Unholy Package

Online to connect

Maybe for acceptance

The tale goes longer

Always seeking to reach

The pen that fell on soil

The cloud that accepted

Criticism always frowned on

The new world is near you

The old parting away

The touch is you

The slap is dense

Worry not,

Sip, and rage on the forum of blank whites



Berry Henny


Been a while

Since the word became a message

In shame

All the same

Before turns to after

No later than the time I started

Empty credits

Empty Zeros

Over drafted paper bags

Crack the purpose

Never looking into a mirror

Always down into the river of wine and sorrow

Stressful society begs and pleads

She lost, now he wants

Mine is mine

All I have is ink and sweat

Just What I Am


I am not here to impress

I have tried that before,

People tend to spit hatred

All of which,

May not be our fault

Our destiny might be heading to oblivion

“No! I’m not heading into science


In times like this

When truth is deceit

One can only pray

And fear with hope



The complicated rhymes
Rewriting the name Jesus
Every suit preaches
Yeah, they saw him
Some walked on water
Other saw Moses
Flaws none have
Perfected reflections
Always accepting glorified pieces
Tongues twirl when gold pours on
Smiles widen when watches strap on
By the steps, or in pockets
Feeding the luxurious beggar
Not soul, rather in taste
Nothing holy about that water

Read part i here

Striking Resemblance

I steer clear from the pretentious

My wheels of thoughts drive off

Into there and here

Looking for a road without dust

How pretentious.

Away, again, I found that same road

Another trace of lies

From the start, it seemed anew

But, the finish begged to differ

Never repeating my mistakes

I lunged into the old tale called love

Hoping to keep sanity

How pretentious.



The Crocodile City

The city stank of death and utter desolation. Many dirty gutters were scattered all over the city showering their many unwanted blessings to those who dared to breathe.

The city was abundantly filled with platinum lies;

“Records of misdirected words

Mixed with a rejuvenated beast

Marked with a line of ill

Too ill to spill puke

Too insane to sniff coke

How far, too long

Till she shakes off her pride

And then all that was wrong spins around

Back along that same place

Where honey tasted better than sex

There she lay, the Queen of the night, deep inside the city of crocodiles.”