For Likes Pt. 2
Did the 50 likes, like now I’m tricking for the hundredth.
Writing for followers, fornicating fictitiously; yet focused
Mode slain, code name Judge Dred.
Hope it wasn’t two “D’s” (if it is then I meant locks), yet I’m good up under skin like these words be the bugs’ bed,
Blood red, pillets on the sheets and the pillows I guess you got bed bugs…
Duds, never wrote those I quote those that self-title themselves in verbal impromptu autobiographies,
Take the vision and aerobic Rubix cube the positions of primary colors until secondary wonders refuse to move; like stationaries.
Foundation of the carnage, my first poetry slab was made out of garbage, black and blanch recycled Composition for my composition-aries…
Stubble brawn struggle of an adolescent, quandary of queries is poetical free verse normal for boys?
I knew it once my first victim enjoyed it delicately.
In forward-bias I knew she would be elegantly destroyed,
the intoxication by me, provided her with an explanation so opposite of explanatory…
“He’s got a certain je ne sais quoi about he”
About him, I am now much obliged to correct them,
Vernacular slew of typo binocular stew; potatoes for gems…
So I guess my friends, literature, especially poetry is also for men.
The masculinity of verses I press to hems…
All in an attempt to confess my sins and observations through my lens,
No italics unless such is the pretense.
I write for the message and the clicking of pens.
But mostly for likes, the likes of them.