Rap- I live grey

I’m grey, all the shades all the tones all the time
Made to fade, till the bones … Bottom line:
He turns what he touches to gold,
It’s an ancient story as I’ve been told.
I keep turning everything I touch to grey,
As I keep turning my head and looking away.
I’m alive … but I’m also soulless …
Stupid education … It made me think less!
Always in the middle, solving some riddle, counting losses.
Being dead but my life is still going on …
Being around my people … but inside I feel all alone.
Whatever I say or do can’t get enough of hearing that I’m wrong!
I’ve gotta stay strong … holding to the rope … and it’s sad.
Sadness is a very funny word like a short joke or a grey stroke.
It keeps getting better or bitter, it works on both ways
And I’m counting the days, my days, living my ways.
It’s ironic when a writer chokes … on his own words
And Self conflicts … They keep coming out.
I lost hope and it’s sad, those words that came out … They taste really bad!

Master of violence

Pain mingled with my soul and they became familiar with each other. My soul got addicted to the stings and the pain found a friend in me. I was locked in for nineteen years, tortured, humiliated and abused.

The damp corners and dry wrists were the reality I couldn’t escape. I lost the will to dream about getting out. My cold sweat was burning from my hot skin that is harmed and bruised.

I was only able to sleep when I’m ordered, I ate what I was given. I woke up not knowing what time of the day it was, or if it was daytime even. I wouldn’t know. I lost control along with hope and I became full of fears.

The need to control and be controlled, the need to give in and take over. I have my needs but they include my free will. To be prisoned in there for time that I lost the sense of it was the psychological pain, that and the sound of the beating, the chains and the whips.

The plaints filled that lonely place, I was in there … I was in there … My heart wanted to quit on me most of the time. I couldn’t breathe when I broke and I couldn’t do a thing to get my freedom or to prevent those rosy flesh marks.

Till I was finally released to the outer world … That was after almost two decades of my life, gone and wasted. Not knowing that I was trained to be one of them. I got it all out, the suppression. It was my turn to control and take over. My freedom came with a new identity and secretiveness.

No part of me shall be locked in anymore. I shall see the light and the light shall see me but it will never break through my dark side whom I fear the most. Love and punishment are two separated matters. However, the joy that rushes in my veins like a drug makes me feel like a lion toying with a deer between his claws.

Beg me for mercy, get out of my way, don’t look me in the eyes and don’t speak because I only want to hear my own steps feeding fears inside you and the thumbing of your confused heart. To see that fragile stare, to look at you shudder and to feel you near my feet where you should be, where you belong, where I have been.

Not knowing how much time I have left, I have to make the best of it. For the fun,the pain that comes with crawling pleasure and for the burning desire to put them through the poisonous experience. Here’s to taming, domestication and the urge to corrupt the submissive innocents.

Acting out

“You’re on the theatre now …
Imagine performing in front of the audience.
They’re all clapping for you and yelling your name!”

“Act if you were an apple …”
“I am a rotten apple, the mother of all sins. You will choke on me!”
“Yes, but what if someone found you. What will they do with you?”
“Peel me, cut me into slices and stab me with a pocketknife then dig the seeds out and take them. Then, when they do eat me I will poison them as they try to spit me out.”

“Hmmm … Be a curtain.”
“I don’t want to play a curtain! I don’t want the sun in my eyes!”
“Ok. Be a chair.”
“I’ll be a broken chair.”
“A broken chair … So you are made of wood?”
“No, but I have a tree next to me and I have Artistic paintings painted on me.”
“Why is there a tree?”
“I’m scared … I don’t want it to die… It’s old and sick. I don’t want it to fall or be cut off. I don’t want autumn to happen.”
“What’s in front of you?”
“Sand and stones.”
“Ok. Good. What’s behind you?”
“It’s all black.”

“Be a rope.”
“I’m the rope that is happy to hang.”
“For suicide?”

“Be a door.”
“I don’t want to be a door.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to be in the same place. It’s suffocating. I don’t want to be the way and be used for others to reach somewhere.”

“Be a song …”
“How can I be a song? I can’t touch a song.”
“Try … ”
“The song that is hummed in prison.”

“I would run backwards.”
“To the past?”
“To my non-existence.”

“What are you writing in your notebook?”
“If you were me … What would you write?”
“I won’t write. I would draw.”
“Draw what?”
“What am I doing?”
“Dead people don’t do anything.”
“How did I die?”
“Each individual part is separated from the other.”
“In order?”
“It’s a chaos.”
“You’re progressing. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yes … Same place, same time.”

Life and death decisions

“I belong to death and my skin is its borrowed suit. I am not free but I can choose the time, the place and the way …”

The mysterious man jumped off that chair … What a small pathetic chair! I watched him die and I admired his courage. I am in love with the dead man … His first words to me were his last and our first last meeting was the first last date.

He was looking up and now his face is down, he was standing on his feet and now hanged like the hangman game … What a silent game.

The darkness was around him and I have lived in darkness all of my life. I know how it smells and how it tastes. Darkness is the horrible medicine when the light can not heal.

He was surrounded by darkness before he died. In fact, he was the only source of the light in that closed room. His skin was so pure like the moon but unlike its reflective nature he had light of his own.

I am in a dilemma, should I take his body or follow his soul?

Broken pieces

Contradictions rain from the purple skies,
To fall into the depth to reach no ending.
Nothing ever lives on the seeds of lies,
And foolish actors will not stop pretending.

I am captivated by & under the Sirius power,
For the heart blinded are guided by the night.
From the lake to the stairs to the high tower,
They fear the unknown and of not being right.

Running away is never the way to happiness,
The way is to be on theatre not on the chair.
To take the bold step like the funambulist,
Not to drink one to the health of despair.

Fantasy is the answer to all of this mystery,
For life is a puzzle that is always missing.
Curiosity & dissatisfaction built humanity
& the remains will burn into the nothings.

Sounds of chains are the art of slavery,
Don’t give up but allow rush to run in.
But Love … Love is free & love is free,
It is a spell to turn us into little children.

Trust is never built with the silk of spiders
& laughter can cure the sunset of the heart.
Never violate thoughts but be their finder,
For Impossibilities break the end into a start.

Just a thought …

Normal people scare me the most …
If they look normal then they’re hiding behind that …
Why are they hiding? What are they hiding?

You might think that a stereotype killer would be …
Weird, dressing in black, wears chains and has green spiky hair.
No, it’s always someone who looks normal.

That green haired dude has accepted his inner beast,
He’s not afraid of showing it because that’s natural.
That normal dude … He’s hiding his inner beast because it’s ugly.
In that way … His inner beast gets suppressed, suffocated and eager to go out and once he does he’s scarier, bigger, thirsty for blood and unstoppable.