You went off half cocked
It was me that you shot
Like an automatic machine gun
Words out of your mouth just flung
I'm bleeding out here on the ground
It's my body you keep stepping around
I was always there for you
I helped you more times than a few
But yet here I am
I'm still the one ******
For every good deed there is a punishment
You sent our friendship into banishment
So don't look you might not like what you find
For you burned that bridge, I've locked that door and left your *** behind

Sorrowed ink fills my pen
So I write once again
I'm not seeking fame
Just trying to drain the pain
No one need to read
I use my pen to bleed

I write about my past
It'll leave you aghast
When want and reality collide
I write about dreams that died
When I become numb
My brain becomes dumb
I write about how I've succumb
To a life lived in the rabbit hole
Where no happiness ever flowed
I write about agony
That drives you to your knees

Yes in my pen is the most sorrowed ink
Watch me as I sink
As I paint a picture of a person on the brink

Some might call it Karma
         And for some it could be Fate
          Or perhaps a Poison Apple
        that you didn't know you'd ate

             It could be I used Magic
           and I cast a few Dark Spells
          and perhaps a Poison Potion
          or a Demon Curse from Hell

          I might have asked a Genie
           in a bottle for his wishes
         or asked a nasty Witch to help
           with pretend Princess kisses

I could have summoned Moaning Ghouls
      who'll haunt you in your sleep
      or coaxed a Vampire from his lair
              to bite you really deep

           While all this could be true
              as Fairy Tales might seem
               but trust me when I say
            this nightmare's not a dream

              You're feeling really bad
              your life is such a mess
            I slaughtered you with ink
            that is laid upon your chest

             My words they still linger
         like the banshees in your head
           to haunt your every thought
         with the sweat that fills your bed

             Her names Poetic Justice
                her poison is my pen
          and you might be quite terrified
               while I am feeling Zen

           Of course you know that she
         is best when she's served cold
          to keep you all the company
            you need when you are old

        Now your life is crumbling down
         from wicked lies that past those lips

               It wasn't even a challenge
                      for these poetic
                        ....    fingertips

Cherie Nolan © All Rights Reserved 2016

Did you know
That in the snow
Despite the glow

Our fears
Are still there
Still holding us near

Did you know
In the snow
The fear still grows

Even when it's covered
Under beautiful snow smothered
Just beneath the surface can be discovered

Did you know
In the snow
The winds of change still blow

You can try to foget
It will still make you sweat
It will still make you pay that debt

Did you know
In the snow
The fear will still make your blood run cold

The Mongoose dances with the Cobra
Bending and twitching, it looked like yoga
One little ***** of those poisons fangs
Will leave it dying in ravenous pain
The Mongoose so small and frail
It looks like the dance with the Cobra is sure to fail
The jumping and striking is memorizing to watch
Looking exhausted they raise it up a notch
A dance to the death is the show before me
The Cobra's hood is all I can see
He sways from side to side trying to hypnotize
But I can hear the Mongoose's chattering cries
Bouncing back and fourth on legs of springs
The Cobra strikes, you can hear the zing
The Mongoose is to fast, to the side it jumps
Then comes the bone crushing crunch
As the snakes body curls in on it's self into a ball
Looks like the mongoose won after all

So even if you think of yourself as small
Be the mongoose when problems come to call

In a world of entrepreneurs all you want is to fix my heart

You just sit there like a nonexistent entity
Having no special identity
All your thoughts are not your owen
Only planted seeds in your mind is sown
You are so **** vain
This will probably have to be explained
Because you will probably take this as flattery
But I must say you have a vanilla personality

He comes knocking your door
Buys things you need no more
Weighs and pays for discarded load
Then goes off to another road.

For your pound he pays pence
Makes it seem in perfect sense
The deal is only if you're willing
To barter the old for new shilling.

You feel he adds some happiness
Clears the dirt creates the space
Your home was long a messy lot
With no place for new things brought.

Not all old things are like that dirt
A few are ever new are your part
He never asks them to be sold
Knowing you wouldn't for price of gold.