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The end of a poem 1

This poem ends when you fall in love with it/ 
Dribbled by the roots of its journey to your veins/ 
Endlessly dripping invented words/ 
Healing untidy expressions on tide up situations/ 
Walking roads tenderly prepared for eyes to smile/ 
It comes in ice cold hearted two split roadways carrying healthy choices/ 
The end seeks love/

Cold or not told the road sneezes freezing expressions/ 
Self suicide repetitions/ 
Walk dreams self words are spare wheels/ 
Readymade expensive spare rims reflect fake impressions/ 
In tense moments turn and tense the moments/ 
Shoot like rockets/
The end seeks love/
 
See through over overseas seeing things people wouldn't believe/
Skins wearing see through intense dislikes/ 
Shoot the distance range rifle/ 
The rhyme sniper breaking laws killing multiple ears 
in one two peace signs puking bullet after bullet mic force/ 
One voice in mics breathing infinite hopes through pipes/ 
Night reasons dressed in sexy dresses selling time in after life prisons/ 

Plenty power cravings intersecting fancy word mix around introspective/ 
Love my poem so my brain can stop jamming/ 
Stop these orgasm/ 
Waterproof my proving/
I had no sex with my brain/ 
Like nonstop heavy rain/ 
This joy is pain/ 

Images rain metaphors of less-gains/
My visions flood in a nonstop diarrhoea/
Sparking brains that will change the world like Medea/
Living dry brains in shame with no blame/
Sewage brains/
My heart mechanism pukes black smoke through these exhaust lips/
Burning too much energetic words/

Make it the end/ 
I blend no more sour romantic blends/ 
I know how death looks/ 
Reunite resurrected emotions/ 
This pictures are sickening sicknesses in pictures/ 

Worked and sentenced my sentences to life in chickenpox verses/ 
From speak your mind to Mr slam/ 
I slammed for love/ 
Above all doves/                                                         
Labored baby rhymes outta them fingers/ 
Drafted upper cuts in rough cut inspirations/ 
If I was a poet this pictures would speak art/ 
Mob ganging flavours of my vomits through art/ 
You are warned/
Feel some affection this poem will stop.....stop...stop...

(c) Ray

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  1. Date: 4/15/2014 12:07:00 AM

    Brilliant work, Ray! You are awesome here, as always, WOW!

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