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Sam the man Leslie
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The leash that bleeds me: sanatorium.
   Wed May 09, 2018 8:19 pm

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The leash that bleeds me: sanatorium.

Permanent Linkby Sam the man Leslie on Wed May 09, 2018 8:19 pm

I dream the same thing every night:
No locked doors, no windows barred.
Build my fear of what is out there-
Assuring me that I’m insane:
Twisting my mind and smashing my dreams,
Pain monopoly;
Ritual misery.

Dark deception kills the light-
The door crack’s open but there’s no sun shinning through.
Speak the words I want to hear
To make my daemons run;
Moon is full, never seems to change:
Welcome to where time stands still.
Veins that pump with fear, sucking darkness clear-
In madness you dwell:
Another star denies the grave.

(Ladies and gentlemen...)
Step right up and see the man who taught the truth-
Find me guilty of the life I feel within.
When new friends only know half the story:
The door is locked now but it’s open if you’re true...
If you can understand the me;
Then I can understand the you.
Through black of day, dark of night:
Cause I’m the one who waits for you
Or are you unforgiven too?

Chop your breakfast on a mirror,
Just call my name cause I’ll hear you scream master.
End of passion play, crumbling away
(I’m your source of self-destruction)
: Mutiny in the air,
Mirror stares back hard;
But violent use brings...
And I, I am the thorn within.
Like twisted vines they grow
Hide and swallow mansions whole,
But; the memory remains:
Out from ruins once possessed,
Fallen city-
Living death.

Bleed me a cure
I’m sowing the seeds I take for granted;
I take the leash that bleeds me.
I do your time,
I take your fall;
I’m branded guilty for us all:
There is nothing left for me...
Need the end to set me free.

(And now what you’ve all been waiting for...)
I give you the man that suffers the truth:
The fearless wretch insanity;
Prey for father, roaming free-
They think our heads are in their hands...
Obey your master.
Swing the noose again:
Our kind of people had a bed for the night-
We share this; paralyzed.
Drift away, fade away:
Sleep my friend and you will see-
That dreams is my reality.

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N.O.N.C.E.

Permanent Linkby Sam the man Leslie on Thu Apr 19, 2018 8:27 am

N.O.N.C,E:
not of normal criminal etiquette.

Paedophilia is juxtapositional to warring nations-
leaving anguish in its wake.

Warring nations have smart bombs that target their victim: that government will groom its subjects; congruous to their ideologies and in return asking for absolute cache about what has instigated the action that has just took place.
We: the subject- get shrouded with promise greater to our expectation. feeling too abashed in refusing this bibelot of open-handedness: we (the gull) the nation offer our unwavering service to condemn the veracity from reaching the light of day.
And so the magnanimous despot continues their ideologies- belonging to idiosyncratic gratification: of control (suzerain),

A paedophile smells ingenuousness like a shark can smell a stuck pig from a mile away.
A soon to be leader of a state can see the perfect solution to the current problem.
Subtle be the manner to endeavour an accord with their prey:
amnesty before a declaration of war on a nation.
Over a period of grooming (elections), we the victim have become concordant to the intrinsic hypnotism by our paedophile (government) to not realise that their motives are unjust, unscrupulous and just simply wrong.

Governments and their smart bombs: a physical scar will make their victim a martyr.

Paedophiles with their likeability: a mental scar will lead to the victims demise.

But on very few occasions will a paedophile make their victims a martyr?

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Ezekiel 33:11

Permanent Linkby Sam the man Leslie on Mon Feb 19, 2018 9:45 pm

11"Say to them, 'As I live!' declares the Lord GOD, 'I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that the wicked turn from his way and live. Turn back, turn back from your evil ways! Why then will you die, O house of Israel?'


I try to encompass a sense of loss: like falling through the pavement cracks of society.. lost and not found, in making a sound
-my daemons they track me down; I once was lost, and now I'm found, oh how the sound of sweet insanity bring me to kneel before the mastery of buildings so tall.

A venom bleeding my pain
-the quale of my quagmire; I quail with pushing forward: nonchalance bewitch my true, steadies my unguided course whilst true north abandons my zeal on this besmirched day.
As I travel upon this clay: looking promising for a better day
-feet don't fail me now; cause every man needs countless chances to repent.

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Hospital

Permanent Linkby Sam the man Leslie on Thu Feb 15, 2018 11:56 pm

Walls so high: I miss the sky- where is my sunrise within my oubliette?

Sad faces replaced by empty spaces- that space between a blink and a tear: I fear my dear I may not survive this year.. With untold many served for which I deserved.
Chances of parole have come and gone.
-is this life that lives on?

Walls so high; and they've taken away my right to decide.. Sad faces replace empty spaces- if rain is what you want?, then take your seats and enjoy the wall.
Last edited by Snaga on Fri Feb 16, 2018 6:21 am, edited 1 time in total.
Reason: change to title due to various forum rules

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Rubicon; false morals: for a sequestered existence.

Permanent Linkby Sam the man Leslie on Wed Feb 07, 2018 11:39 pm

This malady in thoughts! May to I will..
Will it ever assuage?; Aye! This liking of serene malevolence: scry my intention, behove my sedentary stance. Albeit: I forborne obsequiousness- a rubrication of myself, that.. "I melee the- dark extremities of my 'rubik's cube."; what a joke...so suggestive...making a 'farce of crows' seem ingenuously meek.

Barren of: time's- depreciable follies.. I maunder in duplicity.
Confabulate...collude...contrive with an unparalleled concomitant- Maxwell's daimon: Buer.

Exterior- my compartmentalism; sits the malaise of Mr Crowley. (a manifest of malversation) The fetter to my manumission; this esoteric expurgation upon my vehement life force.
The captor/keeper of.. My mellifluent antidote for my- malady in thoughts: (beguiling vermilion peril) my angel- Victoria K. G.

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