Crimson

Love, Rage and Courage.

Aggressive, Energetic and impulsive.

Cremated... But rose like a phoenix with these feelings I can't shake off.

I can't seem to brush it off.

A fuel is burning inside of me, my insides are lit with a fire  that is all consuming and all I see is red.

All I see is bloodshed.

All I see are those who claimed to have my back but then they fled.

I can feel my pulse racing as my anger takes the better of me.

Vengeance is slowly becoming the theme.

Imagine shooting shots and they only hit the rim.

Imagine being fouled as you layup to the hoop.

You try and you get blocked, you try again and still the result is same, you discover you're hooked to a loop.

So what then is a man to do with all of this rage?

Flip a new page?

Just like that?

You mean without bringing all of these to the glare of the world's stage.

In truth I love y'all, but I'm trying to understand why to me y'all have become Saul; standing tall and leading the attack against me.

Stabbed me in the back and pulled me off my tracks.

I never saw it coming, for the red of love had covered my eyes.

From underneath you pulled me from my highs.

So now in the stead of that red I see crimson.

That same red with a tinge of blue.

It's a reminder that I am coming.

Crimson, crimson in my veins and it's the fuel with which my soul is driven.

In its sea I've been swimming, bidding my time and observing through a prism.

There's no more being timid.

Once bitten, twice shy.

I've been twice bitten.

Do Not 'HIGH' 5 The Syrup Clan.

Meditate... Meditate... Meditate...
Instead of Medicate... Medicate... Medicate.
It's about 8 in the AM, but 'eyes never clear for Kate'.
She's on a dosage that the physician never signed off on.
One Benylin and sprite twice or thrice daily gives her the feeling that she's sailing.
But to where? She'll never really know.
The repercussions of this seed she doesn't really know.
The god of addiction has struck her with his arrow that flew at a nasty angle off his bow.
So now all she sees is slow, all her brain aches for is that numbness ... It's at a stage she can't control.
Her journey into the 'rup clan was smooth and steady.
10 dwarfie bottles in a party standing next to 10 mighty carbonated bottle of drinks.
A chemistry titration where the titre value is how high can we go.
The indicator... The slow feeling knocked upon to the brain.
Here all the pain seems to go away.
Like the prodigal son going even more astray.
Never to return... As the journey to an unknown land has begun without the Sojourner even taking notice.
Somebody say No please.
The backdoor escape for suffering or psychological trauma is not codeine.
Yet I live In a society where disruptive behaviour disorder is termed as evil and demonic spirits.
Split personality disorder is ogbanje or mammy water.
'Well, wetin man wan do'... This is Nigeria.
'Coda bottles full all of the area'.
All of the time a young lad or lass feels caged, one of their peer passes him the lean... We slowly killing ourselves, Kung-Fu kicks to our ribcages.
It's now a recreational beverage.
The further they climb, the harder it is to withdraw.
Soon enough the camel's back is broken with the last straw.
Those pullings the strings of the addicted are the winners and like the Champions League final, there are no draws.
They are the clan, dangling the cheese of codeine in front of addicted mice.
They fail to provide a platform.
Yet cry wolf for the same minds they have deformed.
They pump money into the business on code.
Reaping in back, ripping us off like flesh off toads.
Yet, this is a story which would never be told.
They love us dead in the head just to get ahead.
Yes... That goes for your dead beat pharmacies who leak the ish behind curtains.
You know the drawbacks, yet with that same cane you flog our bare backs.
Lean would never get fatter if the clan close the channels.
It booms because they provide the funnels.
Yet they want accolades for banning said drugs, when we know it's a ploy to jack up the price of said drugs on the street.
More coins in their money bags, shamefully for them that's lit.
This again is Nigeria.
Abeg, do not high 5 the syrup clan.

NOW, THE PAST AND THE FUTURE UNDER A SHOWER.

It's 5:33 PM and rain drops are crashing on my window.
I'm in the shower where I often think the most clear and the world often spins slow.
Big Brother's wedding is in a lil' bit, all I can think 'bout is what if it was me getting hooked for life.
David Asikpata Omoighoje found a woman and he found a wife.
It sends a shiver down my spine and now I know probably how big brother must be feeling.
Alittle nervous I suppose.
A life long commitment whom no one can oppose.
The water takes a journey to the bathroom floor via my torso and I begin to imagine my own wedding.
I don't really dig it big, but it's her day so lets bang the drums and make loud sounds.
From the altar I gaze upon the aisle and behold she emerges in flowing white.
If the choir could sing EdSheeran's perfect it would magnificent, I'm by the altar in a burgundy suit with black lapels thinking to myself that my queen is indeed a beautiful sight.
I'm focused on her and somehow the congregation fades away.
In my head am reciting my vows, hoping to spit 'em like a rappers bars when I finally say 'em.
It is such bliss which I can't just waste with just any miss.
My mind drifts to the women who would probably point to me and say I led them on.
I put it all on the table before we went ahead to do what thou wilt.
For most of them I'd probably say it's a shame our love went on tilt.
No fault of mine that's why I always tried to keep it real.
Like a highlight reel it all flashes in front of my face.
She who would point fingers at me forgetting we were often cut up by so many states.
We desired each other and of cos we were knee deep on something akin to what y'all call love.
She always thought she was in the boat alone, and I like a puppet master joyfully pulled her strings.
I guess at my wedding that would all be in the past and like Prince Harry I'd joyfully invite my ex-es without bad blood.
The reception gonna be lit and something tells me by that time I'd be into roses for some wierd reason.
Dance Dance Dance Season.
I sure hope she can rock the dance floor else that would mean I'd be taking two trophies home.
It's 6:13, I am fully clothed now, legs crossed on my study table.
I can solely conclude now and this is in no way a fable.
Love is sweet and weddings are always beautiful.

THE NEW ADDICTION

I feel ill, a sickness of thumbing my phone.
I'm inside the internet, a home that's different from my own.
My hands are itchy, my data is out but somehow my phone is in my hands... I guess my Phone is sticky.
It's hard to admit but am addicted to living in this digital space where the earth is compressed into a global village.
I'm more connected than I once was, yet I've become more disconnected.
It's a paradox and yes it sucks, but I can't help but thumb away all day like my hands and phone were together in cuffs and locks.
Initially I had failed to realize it.
I've got every information literally at my fingertips, a swipe or a click.
My favourite stars don't only shine at night, even at daylight, they are always within sight.
So I follow their trail wishing their life was mine, coming to conclusion that my life was probably swine.
I'm now a stalker, in one hand I've got johnnie walker whilst drooling over melanin beauties and light skin damsels.
On it alot sells.
With a click those fresh pairs of sneaks could be on my feet.
On it there's coins in the pockets of business owners, but there's manipulation too... Pulling strings for Maximum profits, consumer's money has gone down the loo.
I'm synced to my phone like a google app, it's eating my time like a tasty snack... It's like cheese to mice, I'm in a very big trap.
I can't pullout and can't stand the withdrawal symptoms.
It would be like time traveling to the stone age, no one even reads hard covers anymore, it's so much work to flip a page.
I'm red with rage Knowing I've caught this bug, Feeling manipulated by Mr Zuckerberg.
The advance in tech has seemed to cause a wreck.
The negatives are clouding the positives, maybe going back to the garden would be safer? With my pelvic region covered by broad leaves.

So then How do I go on?
Knowing I'm in digital chains, my very consciousness orchestrated by what I assimilate.
Is it too late?
Do I just follow its tides oblivious of the location of shore.
It's all some sort of blur, I never knew how I got here.
The bigger question with a fat elephant in the room is... How do I get out?

Diary of a Poet 6

Never Alone
There's a place inside of me that wants to dream,

Diary of a Poet 5

Enveloped inside the fog of her own brain
Memories of happiness and sorrow come in waves
Tear ducts overflowing and never depraved
Tears filled with hate and blood stains
They stream down her cheeks to the corners of her mouth
Creating a cycle of swallowing them so they reroute 
Some churn forever never making it back to recascade
Creating an ocean filled with tidal waves
Slamming into each other creating chaotic sorrow bubbles within
Floating through her veins and crawling beneath her skin 
Finally rupturing and spilling the salts of hate and pain
Salts that forever line the shores of the beach made up of black grains
The ocean takes these grains of black back out to be set free
Free to release the hate that's deeply embedded in her fearless sea

I am, I was.

I've been hiding my kevin's heart, I admit I do it real slick.
I'm a cheat, breaking hearts, it's a shame that I'm a big prick.
You taste better and do better, yet I still go for versions that are beta.
I'm real dumb, for not seeing you are a real one who's better than those half baked cakes that I taste behind your back. 

I'm way off track and there's something in my brain that I confess I really do lack.
My smile is crooked at dinner coz I'm only thinking about dessert.
I had you for appetizer and now it's the main course, yet for some reason the taste don't feel good enough. 

DIARY OF THOUGHTS

I love a woman but I fear her the most, she could put me on toast, she could shut down my boast.
The texture of the fabric of her mind is indeed amazing, demonic and angelic, an irony in flesh and spirit.
I'm fascinated by the way her mood flickers.
Some times she kicks ass. 

Letter to my crush

I had always wondered 
If someone who surpasses
My tormentors does exist
Created to love me

DAIRY OF THOUGHTS

I watched you go, now I see you come back.

I watched you learn your lesson, but before then I watched you leave with all of your things in a napsack.
My brain gave me no reasons for your actions, even after I had put it on a ransack.
Pitch black is all I see when I think back.
Back to the time when we frolicked. 

Diary of a Poet 4

Racy in purple lace draped across her bare skin
Caressing her womanhood inviting him within
Robbins tied around her like a present to unwrap
Purple lace that see through showing off her swollen slit
He slides it off her shoulders letting it wrap around her waist
Slowly anticipating just how sweet she's going to taste
Untying the white ribbons as they slide between her thigh
As she feels his passion begin to rise
Then she sits on top of him eager to please
As she slides her wetness across his throbbing pulse with ease
Taking a new position of sitting on her knees
As she taste her own sin with the mixture of his leak
Then of excitement that builds up between his legs
The she cleans him off with her throat and a slightly messy gag
As the pressure starts to build, he's about to let go
Let go of his liquid love inside me as it flows
Then they lay together enjoying the warmth of their mixture
A forever love that's a flesh combined liquid elixir

MY VERY BIG GBEGE!

Bae mama no gree see wetin bae see in me.
She say I be christian, sey i be infidel, sey I be detty for the eyes of Allah.
"All the handsome young men at the mosque you couldn't pick one, it's that christian boy you want, you just want to bring me shame".

DAIRY OF THOUGHTS

Hung in the balance yet the pendulum swings.
The clock ticks.
The plot thickens.
The stagnation is real so there is no lack of surprise when I see us running daily like headless chickens.
The status quo is a brick tied to our feet.
We are plunging to the depths.
There is an unusual calm as we plunge to our deaths.
The taste is salty.
Slow and real slow we go.
Slow and real slow we ride the wave of our ancestors who jumped from ships to escape bondage.
The twist is that we're bringing the chains back to 'em.
We have been tricked and the sleight of hand was really quick.
Who would remove us from this hypnosis?
We haven't been crying out.
We haven't done enough in this crisis.
So who then would save us now...
Some one to come in with thunder claps like kung lao.
Or someone to come in, removing the spell that has been casted with their spell binding presence.
Or someone with a different persona maybe?
Dear lord would you please save 'we'?

DAIRY OF THOUGHTS

I know that I said some things, but then You know that I miss you.
The beauty of it all is in the pain piercing my heart through. 

Taxify driver

All I wished for is a thought printer

What an interesting thing will be read.. 

Is it the thought of undressing the taxify driver!

Diary of a Poet 3

Words flying through my mind all at the same time

Which ones make sense and which ones rhyme

Diary of a Poet 2

Rhyming is a science that is mastered by the timing

The timing of the poet's hand that is steady climbing