K & B

He called her a gem once.
But precious as they are
They have hearts of stone.

A thousand suns shone
As her lips ajar
Leaking a radiant smile.
In that fire, he drowns.

She said she loves him “Small”.
But he’s certain that raindrops
Bathed Mother Earth
And made an ocean.
He cannot wait to go surfing.

Love. Her arms, his coffin.
Bodies entwined in an ouroboros,
A Short burst of Passion
Like The Phoenix’s fiery mitosis.
Eternal. Undying. Rebirth.
La petite mort.
In climax the pain stops
And the Vultures listen
To their carrion call.


The Outcast: Prologue/Home

This is not about being Outstanding.
This is not about not swaying with the crowd.
Or choosing your own path.
* * *
They hate them for the melanin in their skins.
They hate him for his penis.
They hate her for her fallopian tubes.
Sometimes, he hates back.
Most times, she does not care.
Hatred is easy to bear.
* * *
“With a circle on the floor
He compels them to be pure
Pulls the beast out of his heart
Then impales it on a sword
Writes a prayer on some paper
And then he nails it to the door
Just the good of you may enter
By the mercy of the lord
Listen not to what he speaks,
That’s been the cursing of his chords
A seduction of his senses
By the devils he adores
The unholy has him hostage
And his soul is now at war
Follow not his secret knowledge
It will bring you no reward
Shun him while in public
Disallow him from your stores
Have no part in his affairs
Lest his pestilence be yours
Make scoundrels of the righteous
And virgins into whores
But we must still pray
That his colour will be cured”
Lupe Fiasco “Lamborghini Angels”
* * *
The Outcast becomes vagrant
In search of Home.
Most times
This Journey knows no end.
Soon The Outcast is forgotten
Because the only family there is
Is oneself.


“With my closing eyes… I see?
With my beating heart… I feel?
With my thinking mind… I be?
With my living soul… I’m free.”

. . .
I see…
. . .
I see the moon glorious in borrowed light
I see there’s still no power
I see pinpricks of brilliance in the canvas of night
I see beauty in children flowers
I see Footprints in the Sands of Time
I see God’s breath in Clay Bodies
I see Her beautiful smile
I see Motifs of Good and Evil
I see impending Poetic Justice
I see my Love as a crime
. . .
Close-mindedness is like The Pill
To the birthing of ideas.
Images are based on perception
Your truth can be a lie
To a different pair of eyes.
The Truer my Vision gets
The lower my eyelids droop.
Only in Darkness do I see the light.

My Castle

With my castle in the sky
A dreamy foundation of hope.

Her beauty abstracted into frescos
For the Beast that roams its walls.

Forever trapped by my emotions
Never seeing past my castle walls
And the memories trapped in murals.

The Darkness within is Absolute
I am one with the castle
As the Darkness is within Beast too.

The labyrinthine hallways
Explored in the gloom
Let it remain pure in memory
Let Light not shatter my trance.

Sometimes I find a broken window
Where the Sun leaks in
My wounds bleed anew
Remember me my Sorrow.

There’s frost in my heart
Mirrored in the castle
So I begin my trek
In this Summertime Winter.

Soon as the Weariness sets in
The Noose beckons
The abyss in a loop.

The tipping chair Takes all eternity.
May be because I heard Her voice.

Welcome home, My Lo… *darkness*

Nwabunielimakwu II

Nipples are brown…
I have not seen
But I was told
Brown of gold rust
Brown of bread crust

Nipples are brown…
A frown on lips…
Not lips I kissed
But lips that speak
Scars buried deep

Nipples are brown…
A frown on lips…
A crown on brow…
Not of metal
Flower petals

Nipples are brown…
A frown on lips…
A crown on brow…
A heart of steel…
In eyes I drown…