If I Can’t Do This…

I made a melody, but if it will only add insult to injury then ill forget everything I wanted to be. I made a joke to death, no more insults if you can help me before my last breath. My life is beginning to undress, ill destroy this whole house, and if the world ended I wouldn’t have to die with a gun in my mouth. Sickness, but I have hope that’s plain to see, this world is melancholy with one last violent plea

 

I’m so lonely, I’ve been to the door and forgot the key. I wrote this book lately, please keep helping me, hold my hand just so I can stand. You may be a man but I feel like I’m still a boy, deprived of toys and joy. To some this is a game, but ignorance is oil to a blue flame. I swerve back and forth between each lane, I cut my arm and exceed expectations to stay sane. Chasing fame, drowned cupid but still looking for love, there is no heaven just clouds up above. I wanted to see it but I’d be denied, I could write a magnificent article about how I died

 

This is morbid, this is absorbing my fatal wound, I got mad instead of glad and I keep losing every fucking thing that I once had. My skin is green, my body is gaunt far from lean, the thoughts for my masterpiece are so obscene that the obvious conclusion would be that I’m mean. I’m sick and I’m ill, go back to rehab and my sponsors will pay the bill. The moon and my motivation is over the hill, the reason I get up everyday is a big white pill. As long as I smell blood I will prowl, as long as there is competition I will kill, you can maximize a howl so we can all enjoy the sighting of the rarest owl right above Dream Mountain. My heart drips skill and determination as though it was a fountain, the Strawberry’s are youthful, passion is becoming less merciful, I needed a shield so I used an old friend to finally make him useful. He caught to in the chest, one in the leg, imaginary bullets cause everyone to beg. People talk so much shit, their breath stinks, you may be tough but I’ve got the intuition to make your ego shrink. My dad tortured me and I barely blinked, baseball bats, spitting in my hat, calling my mom a rat, I always limped but i didn’t blink, I saw a future with a large contract that I could ink, but oh god the pain is making me sink!

 

My ink…is nearly dry, I use my quill to write these poems, synthesize tears as I begin to cry. Please hold me friends, because I don’t want die! Some people feast on my dreams, I had a fetish for your feet to call you supreme. I bowed, praised and gave advice, but now they search for another boy entice. As far as you’re concerned, we aren’t friends you’ll help me burn. This is indirect, but by god help me heal this painful slice on my neck! I’m so close to being gone, no symphony, no award and no song. I wrote a letter to god, please forgive me and right my wrongs. And if I fall, please know that I loved you all.

Cancel the Noise

I personify a vanguard from the town without pity, the fog hid the treacherous so I didn’t see the damned city. Stand your ground, don’t spit medicated philosophy feeling profound. Everybody wants to fly, smoke weed, roll the dice, avoid death as the die falls flat. True word, we are all disturbed, I’m a prodigy of haphazardness, razor burn decorates blasphemy, your intuition is that of the dastardly. When I prayed to the Lord, it was more of plea, I asked him to clear all the clouds so the skyline I could finally see. He said, Cancel the Noise, you’d best hear your calling, and smell the blood, climb a mountain, swim the sea, jump into the fire, and never go free

 

 

 

So I dressed for war, we were urban critters that blended with the dark, no west side story, but we were sharks. Billing Issues, Funerals with discount tissues, slashed tires, murder for hire, prostitution, religious institutions, the boys communicating with their hands and the self righteous Judge presiding over the witness stand. I screamed seven letter swears because I’m a beast, ravaged my moral fiber until it was left deceased, gaunt sickly body, the world is preoccupied with who is a hottie and who is a nottie, I’m the denizen of the Fucked Up World That Is Sick.

 

 

 

I watched the world turn, I learned to move backwards

 

I welcome a drumroll with a touch of a pen to the paper, a true romance

 

You’re a fundamental toupee to my new world remedy, I’m at the finish line with a smile and a grin while you are envisioning a moment of glory, in your picturesque fantasy story

 

I predicted a riot, silenced by the night but there is no money to be made when its quiet

 

I finished my lobster dinner, ended the night with erotic asphyxiation, I misunderstood the idea of “hanging out”

 

It came naturally, figuratively and literally, my ideas are in frequent prize bouts, I get lockjaw from speaking my clout. Look south, I’m going ahead north after a punch in your snout

 

 

 

My Head is gonna explode, the ill shit isn’t from the gutter, my excrement is straight from the commode. The construction of foul language, is as complex as an giddy ode. To Inarticulate, is to form without definite articulations, like politicians taking sunny vacations. The river flows, as deeps as a mind without censor,  trusting your family the least is as ironic as a blow to the head in the JF K Center. If you like macabre, I’ll whisper grim nothings into your ear so that you don’t hear anything. This is an archetype of fear, I’m the Carl Jung of poetry, when I took on Grandin I didn’t know I was going to start something more then a childish entity. I surpassed my hopes, my dreams, So I spat this shit, I dropped this poem, it fell like Rome, I’m nap to a thin tooth comb, this is so far out, but I want to zoom in on the description. In The clouds, they said, “Cancel the Noise, attention is the predecessor to suspicion. Don’t Look at Us For Redemption, stare at the abyss, so close to feel the flame’s tongue kiss. Grab your paper and pen, you will need it if you want this to ever end”

Some Bullshit

 
I Like to…
Return the favor
I got god’s cell phone because i robbed an angel
Hand gestures that looks like a gun
I’m young, going on and on some nights like i’m fun
Is it me or has the tide turned
Feeling a little cold in here, chill gone down your spine
Rhymes becoming less sensitive
Trade morals for success
Those three words, aren’t in my head like they used to be
Crying about some bullshit, emotions on the rise
Tension all throughout the house
Teeth grinding and your fists clinched, bringing back the days with youthful death stares
Prophecies about your demise become an actual plan, praying on your hopes and fears in a religious institution

Feeling beat like their heat pressed to my temple on a cold winter day
Better rub some bengay on those joints because i’ve been stretching you thin
Hurting your pride, hurting you like a lovers lie
Talent, couldn’t have given to a worse guy
Standing breathless, knocked the wind out of the sentence, like a misplaced comma
Whining about some bullshit, getting involved in some drama
Petty thieves committing murder
Elevated my urine test, but now it’s time to step a little further

The Plight and The Fury (POEM)

Image

 

 

Fingers covered in ink, mind like a contraceptive, make the music something you can step with but don’t overdue the loops, shoot hoops with Versace boots betting on military coups whilst down in the blues.
Feeling some type of way, ready to take over

The setbacks have been severe, wondering if people still care, I’ve been going hungry no food in the house and no new clothes not no new friends, sharp razors and lose ends

But here I am still full of hope, some nights it’s hard to cope with all the potential, destroy the next phenomenon and then burn all that’s sentimental, because I’m invading kindle because my words are mentally ill, went to private hospital but couldn’t pay the bill and I went to a graveyard with time to kill

Even Still, I’m not who I used to be before, ruthless as I fit the bill, ready to die, ready to kill

Not a man around who can stop me, not a plan that’s sound that would drop me. The sick part is that I’m not that bad, I whine about what I had, cry for my dad but nothing to be ashamed of

They mock me and threaten to give me a slug, but they are just bugs slightly perpendicular to the whole I dug, lots of crud and lots of bullshit, sometimes my brain is on empty but the ideas flooded just won’t fit

Sometimes I scream so the angels will carry me away

God might be great be he hasn’t answered anything that I’ve said

I’m going to tell him about himself the day I die, and I’m going to create swords of every tear that I cried

Every day without electricity and going hungry, stare down the competition because my friends love me

Talking shit like my mouth was a toilet, maybe I never knew who I was enough to even kill myself, food for thought so don’t spoil it

Mad decent on wheels but we have to constantly oil it

 

And this is my ambition, shaking so much that you think I had a condition

But it’s anger repeating in repetition

Been rejected to so many times, hated and disliked

To the death I’m sick, write pieces with ice picks

Before I sat where I sit, I was an distorted animal something like a bull pit

Pressured to throw in the paw and quit

But now I’m trending like a Twitter fit

Roll my eyes into the back of my head while throwing up signs with my deformed fingers
Throwing pitches and this one is a sinker, but as my product falls to dirt there are so many things I need to say  but I don’t know how

I’m in my zone but I don’t know how far I’m allowed, but don’t kill my mojo

Might not be the best but I’m banging my chest

More hyped then the rest, humbed to be alive after four attempts on my life

This is the rage, depression, love and plight

Of Antony Day Grandin