The A.R.T.S. Company

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Posted by Socra Teez on May 30, 2013 at 7:20 PM

I’m telling you…

(she was telling me, really?)


if you believe in the impossible,

how do you allow the tangible

to inhibit the probable?

like reminding me to be religious, although this war is spiritual

if you're calling a spade a spade,

how am I wrong for making mention of the malarkey

Maliciousness made?

soul’s been singed, mind remolded and sanity scolded

perhaps, more offended than anything

nothing never means everything,

till it means sumthing

so, how does one profanely protest an assumption

systematically set in ghost mode to snickerly satisfy

sumone else’s selfish insinuations?

everyone has a story…a soundtrack…a symphony

to say what sumone’s isn’t,

is to assert what yours is

what you give is what you get

how else am eye to respond to blatant disregard and profound disrespect?

my matching the mode met,

is no more wrong than being right in calling a vanity mirror a lie

and why?

like a lost lover looking for an everlasting love,

loose lips precedes an untamed tongue

eyem addicted to understand

craving wisdom in every ignorant act

found that

facts are figures for statistics



like beauty

is employed by the beholder

when working with a bolder brilliance,

minimize the amount of contrast

enhance hue

and let the levels do they do

greatly improving the images intelligence

eye can only imagine the objective usefulness

of tyrannical treachery

the madness stupidity offers, is but a token of immeasurable despair

when demeaning symbols are easily slung to create the greatest amount of destruction,

what compliments care?

Disparity never allows Delirium to travel

alone for too long

so always be prepared for a

foul stench in the air

the strain of misguided persecutions

remove restraints, allowing for the easy extraction of useless sacraments

tell me…

how does one find comfort in confusion?

in a world of popular public opinion polls

prostituted politicians and false positive preachers

what is pleased?

the price of infamy is pain

when heaven is pimped as a consolation prize

long as eye serve as a hypocrite’s assistant

tell me…

how shall eye proceed?

dense hearts numb perspective cognition,

like translucent logic irradiates retention

remorse is all that resides


set aside

eye am rightly left alone

holding my hot cup of

empty apathetic empathy

perhaps eye am a hypocrite’s prodigal son

eye am the patron

saint of uncanny shit

whoa is me



Categories: poetry