A hypnotizing rhythm
of metal on track
car honks and stop signs.
My perfectly measured lines,
red light, green light, one, two, three nights in a row...no sleep.
just weathered eyes staring back at me
knighted jackets of the night
come for me…throw me away
the thickness of night
no beauty in decay
It wasn’t all orgasms
We left trails of sand across our wonderland
Filling valleys in the earth
Void of moisture and love
I waded towards the light dancing across the lovely angle of your lips.
The veil of sweet pea blanketing your chest
Or more importantly the beat of your breast
The baritone beat that colored a land of
But it wasn’t all orgasms and butterflies.
Wine spills over sand
As LUSTful eyes connect
Powder rocks drip religiously to the lips
Clawed fingers hollowed neck
curved lips in disgust as a chest beats fear into every step.
But it wasn’t all orgasms and butterflies.
It wasn’t all orgasms and butterflies.
I walk with open hands
To catch winds that flow froth from a broken dam
Painting snowy pages with grainy memories
Tumbling over each other like waves and sand
So I search the seashore for purpose
Every speck of land
Hoping to find I am more than just trails in the sand.
The unexpected ecstasy
Of glazed lips...Embrace of hips
From a friendship
With wings of a dove
Words to myself
Listen here buddy!
Your bluest eye is often elongated with sarcasm
Hidden mantras, doubting thoughts, witty banter, and feelings of dispassion
When you see these feelings in your self do not fear or abandon
All the fertile hollowness inside you is a peculiar gift, an experience worth having
All the decay and ill-fitting skin... is all the compost needed to grow within
Perhaps that's why roses smell like poo?
Even so, you have to believe you can birth a life anew
Before entering the void ask yourself this question
Will the final scene provide relief?
Can a silently held hand push you to believe?
After all, a connection is what we all need
So remember what seeks me is also what I should seek.
Now just get on with it!
In this nights hour
A serpent speaks to me
conscious of realities
it whispers beyond belief
A puppet with string
theories of will... not save me
Drama exists in every story
What will this drama become of me?
But when I crash
I’m all smiles!
Until I end
sad twisted pile
Glazed whispers like cloth
across a sober pond.
A chorus of mantras buried under the surface.
On moonlight's polish
the tide rises.
Leaving nothing but the past behind...
Hesitant mouse morally mocking the light
to cheerful chipmunk
Your presence was presented
as a present
you kept me present from
you made me laugh
Our birth on warm isles
gave birth to warm milk
I wish you luck and acceptance…
on your journey
stone take millions to form
Despite your falls or wavers
you can always be my savior
The_Grime is snow on a black NYC street.
The_Grime was raised by immigrant parents who traveled from Trinidad to New York for a better life like many others at the time.
During the younger stages of life The_Grime remembered pleasant summers in Trinidad filled with bats, chickens and goats. Streets filled with roti and packed taxi vans; and falls and winters on chilly New York streets with puffy jackets and long bus lines. The_Grime felt bless to call two places home. Two places vastly different in mood and lifestyle.
During the third grade, Grime began to feel different, perhaps oddly lonely. But Grime knew he had a loving family and tough older sister to bat away any ill feelings or inadequacies. As The_Grime matured he frequently borrowed his families video camera to record anything he could, he couldn’t help himself for framing life the way he saw it. Or the way he wanted it to be.
In High-school The_Grime did well in advance and honor classes and decided to take classes at New York Film Academy to further pursue his hobby. His first film was a failure as he never edited before, so Grime decided to run from presentation night and feign sickness to avoid failure. Eventually The_Grime decides to follow his sister to Rutgers University, because he honestly didn’t think he can pursue anything in film anymore and his writing was always good. But mostly because he had no idea who he was or what he wanted to become.
During college The_Grime encountered many people of different backgrounds and ethnicities, but the feeling of loss and loneliness heightened as his willingness to pursue his hobbies grew. He began working on small films and tv shows but was never at peace with himself. Often bouncing irrationally from one thing to the next. Eventually Grime found an answer. He found acceptance, serenity, and control in drugs and alcohol and here his life took a major defining turn.
Eventually The_Grime graduated and started a successful career in casting for reality television before working as a tv commercial producer. But the hunger grew inside. All the therapy couldn’t help Grime hold a relationship for any extended period of time. A breakup with the longest of his relationships started Grime on a slow and long spiral that was years coming. The_Grime began heavily self medicating which affected family, his finances and his friends.
Soon The_Grime found himself frequenting the underbelly of His city. Committing theft, fraud and other heinous acts among other spiritually lost souls. The_Grime has no idea how his life became so disjointed. He became selfish in framing life under the lens as he wanted it to be. Dressed, directed and lit up to his discretion, and not accepting the scene as it is.
Currently writing from rehab with a hidden phone. The_Grime is on a mission to change his habits and the life he once lived. To write stories that other souls on a journey of change can relate too and do something helpful with the stories he has gathered.