Trigger Warning:
This poem contains themes of toxic relationships, manipulation, emotional abuse, and references to suicidal threats. Please read with care.
I am too alive to die,
But too dead to live
Meeting you was a slow burn,
Like a burn given by cig.
Started with breaking friendships,
And then you hated to see—
simple dinners with family,
Me just trying to be.
"I want you to myself"
"You don't give me enough time"
"I'll kill myself if you ignore."
"You better stay in line."
I didn't want anyone to hurt,
So I always complied.
You quoted this was love,
And I believed your lies.
It has become the past now,
And I know it wasn't love.
But the bitter taste still lingers
And it stays like ash in my lungs.
He waved his Union Flag,
Sang God Save The King,
And when he passed away
Didn’t leave a thing.
Very quickly disposed of
By the state machine
In an unmarked grave
As though he’d never been.
The King sat in his palace
Unaware of the loss
And if he’d been told
Wouldn’t have given a toss.
Not the type of person
For his passing to matter,6
Not one of those wealthy
Who materially waxed fatter.
Just one of the lower order
Whose presence was a bore
Except as cannon fodder
In a nation’s time of war.
Manipulators still manipulate
And believers still believe,
The lonely and bereaved
Somehow find time to grieve.
His peers still waved the flag,
Sang God Save The King,
And i don’t believe
They’ll ever learn a thing.
The Pious Wolf of the Parish
The candles in the parish hall sputtered, casting long, monstrous shadows against the stone walls. There sat Abid, cloaked in the sudden, sickening reverence of the townsfolk. He wore his piety like a freshly laundered shroud, his voice a low, honeyed venom as he pointed his finger at her.
"Wickedness," he whispered, and the word hung in the damp air like rot.
It was an old trap, a familiar nightmare. He had spun this web before, burying his own black deeds beneath a mountain of fabricated sins, all laid at her feet. Now, he sat enshrined among the elders, a wolf sheltered by the sheep, his past safely buried in the dark soil of their collective ignorance. He was the architect of her ruin, yet he sat immaculate in the glow of their unearned grace.
She opened her mouth to scream the truth, but the sound died in her throat. She looked at the blank, hollow eyes of the community. They were blind. They were deaf. The heavy silence of the room told her everything: her voice was dead to them, a ghost story they had already chosen to forget.
...“Me? Sell my land and house to him?
I’d never dare do such a thing!
He’s the worst neighbor one could have,
I would give that blackguard nothing!”
The sheriff paused, look at the sheet,
he’d seen his handwriting before,
then smirked and said, “So the man lies…
Boys, lock him behind some cell doors!”
Wolf roared in dismay at the words,
but was quickly led to the jail,
Malcolm just shrugged and went inside,
ignoring the rancher’s loud wail.
He still had lots of work to do,
and had court the very next day,
perhaps he could finish his brief
with one problem out of the way…
Manipulation is everywhere, it can come in many forms, it can take all.
All of your life, all of your savings, it can make you suffer like death.
Death and manipulation, have a relationship, they are both negative and can cause you grief.
Many try to use manipulation, by giving you feeling of ill, like making you hate someone you never even met, they plant seeds of hate and ill feelings, using manipulation of thoughts and turning them into negative actions.
Manipulation can cost you a lot so beware and think clear, don’t let anyone manipulate your life into a life that will make you suffer a lot.
Remember life is free, you were born freely, the food grows freely, and you can always move to another place if you are unhappy.
Enjoy life, don’t let anyone take your freedom or anything else, laugh and have fun, don’t feel manipulated into doing anything bad and will make you sad.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
All this chaos you created, like a contagion you conveyed.
You cherish cunning and deceit, as you claimed.
Like a disease you spread your misfortunes and unsureness of the world that you lived in.
As a child I wished you were gone, as you beat me and belittled me until I bled.
This in your mind earned you your street cred, as you punished the people around you until you fled.
From the burdens and blunders that you dread, but dare declare an empty reply with that.'' Your sorry''.
All this worry and woe, tiptoeing around you- oh, how I must have misjudged you when you muttered,'' your sorry.''
Oh the worries cultivated a collection of complications, that piled up, needing a lorry to carry them around.
No, I won't shed a single tear from fear or pity, as I wish you were gone.
But it's okay for you to utter your hollow, 'Your sorry.''
You claim to hate math, but you love division;
Subtracting peace with every calculated decision.
You multiply chaos like it's long addition;
And solve for drama with precise precision.
You divide the bond that once made us whole;
Splitting unity just to satisfy your greedy soul.
You can’t balance love if conflict is the lenses you see your vision.
You’ll never find truth in division, till you divide your own illusion.
Sometimes I don’t know what to think
When I hear your story, I’m almost convinced
Because I don’t have extraordinary evidence for my claims
Just a hazy memory, a gnawing feeling, and a name
When I forget and when I doubt
I close my eyes and figure it out
I call my mind
Full of you
Leaves me,
Less of me
And more of you
Constant accusations
In every situation
Gettin a lil aggravating
Causing so many
unnecessary complications
I don't get why or how
You take conversations
N come at me with
So many allegations
That you be Fabricating
With your twisted observations
That are manifestations
Of your excessive imagination
Coming up with some
Real crazy implications
With nonsense explanations
Never even makin sense of
All your supposed inclinations
Really seems like you js
Repeating your own situation
That you tryna use
As a justification
...When all I wanted was appreciation
Manipulation can cause hesitation, that lead to negative outcomes.
Manipulating a person or a group to be in a negative growing environment can lead to death or make you grow into a person that lacks positive health.
Manipulating can be positive, it can make you grow and learn and reach all of your natural ability to become the best you can.
Manipulating can start the second you are conceived and even before, everything is possible so never think that it is just because.
Manipulating people to do or act a certain way, all can be caused by many ways.
Manipulating for positive life, should always be the best choice.
God told us to love and forgive, to learn and grow and stay on the path home to love and light and all the positive stuff.
So be guard of yourself, think and learn and don’t be manipulated into a negative life.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
A suppurating crater
festers and gapes
in my heart
desiccated by hordes
of plunderers
who gorge on marrow
enshrouded in crevices
where love pleads
for refuge and succour
before gelid goons
controlling a pedigree
of sycophants
reframed to shield
their masters
from imagined devilry.
They said the procedure would help me see
in the dark
But darkness was never the problem
It was the shape of the hand
resting on my shoulder
long after it stopped being kind
Instinct returned quietly
not as violence
but as refusal
I noticed patterns
the pauses
the borrowed warmth
Love, once examined under surgical light,
revealed its fingerprints
everywhere it had been rearranged
When instinct awoke
I did not grow teeth
I grew distant
A Quiet Hand will press the Soul—
So Soft—you scarcely know—
Until your Breath becomes a Crime
They’re certain you must owe—
They scatter Thorns along your Path
Then marvel when you bleed—
And chide the very Wound they made
As Proof of some dark Deed—
They set a Storm within your Chest
And call the Lightning yours—
Though they, with calculated Calm,
Unlocked the trembling Doors—
But Truth—like timid Clover—hides
And waits for Dawn to see—
How small the Tyrant’s Kingdom is
When You at last walk free.
Now folks—let’s sit down and face the truth,
There’s eight bad habits that’ll steal your youth.
They live in the mind and talk real sweet,
But they’ll drag your soul right off its feet.
First comes Denial, wears a crown of lies,
Says, “Ain’t my fault” while your conscience dies.
Then Blame, his brother, points all around,
He never looks down at his own ground.
Anger rides shotgun, loud and proud,
Breaks every heart that dares speak out loud.
Fear lurks silent, dressed in gray,
He steals your dreams before you pray.
Then Excuse, slick as oil and thin,
Tells you losing’s fine, you almost win.
Jealousy slinks with a serpent’s grin,
Turns friends to foes, blood to sin.
Self-Pity wails in a corner dark,
Snuffs your spark before you start.
And Pride, that last one, smiles so wide—
He builds your coffin from the inside.
Now, you can’t fix what you won’t admit,
You can’t heal if you won’t commit.
Face these eight, and take your stand—
Or the Evil Eight will take your hand.
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