glock" and make "murder scenes"? so youll make them think your all badass and hard?
your an idiot

[inker]

like murdering people is cool?
my rhymes were dedicated to haters like you

[tre'tre']

people who have killed do not brag about it.
your pathetic.

oh and thank you for the dedication

[inker]

people who have killed do not brag about it.
your pathetic.

oh and thank you for the dedication
im not bragging cause i never killed n-e one hey you ever listened to necro alot of ppl seem to like him and he talks about killing ppl alot so fuck off you sack off shit as a matter of fact im listening to him right now check it
Yeah my mafia&#39;s like a posse of ya soldiers trooping through
Bosnia
Body ya; To bury ya with a hundred bodies on top of ya
Your life&#39;s expired, you&#39;re on the floor dead with ya&#39; arms out
like ya tired
My shit&#39;s crazy like animals spreading rabies and dead babies
And bodies wrapped in plastic, etrocities like these are drastic
Cut you open, shoved a spike in ya liver, your veins are like a
river
Blood flowing through veins like roads on a map
Open the hole..back of ya brain
Perform surgery while you&#39;re asleep
There&#39;s no difference between you and sheep
You&#39;re dead meat, get your throat cut to the beat
Machinery dragging you by ya feet
If ya hungry you&#39;re dying to eat
Choking on Alpo with a scalpel in your adam&#39;s apple
And a calico slug in your asshole
I&#39;ll put you in a chapel
Kid you should be careful fucking with a butcher knife
Pack of that will butcher you like a jackal

[tre'tre']

yes ive listen to necro,
i think he has his priorieties out of wack, but at least he really is hard,
i think your just a kid whos trying to be to be "gangsta"

[inker]

i think he has his priorieties out of wack, but at least he really is hard,
and you would know this beacausei think

your just a kid whos trying to be to be "gangsta"
and your just a dick being a dick if you were here i would vandalise your ass with my foot

[tre'tre']

mmmmmm great comeback

[tre'tre']

not

[tre'tre']

vandalise your ass with my foot




man you are so bad&#33;

[inker]

mmmmmm great comeback not
hahahahahahahahah hey r u trying to insult me you sound like a fucking 5th grader
hahahahah were u serious

[tre'tre']

your such a hardcore gangster&#33;

[tre'tre']

you are the master at spotting sarcasm&#33;

[inker]

your such a hardcore gangster&#33;
kid you were funny for a while now your insults are just stupid u still didnt answer my ? your a dumbass tell your mom to stop wearing lipstick shes making my dick look like a rainbow

[inker]

you are the master at spotting sarcasm&#33;
huhuhuh funny your insults r ridiculous

[tre'tre']

ive never met my mother

[joust]

haha i write whatever the fuck i feel man. I have poems that arnt angry or sad, poems i have written out of pure love. But most of the time i dont feel that so dont tell me what my poetry should and shouldent be.

[joust]

Originally posted by Havoc411@Feb 7 2005, 05:39 PM
nobody, just felt like saying that. cause all those "deep" wannabe poet fags only talk about dark and morbid shit and i hate it.
see my above post.

[joust]

Originally posted by inker@Feb 7 2005, 07:45 PM

or do you just makes up shitty rhymes so people on the forums think you
"hold a glock" and make "murder scenes"? so youll make them think your all badass and hard?
your an idiot
so what white suburban ghetto are you from inker, with speek like that. Your the fucking idiot, have you ever really lost anyone imortant too you?

[Alchohlics_Anonymous]

im guessin he hasnt, just like a bunch of kids on here, they dont know what real problems are. im not sayin this goes for everyone, but alot of kids on here never had to face problems they cant fix in their life, and then they talk like they do and it pisses me off. fuckin 2 parent, rich suburban bitches.

[joust]

Originally posted by inker@Feb 7 2005, 07:57 PM

people who have killed do not brag about it.
your pathetic.

oh and thank you for the dedication
im not bragging cause i never killed n-e one hey you ever listened to necro alot of ppl seem to like him and he talks about killing ppl alot so fuck off you sack off shit as a matter of fact im listening to him right now check it
Yeah my mafia&#39;s like a posse of ya soldiers trooping through
Bosnia
Body ya; To bury ya with a hundred bodies on top of ya
Your life&#39;s expired, you&#39;re on the floor dead with ya&#39; arms out
like ya tired
My shit&#39;s crazy like animals spreading rabies and dead babies
And bodies wrapped in plastic, etrocities like these are drastic
Cut you open, shoved a spike in ya liver, your veins are like a
river
Blood flowing through veins like roads on a map
Open the hole..back of ya brain
Perform surgery while you&#39;re asleep
There&#39;s no difference between you and sheep
You&#39;re dead meat, get your throat cut to the beat
Machinery dragging you by ya feet
If ya hungry you&#39;re dying to eat
Choking on Alpo with a scalpel in your adam&#39;s apple
And a calico slug in your asshole
I&#39;ll put you in a chapel
Kid you should be careful fucking with a butcher knife
Pack of that will butcher you like a jackal
you got some decent rhymes man, but the violence is too intence for me.

[mr. she77]

mensas about to blow this spot up.

[Mensa]

.
And the sun&#39;s just that elusive beacon that we all strive to find
but the wings melt if we get too close so don&#39;t fly too high.
beads of wax drip down my cheek and leak
to mend the cracks in the floor under my feet.
golden beams in maroon space clutter up the sanguine scene
for one last time before the darkness engulfs the night.
flying too close to your sun
i feel myself melt and see my reflection in the pool i form.
my bones slack as i feel my mind slipping through my eyes
and i think of times when i still had a spine.
my discs have disalligned
like beads on broken twine.
.
tonight i&#39;m flipping every switch and turning my power off
so i dont see anyone besides the posters on my wall through the dark.
i know i wont follow through so don&#39;t hold me to my word.
i&#39;ll end up with my friends
and never want to sleep again
turn off the sound.
the effort&#39;s wat counts
i want to hang suspended above the ocean
and dodge from the planes that cut through the air
and rest on the clouds without a care.
and the passengers flying by wont see me
bacause all my lights
and all my flashes are off tonight
turn off the sound.
the effort&#39;s what counts.
today i saw a cloud that looked like your ghost.
i looked at my feet and kicked a stone
watched it fall off the bridge
only to crash through the surface
the water that held your image for my eye
shows nothing now but a broken a mirror of our life.
.
and this boy swallowed his pride with some pills
and a large desert plant.
he told me i looked like a 500 foot canyon or the man in the mountain.
a neon glow surrounded my face of a spectrum not explored as he passed out to the floor.
with all his people gone he was left alone, with the television to mutter thoughts in his ears
and as he closed his eyes and took life for what it was last year,
he watched the ceiling dissapear
and bobble off to the sky.

^written about a friend who tripped on San Pedro cactus (similar to peyote)
.
last night we saw a shooting star
rip a seam in space
through your favorite constellation
seven stars in a cluster
opened and spilled a million thoughts from the sky,
and whispered what i wanted to hear.
watch me burn in the atmosphere.
.
uncertain, i hide in a reef
and hope that faithful hook will catch my cheek
and rescue my last string of sanity.
thats what i need.
oh, i&#39;m in need.
so close to the boat
but i can&#39;t bring myself to be reeled up from the swarm
and float to your arms.
because i like where i lay
with the school and the rays.
and these questions fogging my brain,
only seems natural these days.
.
he&#39;s taken the bait as the spider waits.
the teeth sink into his brain as his head falls heavy like lead
to leaf laden dirt.
a ghost with eight legs.
a timeglass burned bright and red
even when i close my eyes the image holds still
and sticks to the lids, behind which i reside.
nowhere to hide.
.

haha i dont really expect any response.. i write a lot more music than lyrics.. very sweet thread

[Mettro]

My safe place...

In the left corner of my room, right behind my dirty cloths, is a closet... This is my safe place.

It seems like a better home than the real, because I&#39;m alone, and I feel good. As you duck your head and step in, you&#39;ll see drips of black indian ink splattered along the wall and on a small desk at the back.

The Desk...
The factory of my work... Here is where I plan, and manufacture my weapons. A bottle of ink, a few empty containers, a few nossels, books apon books filled with my soul and emotion, an exacto knife, and a single pencil. Not much, but enough to make a weapon that will not only defy law, but create a piece of art as well.

My mom knows what I do, but she has more important things to yell at me about...

An empty box rests in the corner of my closet, I hope to one day have enough cash to fill it with enough spray paint cans to last a life time, but "cash" and I don&#39;t seem to mix to well. When I say we don&#39;t mix, I mean, I never have it.

I have two magazines, filled with other artists work, this is part of my inspiration. The rest of my inspiration comes from my life.

The transport...

A backpack, cheap, but well made... This is what is used to move my arsenal from city block, to city block. In it lies a few stencils, two cans of paint, and a single sticker I made while I wasn&#39;t in school ( which I never am).

This is my exitment, my emotion, my thrill, and my doom... Getting cought seems so far away, but every time I go out, I feel as though this could be my last chance to show the world, what I feel.

Conclussion...

The next morning... I go three blocks out of my way to walk past the scene of my attack... As the colors of my work come into sight, a my face comes alife with thrill and joy... A joy no one else can replace. As I walk past my work, I feel the gaze of everyone on the street aiming at me... I know it&#39;s just my imagination, but I can&#39;t convince myself that I&#39;ll be fine.


This is something I came up with right on the spot, I&#39;m still working on a longer "story", that&#39;ll be out in a day or so.

ps: Sorry for making a thread, I didn&#39;t see this thread. Thanks to the guy who started it.

[Mensa]

thats cool, mettro

[Mettro]

Originally posted by Mensa@Feb 7 2005, 10:09 PM
thats cool, mettro
thanks, I&#39;ll try to keep it up and create even more interesting and revealing "poems" and "stories".

[inker]

you got some decent rhymes man, but the violence is too intence for me.
thats necro manso

what white suburban ghetto are you from inker, with speek like that. Your the fucking idiot, have you ever really lost anyone imortant too you?
im representing the 818 and the 213 i lived in 818 spent most of my time in the 213 Van Nuys and L.A now live in gay palmdale but kick it in L.A as for lost someone important but ive been pretty close to death various giant rumbles ive been involved in to

[inker]

manso
wtf was i thinking

[inker]

im guessin he hasnt, just like a bunch of kids on here, they dont know what real problems are. im not sayin this goes for everyone, but alot of kids on here never had to face problems they cant fix in their life, and then they talk like they do and it pisses me off. fuckin 2 parent, rich suburban bitches.
doesnt go for me madafucker ive been in alot of shit

[inker]

ive never met my mother
my bad

[inker]

Ill hit you with my paw right in your fucking jaw once yo fall ill beat you with my feet kid you cant fuck with this and if you try ill your fucking head wit lead this shit is ill you hear me and your heart fills wit feardont test your luck cause once your found im bound to bust cause I pack a glock and i keep it clocked dont even talk to me cause i might throw a fit and you will get hit man ill punch you in the dome punk go cry home paint and weed is all I need kid dont step to this you will get jumped once im done your face ill be plumped and your body dumped kid you aint nothing but a fake turn around and your bitch might get snatched complain about it and you might get smashed kid they call me soon but i dont go out till noon and when i do you&#39;ll be doomed punk i got a gun so i suggest you run go ahead test your luck lets see how fucked you are kid i wont fight you ill light you up kid dont hate on me unless you want to test your fate kid you aint no killer your a fiend and once my gat spots you i&#39;ll end you ill hit the murder scene with gasoline and matches ready to turn you into ashes
so wath do you think first rhymes i ever wrote

[Jeffhole]

Ya, alright...

Here&#39;s the newest shit I&#39;ve written.

It&#39;s for an introduction track.


It&#39;s common to hear me swear, but I&#39;ll try not to curse in rhyme.
I&#39;m in it to say, that minimum wage just isn&#39;t worth my time.
Whoever&#39;s workin&#39; the lighting should turn off the limelight.
I keep getting fake folks caught in my eyesight.
50cent&#39;s just a crackhead, who&#39;s been shot nine times.
I walk the fine line,
between brilliant and cracked out.
In my own simple world
I riddle words, and belittle girls that I asked out.
Some people ask me"Jeffhole, why don&#39;t you have a fat sound?"
Because your taste in music sucks
you wasted stupid f---, go pass out.
You&#39;re listenin to the class clown,
but I&#39;m in a class on my own.
I&#39;m a master of flows.
My mind is faster than most,
but still, I&#39;m accident prone.
Jeffhole&#39;s sick of wigger rappers, tossin&#39; out words, cursin.
To make myself feel good, I talk in the third person.
I&#39;ve lied to curious virgins, only to find a wilted weed.
When faced with her deception, all she can do is still deceive.
It&#39;s come to my attention, it&#39;s her intention to kill & feed.
Not to mention, every so often she will bleed.
It&#39;s as filthy as the story I tell.
I&#39;m horny as hell. I&#39;m not premiscuous though.
I&#39;m not into the blow,
like an inuit into the snow.
I&#39;m into continuous flows.
Any place that I&#39;m at is where the illinest go.

[inker]

Ya, alright...

Here&#39;s the newest shit I&#39;ve written.

It&#39;s for an introduction track.


It&#39;s common to hear me swear, but I&#39;ll try not to curse in rhyme.
I&#39;m in it to say, that minimum wage just isn&#39;t worth my time.
Whoever&#39;s workin&#39; the lighting should turn off the limelight.
I keep getting fake folks caught in my eyesight.
50cent&#39;s just a crackhead, who&#39;s been shot nine times.
I walk the fine line,
between brilliant and cracked out.
In my own simple world
I riddle words, and belittle girls that I asked out.
Some people ask me"Jeffhole, why don&#39;t you have a fat sound?"
Because your taste in music sucks
you wasted stupid f---, go pass out.
You&#39;re listenin to the class clown,
but I&#39;m in a class on my own.
I&#39;m a master of flows.
My mind is faster than most,
but still, I&#39;m accident prone.
Jeffhole&#39;s sick of wigger rappers, tossin&#39; out words, cursin.
To make myself feel good, I talk in the third person.
I&#39;ve lied to curious virgins, only to find a wilted weed.
When faced with her deception, all she can do is still deceive.
It&#39;s come to my attention, it&#39;s her intention to kill & feed.
Not to mention, every so often she will bleed.
It&#39;s as filthy as the story I tell.
I&#39;m horny as hell. I&#39;m not premiscuous though.
I&#39;m not into the blow,
like an inuit into the snow.
I&#39;m into continuous flows.
Any place that I&#39;m at is where the illinest go.
its better than my wack ass shit pretty decent

[Earsone2004]

Ok, im making it fucking clear right now that fucking emo is str8 fucking wack and you all are a bunch of fucking pussies. Quit crying about your life sucking and quit cutting yourself u fucking crying lil bitches. FUCK EMO SCREAMO AND ALL THAT OTHER FAGGIT SHIT.

[Cherubic Meekus]

Down South-East,where vandalism prompts poverty and is amenable for the corrosion and dereliction of societies gravestone, Signeous James haunts the streets.He lived a life of mediocrity,indulging his time in the surfeited act of teenage boys.Other boys weighed there baggage with there hand whenether in the prescence of a girl, whereas Sig was forlorn like a heroin dose.Completely alone, resenting the world around him.........the world was conceited.Though this cynical perspective is blase,it was instilled on his mind by the callous father figure. An angel changed this all.Rainbow coloured cloth trailing behind her,the deceased nonchantlent as they walked through the crayon colored corridor into a portal to arcadia. She visited Sig why he lay on the astro turf sheet which inhabited the quotidian blur of his private space.He was naked,she entered with an effulgent aura,reminiscent of his Mum.
He smiled a knowing smile full of pervading serenity, similar to the outstretched mouth of The Greyhound In The Sky. Though, the former had grievous undertones, for this was a feigning beam. His Guardian Angel had perished, leaving him without counsel. This would lead to abasement and drug abuse. The drug in question being Bluetonium Oxide, A.K.A Godly Signi, Jewel and Angelsauce (a moniker that&#39;s apt with the occasion). Onomatopoeic expressions began to interpret real life as the sound of Gun shots deadened the atmosphere. Signeseous James has witnessed his own departure. The Spirit of Sig raptures through the Petrol Blue ceiling leaving the gunman in an empty room, with the ceiling hung low, a dimming light, a distorted TV screen and the inanimate corpse of his victim.
He elapsed into such turmoil after the heavens created her haven.....for she was to return to the promised land.He became a figure of burdernous tribulation who cried woeful tears, and she was to adorn a different persona and cut the longtivity of his circumvented soul.This was achieved with one pull of a trigger... An angel who had such refined features and pulchritude could&#39;nt indulge in such a egoistic act,surely? Many have been conceived my readers...... For the nostalgic memories of when she first appeared in the stripped room,catching him in a divested state,after admittance threw the boards without forewarning had no place in her heart.She was the baleful Coed who escaped up his nose , such nocent malacia which ruined his nasal escapade&#39;s. Powder Blue had that efficacy.

[Cherubic Meekus]

&#39;&#39;This deplorable act of jaded consumption,&#39;&#39; sighed the sugar-headed Eastern Prince.He was lugubrious at the fact that his jurisdiction was considered lamentable why the Southern Ghouls of absinthian apotheosis were lionized.
The Ghouls were morose,perversive and ill-humored.They pursued the boy who&#39;s endeavor was to end the lifes of his fellow peers,first shooting the sorid couple who lay bare in the middle of the field,swapping saliva in a profligate manner. &#39;&#39;There in your way.Let there congenial senses come to the surface ,as they drift through the sea of thought , distraught at the logic of this consequence,&#39;&#39; they whispered with a twinge of snarly animosity. The climax of this night saw a bloodied pile of pubescent children lay with irenic and subjued composure.Only the lips of the guilty twitching.
The Eastern Prince sat, pondering these antecedent events of which occurred due to the manipulative wording of the Ghouls. Now they hold a prominent status in the minds of the Irks. The Irks were quaint beings of very small stature that burrowed under the Washing Basket of the Western World, their only shelter being this dirty-laundry utility and the Rubber Fish of &#39;67. The Rubber Fish fell from the sky under unascertained circumstance. They pieced the X-ray atmosphere, and found there way into the smog of the Irk&#39;s habitat. Now they lay still on top of the basket, providing some minor security. Though the Irk&#39;s minds were being tainted by the Ghouls who offered them preponderant refuge and Shirley McClain’s (the esteemed cocktail of choice).

^^^
An unfinished story entitled &#39;&#39;A Bag Full of Rubber-Fish Enchant,&#39;&#39;

[Cherubic Meekus]

They traveled over lucid hills which revealed the Marlborough men who, with an askance posture that emphasized the cancer, apathetically strode. The Irks had been lead to the irriguous valley (or as it once stood), where the ghouls liked to haunt the area as nature expressed its own promiscuity. Always breeding, all producing, always engaging in covetous acts. The Eastern Prince tried to authorize the Irk&#39;s on the dangers that loom, but the agitable creatures infringed his warning. They were sliced and minced under the purple sky, than thrown into the tent where the bodies of the children who had been oppressed and the giants (Talleman) that had been pursued were kept. A jamboree took place outside, coinciding with the decay of extinct Irks.
The antiquated Prince was forlorn as his world was hushed.

[Cherubic Meekus]

nobody, just felt like saying that. cause all those "deep" wannabe poet fags only talk about dark and morbid shit and i hate it.

Amen

My stories are about the decay of civilisation and drug abuse...
Yes, a slightly bleak subject to recieve coverage
But I dont talk about fucking faeries or the rise of the dead...
My stories have political undertones.

[element503]

Masked with nylon with a can of krylon while on
point see you through the walls we write on
ride strong with a crew who’s considered sly cons
high on this rush provided my wrong
cops try to put a stop to my art and hip hop
but they knock what we rock we got the streets locked
juras don’t mix with pinturas
catch us slipin and try shoots us
we’re looters of virgin walls the no gutters
writers reign supreme on the street art scene
my team goes by the OPM kings
rings and tight cliques we mix to snipe hits
and be the uppest that’s the main thing
catch graffitIwreck on my city set
my committee gets respect well known with a gritty rep
who step to the bomb yard with a fat tip
tryin to get a name in this world and that’s it

just a little peice from OPM&#39;s old album. you should go pick it up. the old one or the new one. its real good. its hip-hop / rock / mellow stuff.

[scarface]

Long Live the King

~for B.I.G.

The crown wasn’t always worn by Jay Z

Before him the king of NYC was B.I.G.

Beyond the east

And his legacy is deeper than dyin’ for beef

You best believe all emcees since the early 90’s

Owe respect to the one who lived notoriously

It’s a tragedy that kids these days don’t know his true abilities

All they hear is “One More Chance” and “Biggie can’t you see”

They don’t know “Party and Bulls**t” or the remix to “Dolly My Baby’

S**t, shorty on the Da Band didn’t even know the words to “Juicy”

There’s a reason Jay says a B.I. line in damned near every rhyme

And why even with a Mohawk Puff can hold his head high

Cause real n***as do real things

And Christopher Wallace was a true kingpin

Heads fiend for a single can’t even dream about a classic

But he dropped two back to back before he laid in his casket

And that’s a feat that can’t be ignored

Regardless of any mics, Grammy’s or charts on Billboard

So as the torch gets passed to a new generation

Of rap phenoms and overnight sensations

We gotta lick a shot for the famous Frank White

The playa president who flipped the game to end his hustler’s plight

The Black male misunderstood

Who made it to the Hamptons out of his Brooklyn hood

Cause s**t ain’t all good as I look at the madness currently goin’ on

Cats quote his rhymes but act like they don’t remember why he’s gone

These n***as work so hard to get from the streets to the stage

But still wanna act like they slangin’ work to get paid

Big was slain on this day eight years past

And heads is still tryin’ to live the streets on and off wax

Fact is we already know how it goes

And I don’t wanna have more stories to tell about fallen Hip-Hop heroes

One of my life’s biggest regrets is never hearin’ him spit it in the flesh

One of the best I wear his face with pride on my chest

B.I. we weren’t ready for you die

But through them hits, your spirit’s kept alive long after your death

North, South, East, West, put up your deuces and pour out some liquor for the nicest MC

Ya’ll know the steelo rest in peace to Mr. “Unbelievable”


Flow will close a biggie poem thread but not some shitty ass fuck g-unit thread

[siroez]

-------------------------


the tolerance of truth

the glimmer, a slight twinkle
here and of course so unreachable
compared to a star in the night sky
so close but still so very far
desire; burning, throbbing, pushing
lessons learned and always preached
moving me on, to pick a star
from the sky and put it my pocket
ill grow, and flourish, and shine
somehow ill always be a little empty
because not everything can be mine
as my path unfurls infront of me
unrolls in its tedious glory
i see it leads to a beautifull place
bright with a maginificant shine
though i cant see it i still proceed forward
footprints allow me to trace my path through time
as i keep my steady forward pace
i have to much desire to lose this race
stubborn, yes i know i am
this seagoat moves for no unworthy man
though i will assist all i can
i still wish to be prosperous on this land
sacrifices to make and stones to step over
a lesson once learned, proved to be fact
now a regulation, a standard
trace the footprints further back
like the cord to the wall
it proves you cant be two places at once
those would be: here and so very far
you can only travel forwards
in a unchangable unstoppable direction
that brings you to the end of the road
which beholds the glorified beauty of truth

----------------

the poem is about knowledge, and walking down the road called life.

[(¯“·.¸_/Æ\_¸.·â€? Â]

shutdown again lol..Ty tony...Hater&#33;lol jk -.-; maybe but w/e

[(¯“·.¸_/Æ\_¸.·â€? Â]

Cut By Cut
One cut
Two cut
Three cut
Four.
I watch your blood
Hit the floor.
Five cut
Six cut
Seven cut
Eight.
This is the product
Of all my hate.
I slit your throat
Watch blood flow
Don&#39;t do it yourself
It&#39;ll soften the blow.
You cry for me
My hatred tears
Built from your lies
From over the years.
I slash your throat
I slit your wrists
I enjoy the moment
No, I&#39;m not pissed.
I turn my head
To hide my smile
You&#39;re finally gone
And I&#39;m not in denial.
I&#39;ll accept all blame
Coz I don&#39;t care
I&#39;m just so happy
To know you?re not there.
One cut
Two cut
Three cut
Four.
I watched your blood
Hit the floor.
Five cut
Six cut
Seven cut
Eight.
You were the product
Of all my hate.
Satan sent me a message
And said that all was well
And he thanked me too for sending
You straight to Hell.

© LUST , 2005-08-4
________________________________
For those i Loath this ones for You

[K0tt0nKandyandP0psicles]

nice haha
did you used to be on B.S. lust?
your sn/avatar/sig gif seem familiar, i could just be confused though

[Tony]

Originally posted by (¯“·.¸_/Æ&#092;_¸.·�§ /><input type=@--
shutdown again lol..Ty tony...Hater&#33;lol jk -.-; maybe but w/e
i dont make the rule i just enforce them.

you failed to fallow the rules and use the search feature before making a new thread. in this case there just happend to be one for this specific purpose.

but if you wanna call me a "hater" or have a problem with me you can use the PM feature...

[(¯“·.¸_/Æ\_¸.·â€? Â]

naw never been to BS juss browsed it then one day.."couple days ago" i decided to join in the fun

[(¯“·.¸_/Æ\_¸.·â€? Â]

Originally posted by Tony+Aug 9 2005, 09:51 PM--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td>QUOTE (Tony @ Aug 9 2005, 09:51 PM)</td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'> <!--QuoteBegin-(¯“·.¸_/Æ&#092;_¸.·�§ /><input type=@--
shutdown again lol..Ty tony...Hater&#33;lol jk -.-; maybe but w/e
i dont make the rule i just enforce them.

you failed to fallow the rules and use the search feature before making a new thread. in this case there just happend to be one for this specific purpose.

but if you wanna call me a "hater" or have a problem with me you can use the PM feature... [/b][/quote]
well ill speak my mind..and u failed to not be a dickhead end of conversation

[(¯“·.¸_/Æ\_¸.·â€? Â]

Losing My Mind
I’ve become weak
Lost and alone.
With tears of sulphur
And a heart of stone.


I’ve become nothing
A speckle in this time
Thoughts became illegal,
Feelings became a crime.


I’ve become a follower
My hands are tied by love.
I’ll sit and watch the crowded graves
And the killing of the dove.


I just fail to feel alive.
We fight and we brawl
And then, as we die
We stare at the whitewash wall
And cry.


Sitting in the corner,
Watching you point and stare
“See that poor Boy
He’s dying over there�
________________________
Short Poem..
© LUST, 2005-06-12

[Mse]

i like this last one lust
specially the second verse/passage

[Proper]

Is this what you were looking for Bilal?

[bilal_tariq]

Yes sir, thank you.

Let me revive this thread.

He told my conscience that "life is short" like as if I didn't already know that.
But I still listened to what he had to say.

Still?
So what?
Who knows.

He told me keep those memories tight. Hold them tightly. Never let go of them.
I nodded. As he stroked his beard and switched his left leg on top now, I realized he still had more to say.

He still spoke.
I still listened.

So then he continued saying that lose them once, you will get them back, -you will-
lose them twice, you will get them back, -some people are very lucky-
lose them thrice, you will get them back, -God must be watching over you-
Lose them once more = You don't care anymore.

And that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. He touched my forehead.
His index finger was like a drumstick- firm and slender. He took a breath.

He still spoke.
*I felt his cold touch on my forehead*
I still listened.

He went on saying that before anything of that sort happens,
it's best you cherish those memories save the last minute.
And so I did.
*Although I still wondered why he touched my forehead*
He removed his finger now, had one last thing to say so...

He still spoke.
*My forehead must have had some side-effect now (unnecessary pondering)*
I still listened.

He finally said that you have a lot of space in ur mind.
That's when I realized that I have a habit of remembering things.
Anything. Everything. He was tall.

He didn't speak now.
I still listened.
He still didn't speak.
I looked up.
He was gone.
I woke up.
He had dissappeared.

That night/day *for me they mean the same* I realized that when these GB memory cards are p00fd, and when the GB hard-disks are g00fd, my system is going to crash *0utch.*

I can always be your virtual hard-disk. Since then I maintained. __________________________________________________ __________________________________
Folder Fuh Life-
-Be.