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Black Promenade

Dedicated to

Infatuation: in-fat-u-a-tion

"an intense but short-lived passion or admiration for someone"

Act I

Queen Tut, her Masquerade.

Temptress in the emerald blades,

her teeth bared, smile disguised a snarl;

pink tongue honey thick-the sweet nothings said.

A liar, pokerface’d drama her art

Shall I be a fool if art’s taken to heart?



I didn’t choose to live a life of hesitation,
nor did I choose to show compassion,
Weakness and care.

What I would give to revert to mine reckless intent,
to plough my way through hearts with a hell bent
passion for pain in their eyes.

Leave me, bitter disposition. I asked not for you,
a burden forced upon me, one that grew
with mine heart. Piss off.



What is it we've come to in youthful naivety,

we've allowed infatuations of a Shakespearian kind,

to rule not heart but body and mind?

Alas, I'm pondering longer and harder:

to be poor Ophelia- what would I rather?

to feel?  I ask, to feel

the scars of "love's" dagger upon my heel?

I shall not wonder "where art thou" for thine art foul

is the bane of manhood, Troy at Helen's clutch- your cancerous touch.


Infidelity: In-fi-del-i-ty

"the action or state of being unfaithful"



Does it matter that you are not alone?

If hypothetically, I was not alone-

am not alone.

Jack and Hil, Marylin, Monica?

an end is inevitable- neither better than the other.

She and I are young, We is old, born a millenia ago-

The only thing promised is death.


Retribution: Ret-ri-bu-tion 

"punishment that is considered to be morally right and fully deserved"


Act II



You slide in the first two,

chat a bit of shit and I do too,

I say I don’t give a fuck and load two more,

I match you blow for blow and I’m calling you a whore,

you’re calling me a dick, you start talking slick

about ancient things, what we’d put behind us, really taking the piss.

One loaded by your tongue, you’ve started seeing red-

I slide in the last and say I’d rather be with your friend

because she never chats shit, always well behaved,

you pull the hammer back, and you’re going on crazed,

slugs in my chest and brain, in the walls,

you don’t give a fuck, you hit it all.


I pick myself up, wounded and hurting,

I tell you “You’re not the only one who’s been flirting”-

Do you remember her? Yeah, well I damn well do,

that’s me loading the first, the second and third too.

I’m past caring and I channel the rage

but I’m not the only one, I can see it in your face;

mad as a motherfucker you stare me in the eye,

tell me you can’t stand me and are close to ‘bye’,

that you only stick around the kid out of habit,

that I’ve let the passion die and that’s when you grab it,

slide in two more, and you’re making sure they sting.

I’m not all I cracked out to be, in fact I’m nothing,

An “Ain’t shit nigga” selling dreams to the world,

that’s when you loaded in the last one, girl.

I spin the cylinder, I’m going on possessed,

straight headshots, red patches on your summer dress,

praying for a death, flirting with regret,

there’s a corpse on the grass and all that’s rushing through my head

is I love you.



"a final part of something, esp. a period of time, an activity, or a story"


Closure: Clo-sure

" the act or process of closing something"





 [Continues overleaf]







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