He walked around
The mall for days
With nothing much to do
No job, no funds,
No schedule, too
He was
Just out of school
He came upon a computer
In the hallway of the mall
The big and clunky
kind of thing
By a store
That had them all
He saw the chance
To type some words
To someone on the line
To say a little
Something
About nothing on his mind
His fingers
Wet with excited sweat
For freedom to be met
Typed words so fast
That when he wrote
He was placed into a test
A stranger from behind him
Came
To greet him
From the dark
And cursed his very blessed
Soul
For the words he had not sought
Big and tall and loud and mean
The stranger he’d never seen
A stalker from the depths of hell
Had surfaced on his scene
He yelled at him from ear to ear
Screamed shouts of wretched filth
Of how his words
Had been misspelled
From the mind he held so real
The sentence he had conjured up
Was clearly of the waste
The stranger held upon his life
To quicken up his pace
“I’ve been,” he wrote,
“A sorry sight
In a life of utter strife
In a needing of a visit
To the way to see the light
A visit to a doctor, no,
The kind that treats the mind.”
In writing down the name was wrong
The “p” was held in time
The stranger right behind him
In his shouldered flaming cry
Proclaimed the truth of such a lie
The word was “P-S-Y!”
The man was doomed
From then on out
To live amongst the liars
With every word
He ever uttered
The stranger did conspire
To push upon the writer
Broken drugs that blocked the mind
Of innocent productions
For of thus he could survive
The stranger
such a liar
Tightly clutched the man in view
In cloaks of accusations
Stating such a real untruth
That threw away his darkness
And rudely bore the light
He dimmed in changing words
From lies
to coldly blaring whys
“You had to tell the truth,”
He said
With every drug he pushed,
“Or else your life is not your bed
To tell me how you look
I did not see your words that day
I heard them from your throat
For lacking masses o’er your brain
Your thoughts out loud they spoke.”
He said his words with thrown advance
A soldier in a stance
To cover up the evidence
Of a conscience in the man
The throat the man was born to own
The stranger firmly held
A purchase from the doctor’s stolen
Contract made of stealth
The stranger met the man in bed
A talking up a worm
A gun held high to break the words
And block the blowing storm
“The only way to block your mind,”
The stranger firmly screwed,
“Is hold my worm within your throat
And blow my mighty plume.”
The man ne’er loved the spoken worm
For talking all he did
No sight to see at all was put
Upon his need for bliss
To this day on
The worm persists
A talking in the throat
The man held high
His head erect
His pride he ne’er sees go.
About the Creator
Stephen Richards
Released brand new song - As We Are.
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