Short Sickest Poems

Poetry pretends it's not pain,
but it feels like it's deep
pure metaphor...
Not only rhyme deep pain
that lifts the soul
in suffering profound
 and that is
sickest thing
to make poetry... !...

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It's not as bad as everyone thinks
If you really think about it, it's the only thing that's really there for you
It's one of the greatest things in life
Yes, it can be scary, but it's also exciting
It feast on you in a timely manner
It hugs you in your sickest moments
The darkness...

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Immersed unprepared and unaware in the wrelm of torture, raised by the tormented and confused, told to smile while our cheeks are bruised, creating pariahs out of those who dare to say nay to the way of things ,how dare they not just sway with things while the sickest get away with things...

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Underneath the mask of tragedy
Happiness still flows in the tears of the living
Over the lifeless

Underneath the veil of anger
A shroud of darkness reveals a hidden peace
Behind the eyes of turmoil

All errors can be cleansed
Because whatever the cause may be, healing can be found
In a glimpse of confidence...

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Living is a lesson
The dead do not speak
Yet I find the sickest thought is the emotion of disrespect
You don't know me
Some never will
Yet I ride life's emotionally rollercoaster
Like a cheap thrill
Do they cross the line of no return
When you don't exercise what you feel
When you play make sure you win
Because the adversary is definitely real...

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The scourge  of  the worker
saviour of the parent
The comfort to the sickest
vocation of the errant 

Sleep can bring such varied thoughts
Both sweet and terrifying 
From dreams of love and laughter 
To when nightmares leave us crying

Refreshment to tiredness
Relief to the pain
Soothing to sadness
Again and again

Slowing of breathing
Closing of eyes
Stillness of movement 
And rest is the prize...

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As hard as it seem,  
My verse reign supreme,
Myself and I, am the illest,
My flow is the sickest,
I spit hot-lava fire,
Never think of retire,
Hell-bent to succeed,
Haters call me demon seed,
But their opinions don't matter,
I'm too far up the ladder,
Like french-fries I fry 'em,
Sixteen bars I eat 'em,
Fools run from this storm,
I'm a lyrical god in human form,
After me there'll be none,
'Cause I kill 'em one-by-one!...

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Troy as a city of darkness
has his underlings
teaching the ways of wickedness
How to treat woman like playthings
His enticement of arena games
Watch me boys
See what I can get away with
We're on the night shift
In my cloak of playfulness
Tickle their feet and watch then giggle
As they dangle from a ladder
Eye them up longingly for the thrill
A medieval knight of the darkest kind
Watch your skirts girls
He'll come from behind
Playing his jokes of the sickest kind...

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