If She Ever Came Back to Me…

And if she ever came back to me, the moon would be so bright that I could live through the nights

The light, would guide me on an open path, and each challenge wouldn’t need my fucking wrath

I’d feel, all the emotions again that used to crawl through my skin

My fears, nothing but idol signs and I could spend my time writing some rhymes

And Life, wouldn’t be so hard I could worry about going instead of keeping my mind on when I’d depart
The start, would be so far from the end, and the pain would break not just bend

And if she ever came back to me through the fog I could see, so far into a hopeless fight, so many bright lights

The love, not a word I’m supposed to say but these poems are made in an honest way

The kiss, is better than anything I think after I could even sing
Her eyes, are so beautiful and there’s nothing more to say

Her face, is so fucking cute, when I look at it I go simply mute

The end, wouldn’t begin and I’d have time to wash away every sin


And if she came back to me I’d finally feel free, from the shackles that hold me back from glee

The agony, of being so far away, I think about her every second of every day

The tears, they stroll down so long, she told me not to love her so I feel I’m doing something wrong

The songs, so many that I wrote, they weigh so heavy they could sink my boat

The wish, is that maybe one day something could change and maybe our lives we could rearrange

But if she came back, I’d be the happiest, but as long as she is happy I’ll stay where I stand

The Prodigal Son

Was it me who created this monstrosity? I added oil to the flames of my animosity! Practically calling out this hypocrisy, the way I spit these poems you’d think philosophy was in my genetics like I’m a distant relative to Socrates!




Lets Hit It! First do you hear those drums? Model citizens with fucking razors resting between their teeth and above their gums, I feel like a fiend combining funds, I spit and run, people figured I’d have faded by now, but how could I? When I’ve got a lot to say, life is a play, save the drama for Act Two, this is Act one, the evolution of the Prodigal Son




Can you Feel the Flow? The fluidity, I fear that each line has its own original identity. I used to dream of going to on a big vacation, poor so forget it, thought about horseback riding  instead of the Caribbean but the closest thing I got was watching pornos with sybians. Don’t say anything, but I’m beginning to sharpen, be fearful and disheartened because my body is weak but my mind is a Spartan




Do you feel the Anger? I spoke in Tongues, people still say Jr. King is a fucking bum, First it was direct publishing, now I’m flourishing after I mugged the industry, some people question my ability after they question my history, I answer in story and in mystery, I want to show you what Glory means to me. Your dealing with a poetic virtuoso, so much rage that I spit evil, this was the moment when I didn’t feel well, this wasn’t the life that I wanted, this felt like hell.


 Hating all these motherfuckers would leave me looking gaunt, the past and the present are liable to haunt, my body hurts, my brains swirling, I say I vomit creativity but now I’m really hurling! I thought in my mind about hanging myself…


Just so everyone can piss on my identity, if I did that my work would only mean something to me, I had so  many doors to go through but I lost my key, I digressed into a abyss, everyone hates me so fuck this…


They put my urn on the top shelf, not a Quran or a religious symbol, there was just no where else. My mom wept, but she grabbed the urn to overcome the fear, looked inside and there was nothing there…




Killing myself fuck that, and I’m still breathing, I’m alive, I am seething  but I cant Die!


I’m believing in my pen, in my work, that I will beat them , I wont Let Go!


But I’m still bleeding, I was still bleeding, It hurt to see that I may never be who I wanted to be, but it took so long to see that I’m already more then I ever fucking thought I could be…




I’ll Keep breathing, the light is lungs, I still hear the drums, The stress weighs a ton, but I’m strong, its time to right all the wrongs, stay where I belong, I’m a King, I’m the One, I’m the Prodigal Son

Death of Love


Did you remember the first time we held hands

Sliding across the couch not sure what to think or what to know

Where we were didn’t matter, we didn’t know where we’d go

We’d count to ten to open our eyes

Close them for the rest of the night

It was like finding god, a lovelorn soul finding their way

Things never changed like that before

Missing each other on a frosty night singing songs into the phone

Crying yourself to sleep now that you’re alone

But the death of love is nothing to be scared of, it’s just a clock ticking on

Your departure haunts my very sense of safety

Because I remember when we’d go to the river that was south of my land

Writing down everything you said, while the voice in my head reminds me that we moved on

I look at the screen expecting your call

I think to pick you up in case you would fall

But as time goes on

Time goes on and our love seperates as the seconds pass

I remember your skin so soft, but I knew that we couldn’t run past the horizon

And the death of love isn’t something to be scared, because it’s a fire blowing out

Survivor Art

You Made my life a crystal ball of confusion

I painted a portrait of an illusion, a raw throbbing contusion

Im a melodic disaster

This is my conclusion…

We Sing Along, but the notes are wrong, we sang along from night till dawn

These Drums, they make me so strong, it took so long to get this level to prove the world wrong

These Screams, ugly but pretty, id love to see mars but lets go see the city

In my incipience, they i implied i was rather fastidious

Describing a world so hideous, to a community near The HALL that seemed so oblivious

I had the propensity, to show serendipity, ugly in the light

Like the sound of a fight on a cold winter night, each analogical plight blasts out of sight

I showed pain that i had found a way to make things right, just keep singing along all through this winter night

The strings can be weak, but dont worry love that we can tweak

If its true love you seek, then we can climb this peak

Then it goes silent, the stillness of anticipation has a quality thats ultraviolent

We do this…to make peace with ourselves

Some of us have our own meaning of art, some strive to display that an end always has a start

So tonight, its our feet we tap, we are the generation of survivor art that makes beauty from crap

They say hate breeds hate, tonight the only sound is the symphony of finger snaps

We all sing out of tune, our spirits ascend all but to soon

This is the last line…we sit on young love’s lagoon, staring as the stars whisper to the moon

Fake Empire

These little words always kept me sane, i knew id get hit but i still changed the lane

This cursive is so difficult, nearly impossible to see. Babygirl, what do you want me to be

I live in a fake empire, burnt so much but i still play with fire
I wanted to leave the state, but i left the keys near my fate
Im struggling to just live, i need someone to know ive got love to give

Civilizations built upon faith and love, they never knew there was a storm up above. i write a prologue everyday to tear myself apart, so people can realize a end has a start. When my mom was so sick, i had love to send. i didnt know that night it was from myself i had to defend

Self reflection, early detection, and my soul’s poetic dissection is my only protection. God forgive me for all my sins, i wish my dignity wasnt in that bin. you cant help me now, the Fake Empire wont allow. if you love me ill write a symphony, your heart would beat with mine in synchrony. the moon would be subject to larceny, to brighten your dark day. i want to make it so im never your enemy, just a lonely epiphany.

Tonight, ill retire to my Fake Empire. My body wont move, but my heart can still conspire to reveal this fortress as hellfire. My hope is the only liar. The pain, trauma, hate and emptiness had inspired me to ignore lovelorn gunfire. ill climb this Fake Empire, just to stand on the edge of the slippery spire