Hustle

Mad dogging,

Tea bagging,

Sleepy child

In the waiting.

Pills like Nurse Jackie,

Chicken and rosemary,

Munching, crunching,

Silver tooth glittering.

Shot glasses, lime wedges,

Shite music blaring.

Anxious and loving,

Caring and soothing,

Tossed out without thinking.

Anger and frustration,

Midnight masturbation,

Raging bitch manifestation.

Sleep now, little one.

Mama’s gotta be strong,

For you and them bones.

Breathe in, breathe out,

If it wasn’t for that drought,

There’d be water in the well,

And we’d kill the mademoiselle.

Weekend

Weekend rang in,

Offices close at five.

Empty parking lots,

The old cigarette stench,

The pop of the bottle of wine.

Stage a protest at home,

Drive your Jeep, solicit in the dump.

“Late night meetings”, hahaha,

Dya think I was born without a brain?

GPS trackers and dropping pins,

Are for pathetic losers.

“Jackass, I can run you over”,

That’s not a threat,

It’s just your way of saying,

Fuck off, bitch.

Yes! This just in,

Don’t need to see your pin.

I know the skivvy bunch,

Even when it deals me a punch.

Rage Against the Mechanic

Oh rage, take a deep breath.

Say ooooh, say aaaah,

Now exhale.

Close your eyes,

Do you see that lies?

Free your mind,

Do you have the spine?

Fold your legs,

Do you see the mess?

Purse your lips,

Do you hear the wisp?

Free your soul.

Do you see an asshole?

Raise your arms,

Do you smell the sweaty palms?

Do some harm,

Did you raise an alarm?

Open your ears,

Did the boogeyman sneer?

Make some noise,

Do you hear your voice?

Get yourself a hug,

From that menacing bug;

Have you gone away yet?

Oh rage, give me room on this stage.

The Bitch

Hey hooker,

You forgot your pack of cigarettes.

Go on, grab’em from the trash,

Trash that is filled with shit,

Come to think about it,

That shit is you.

Smoke away, bitch.

Those eyes are getting red,

Those lips are darkening,

That mane is falling.

You checked for cancer lately?

Oh wait, maybe cancer has you.

Instead of warning signs on cigarettes,

You should tattoo on your forehead,

“I can seriously cause damage”

Your brain stammers after a beer,

Your tongue runs, as if in gear.

You think you are all that and more,

Wait till they finally close that door.

When I walked uphill,

Someone had left an empty pack.

I thought it was you,

And smashed it with my smack.

Crazy, dumb whore,

Have some shame,

You don’t hold hands,

With the mister’s ma’m.

I cut the wires loose in your engine,

Both, of the car and the noggin.

Die, sisterfucking pig,

You’re done with your last jig.

Why?

Hey old man,

When you hit yourself,

With that iron rod,

Because they didn’t listen,

Because they refused to grow up,

Because they dissed you,

Because they didn’t procreate;

You saw the evil in her heart,

You heard the vroom of the broom,

You felt the satan living within,

You tasted the poison she oozed.

Why didn’t you split her head in two?

Instead of getting eighteen stitches,

On your twisted but wise noggin?

Had you done that,

I wouldn’t have wanted to

Drink bleach and cut myself with glass.

20

Getting shit-faced,

Passing out drunk,

Lying in your vomit,

Hammered beyond recognition,

Limbs in different directions,

Fucking in fast cars,

Dancing with the devil,

Rolling bills to snort cocaine,

Unprotected fornicating,

Wasted, hungover;

Stumbling on the office floor.

Being young and carefree,

Is a young people’s poison.

In mid-life, you can’t be 20.

Validation

Really?

Validation is what you needed?

Attention is what you wanted?

Companionship is what you were after?

Felt haunted coming home?

Did I not validate when teaching your spawn ABC?

Did I not give attention when staying up late night waiting?

Did I not accompany through three figures to seven?

Did I leave the empty beer bottles next to the couch?

You brought home the bacon,

I fried that bacon.

You want money, that I get a life?

I can also wear fishnet stockings,

And get down on my knees.

A decade of high hopes,

Crumbled in a minute,

When you decided,

Hos before bros.

Chemicals

Takes one chemical,

To run from here to there,

To fuck up a lifetime,

Of nestled love.

Takes one swig,

To wear pink glasses,

And look at a witch,

Like she’s a goddess.

Takes one minute,

To pack the bags,

Slam the door

And say fuck off.

Takes a breath,

To cool the head,

And open the eyes,

To see the water’s gone.

Takes one child,

To make things right,

And the children;

They don’t deserve bad mama.

Takes one word,

To pierce the heart,

And let the blood spill

All over the floor.

Takes one beat,

To sway like grass,

In a meadow,

Browned by fire.

Takes one smile,

To forget your shit,

And that very smile,

Can bring tears to the eye.

Takes one prayer,

To hate the world,

And to bury someone,

Six feet underground.

Takes one smoke ring,

To blow out another one;

Call your wife and say,

Fuck you, bitch.

Takes one whore,

To destroy three lives;

But I’m made of bricks

And you will go in the kiln

Bones and hair and all.

Tame Hair

She had 500 bucks in her purse,

Strolled down the road, like a hearse.

Looking to tame her frizzy mane,

She entered into the lion’s den.

Blow’em up, she said;

I don’t care what is made.

She felt like a princess,

Who was under duress;

To doll up and laugh,

At the dullest chaff.

Dyes and potions,

In motion and lotions,

She unveiled her blind eyes,

To the world of highs.

Tall heels and short skirt,

Mascara in the desert.

She wowed at her image,

While catcalls came off the village.

Turban troubles: A not so metaphorical true story.

PG18

*All the characters are real, the names haven’t been changed*

Once upon a time, a young whore was born out of, probably a wedlock. The young whore was braindead at birth. Her eyes looked North and she saw South. Her teeth grew like a heavily fertilised cornfield, too many to line up in the jaw. She went to school and did not pay attention to the teachers, but instead kept admiring her fingernails.

As the young whore grew, her grassy hair grew and she learnt a thing or two about tying them into a whorilicious way. She learned about co-ordinating skirts with blouses and hot pants with tank tops. She attended a “fashion school” to learn this. As she reached her 20s, her hemline went higher and higher and the neckline went deeper and deeper. Despite this, the little whore was not able to walk, talk and act like a whore because she was trapped in a family who lived by the book.

One day, as the whore was juggling jobs as a showgirl juggling her boobs, a young, lost soul caught her eyes. She spread her legs wide open and immediately the lost soul decided to marry her to be the sole owner of those legs and that body. The lost soul started out humble but worked hard and reached places in life which the whore had never heard of.

Being free from the shackles of her family, she started her Babylonian epic whore journey, spreading her unfertilised eggs, from one man to another. In the meantime, the lost soul was clueless about his little whore’s business and loved her dearly and showered her with the latest gadgets. iPhone, myphone, a lot of phones were given to her to communicate with her.

But alas! the lost soul failed to see that the little whore was guzzling wine and beer like a parched whale and making other lost souls fall from heaven like Lucifer. The elixir of alcohol went to her braindead head and she looked in the mirror and saw a demigoddess. She levitated with a delusional delight and her feet never touched the ground. Of course, her knees did a lot of groundwork, performing fellatio on any male genitals that came her way. At one point there was also an equally braindead whore who decided to facilitate each other’s deviant desires while the lost soul looked on.

A decade passed by and the whore decided that she needed to mess around with more genitals. She moved to another country seeking cheaper wine and cigarettes and gullible middle-aged men. Her eyes had gone puffy, her voice had grown hoarser, and she was still grotesquely attractive to men. Another dumbass lost soul came her way and they fornicated each other’s brains out, not that there was much to lose to begin with. The dumbass had a star by his side who guided him back to his heaven. The whore kept on luring him back in, and the guardian angels stopped him many a times.

The star that stood by the lost soul’s side while he vomited the germs passed on by the whore, was mangled up, smashed and left at the curb side, begging for help from a child. At last the lost soul opened his eyes and saw the light. He gave his star his American Express Platinum card and the star transformed into Superwoman overnight. Superwoman shouted a lot, because she was dealing with dumbasses and the dumbasses paid no heed to the words and registered the noise as abuse. (*eye roll)

After much deliberation and debates between his brain and phallus, the lost soul decided that the star was indeed right and decided to follow her path. There were slip-ups, mind you, but the star stood her ground. One day, the whore lured the lost soul into a seedy watering hole and filled him to the brim with alcohol. Then, the little whore produced a pack of cigarettes that were hidden in her ass crack and they both smoked like an industrial chimney. They rolled home in their carriage, drunk as skunk and slapped the star across her face.

Now the star got very very angry and decided to bulldoze the whore once and for all. Collected but uncalm within, the star hatched a plan to demolish the harlot. After multiple attempts, she succeeded; first crushing her sunglasses, next crushing her head which was quite easy as there was nothing within and finally, crushing the whore entirely with a speeding truck. The star smiled with a deep sigh of relief and told the lost souls, both of them, “And that’s how you kill a whore.”

The End

Whoops! I just farted.

Lucky nobody’s around.

Smells terrible too,

Like a corpse in the ground.

There’s no meaning,

To anything in the world.

It’s all there and not there,

At the same time.

I am trying to rhyme so hard,

It hurts, because words were made,

To communicate, not heard.

Payback’s a bitch, you’re right Stephen K,

But there’s also good karma,

And all that bullshit people sell you.

The world isn’t dead, just not “woke”,

For every struggle two hands go through,

There’s six more to help you.

Is this good enough to rap, I wonder,

Heck, who cares, as long as the beats are thunder.

I have so much to say, I forget what it is;

I pay a shrink to remind me this.

Catharsis is getting it out of your system,

But what if your system is full of holes?

Shouldn’t all the pain escape through the pores?

I make no sense, but I see the light.

Not at the end of the tunnel,

But right here by my side.

Caffeine, too much caffeine

Porsche Cayenne,

GMC truck,

Hit the brake pedals,

To let my legs stroll through.

Yeah, it was a red light,

But I can have them stop,

Even at a green light.

Everyone gets old,

Everyone gets mangled;

Corroded hearts and

Corrupted minds.

Like Pearl Jam says,

I am MINE.

I know this sucks, it’s neither poetry or prose. But this is a venting platform for me and when absolute strangers say, good going, it pulls me away from the dark abyss. Thanks for reading!

Euthanise, NOT!

Stop dancing, you braindead ho.

The man’s angry and sad.

He ain’t making music to make you twerk.

Hold his hand and be nice instead.

There’s gold aplenty

Earn your share.

Don’t take a broke man,

And break him even more.

You think it’s all about thy,

But in the end, he will be sly.

Life ain’t a party, asshole!

It’s an ocean of tranquil beaches

And pristine waters don’t need bitches.

Go fuck yourself and choke yourself.

You don’t even deserve a hospital bed.

You so lousy, even Jaws would vomit,

A tattoo and aviators don’t make you loveable,

Your ugly mug shows your pus filled heart.

Maybe there’s no heaven and hell;

But you ain’t going nowhere,

Until I break your bones.

Anger

I always laughed at how ANGRY Matthew is.

Thank You for rapping those words out.

Die, bitch, die!

Your funeral goes unattended.

Don’t step in a holy place;

Satan awaits you there.

Or are you yourself the devil?

Rot in muddy waters

Eaten by dung beetles;

Your bones so broken,

Even a dog wouldn’t chew’em

I’m calling the Chesapeake Ripper,

He needs some leftovers.

Bring a big Tupperware, I say

Cuz this bitch don’t fit nowhere.

Moldy, and mangy, flies decomposing your body.

I will hang angel lights, on my balcony.

Explicit

Hydrofluoric acid in your bathtub,

Rat poison in your rosé.

Push you off the tallest building,

Dunk your harlot head in the sea,

Ram a shiv in your jugular,

Brakes pedals on your car, cut loose,

A barrel of a gun pointed to your brain

The devil’s fork driven in your chest.

Bleed and don’t breathe,

The grim ripper awaits in black

While I grind your bones to powder.

Go through the nine hells,

Screaming and helpless.

Burn, bitch and stop living.

Don’t hide your horns;

We all see through the Hermes scarf.

Perfume and lotions ain’t gonna help,

The castigated trollop that you are.

I paid it forward, you fuckhead.

Thy will pay back, blood and all.