MY MIXTAPE

This was originally written on a vinyl 8track cassette burnt CD and downloaded to the cloud but, dew to weight of my girth it came crashing to the earth and now can be found in the fog.

 MY MIXTAPE

Track 1:

ZOMBIEZ

"Rise my love..."

Her beauty is that which dreams are made , nightmarishly flys open the grave

as the b*****d walks past to gasps , feet stomping ,rattling , and shaken earth with an avalanche collapse

Worms unbarrow exiting creaking bone marrow   

Protruding spine
moaning lips mutter "O where is this love of mine?"
She is an angel endless in time hovering ; clouding the air , just out of reach to grasping hands of despair  incantation to a vacant stare

Her glowing beauty warms even the deadest of hearts while it tears worlds apart by adore 

glowing pins and scientist limbs on the bloody lab floor

The siren sings her song as the beast murks along
but, which is it? an evil witches curse? or worse?
a governmental experiment of deceased soldiers sent searching relentlessly back from the dead
with only one thought leaking from sleepless rotting heads
for nothing will get in it's way; decay ..to her   
dismay...for she doesn't really exist
strategically placed
she is seemingly lost in the mist; hard to find
"Rise my love..." looped on rewind , locked in the mind.
"Zombie!" Resurrecting the past as one becomes millions amass
killing all in their path
seeing visions of her in a dream , is to kill in reality  
mangled bodies and broken necks equals success!
"It's alive!" or is it?
For the creators realize too late in a twist of fate
that there is no off switch for the strongest emotion of all
as the creation turns Frankenstein and eats the brains of those who thought to tame

now guidless-mindless in a bloody mess 

in an open cavity of a heartless chest; beats love undefeated

to a world screaming in terror , overrun by a primal emotions it falls to its knees

crippled in blood 

another victim of love.

"Zombies!"

by the unknown sith

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Track 2:
TWISTED TONGUES
Oh Baby come here let me nibble on your ear
for its the bad boy that pulls more hoes than John Deere
Let me whisper sweet nothings telling you exactly what you want to hear
even to the brain dead I can make thoughts clear
till the next morning you wake up alone in my bed like
What?   
It musta been something he said
yup!,  
I had your ego pushed up like a D cup
as sucklet n*****s were red like your face to surprise
while my tongue was sliding down your thigh
toes clinch with every inch to rolling eyes
while your nails claw into my upper back
you were working it hard like Sunday chores
just how I like on all fours
yelping like a dog letting you know a strangers at the door
the rest was a wash as bodies got tossed  
fresh from the dryer- no sheets left on the bed
only indention's of bodies that bend
headboard knotted up
and an ice pack on your bruised head
damn!
musta been something he said....
yup!

by the unknown sith

............................

 Track 3:
 FLIGHT 157
"The plane! The plane!"

Crazy Eddie gone insane 40,000 miles up hanging off the wing of your f*****g plane. I'm not a gremlin baby. I'm an unbelievable catastrophic event that wasn't meant...but, I am-rocking your world like turbulence as I spin your invert view of sunny horizons to a bipolar eclipses of a dark reality. Causing a setting sun to go fatherless with a b*****d laugh as an oxygen mask falls into your lap. Now can you scream? While we all fall off the map.

1,2,3...Enter explosions, implosions,with noise commotions dropping to 90,000 pound of brutal metal. Which comes growling to the ground with bass driving riffs that vibrate the soul to a death-o-gasm level .Your face is white as you black out in 3,2,1.

Wake up! "The plane ...The plane"" is engulfed in flames! As you search for survivors but, only come across busted skull with maggots eating brains, un-salted peanuts, and a melted 'occupied' sign burnt into a happy little dead gremlin head.  Now in this holocaust, you find yourself "lost" in this Bermuda triangle as a cast way, on a fantasy island, with only a volleyball made by willson.               

by the unknown sith

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Track 4:
'LIT'  ft. the unknown sith
    Standing outside the 711 at 9 with 5 on 10. Half of that is how far I get from my car divided by 2 as he un-threatenly blocks my path to the store door. His approach is a failed take off as he asks me "yo man do you like music?" My response is none as I walk around to avoid his crash landing attempt to get money from me like an ATM. My stature is enough to make any sly remarks idle as the plane circles the runway. But, not enough to stop the next assent to fly again.
     Moments of minutes to seconds I return from which I came. The plan is again on the lane as he is in mine. The meet and great that I didn't desire starts again. "Yo man I'm just saying this mixtape is lit!" A Cd is now produced before me as is the sudden noise from my seemly far away car. "Dad does he have a mixtape?" ...s**t...To my son I reply with a knowing whats next sigh and here comes the puppy dog eyes "ya.." before my lips can finish this staggering word of the English language " is it lit ? " ...f**k me running... I regurgitate the staggering word in foreseen defeat "ya..." " can we get it?" which I knew was coming and speaking of that "ya...".

    So after giving my unwanted new friend 5;  I'm now 10 on 10. I return to my car a hero to a boy with a face of Christmas, as I quickly figure out to a million head bobs and wrist flicks that lit;  means s**t.

THE END

..............

HIDDEN TRACK

Look for my full 11'inch cumming soon to a Milf near you. Guaranteed to go triple wood in her town. Yo! it's so hard a cat couldn't scratch it!

Ps: My solo project is a beat tape...I'll let you finger that out by yourself. It's titled  "Sixty-ate and you owe me one."

by the unknown sith

Author's Note

My writing are like scabs...I can't stop picking at them...
The deeper I read...the more they bleed....
till their a carcass....to a starving artist.....

Reviews

[barleygirl]

I am in awe of your gushing fountain of creativity here. Reading #1 I'm thinking, I can't think up half this much wild s**t whenever I try to write a spooky poem for Halloween. I wish I could get that unhinged, yet with just enuf connections to planet earth where your stuff reads coherently . . . to a point. #2 - love your rhyming & even more I love your enthusiastic irreverence for the way sex is usually depicted . . . in short, fun raunchy realistic with a built-in spank. #3 - good job telling a story using words that sound interesting together while also providing enuf connective tissue so it reads like a narrative & not just a pile-up of interesting words. #4 - I don't know what to say about #4, the poem, but I'm impressed with your whole "mixtape" motif thru-out, very clever, including the byline commentary below your title. Carry on picking them scabs cuz you're making a fine messa blood here! (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie