King_B_Rite

"How to Lust a Queen; King Sutra" imagined, theorized, partly written and typed by: King B. Rite - The Poet/Psychopath



"How to Lust a Queen; King Sutra" imagined, theorized, partly written and typed by: King B. Rite - The Poet/Psychopath

Bad choice of words can leave a most tasteless remarkable flavor upon a disgusted tongue; excuse my irregular way of touching myself indecently… a hair line fracture can leave a trigger waiting to be fingered by an emotional wreck that claims to be A.O.K…

the damage has been done, a mental souvenir to never see mind to mind with any other; due to the aftermath calculations; damage was indeed a conclusive conclusion to a long ago hypothesis to a theory… I rummage once again in and out of The Corridor looking back one last moment to realize the pain it took to paint away the way I express my most sincerest form of flattery towards all that i have ate, mentally scarred by casualties of Chaos… Fault; commercial friendly, uninformed, and more hazard prone due to the amount of accidents that have been made out of poor judgment, falsely accused and clinically diagnosed “INSANE” by those that take over the counter attack dosages of in the face ventilation; literal and not idiomatically! my own consequence to allow others to see what I mean. When in fact my personal opinions belong to I and I only can fully understand the sense in humor over inconsiderable cut throat motivation... the true emotions of love hurts more than what it's worth. The entrance was once far fetched and now a long way out to be long gone; I belong to no other… dead inside with nothing at all to gain, out of a mind for words that were once sworn to be a secret... how can I be forgiven for an action that never actually took place... the art in gossip can leave a disgusted tongue astray and left with nothing else to say. With lack of permission, I selfishly allow myself to stroke my own out of insanity in a motion to revoke my madness; a strike is a strike, bruised and well aware that actions can inflict pain if each drip drops more than just the wetness of intuition, the tip burns quick as if a wick can be relit in mid existence only to finish strict business; success is a form of revenge, if success can bring misery to those that wish death upon a slave that labors in and out each sunrise and sundown, dusk till dawn compared to those that can not afford happiness with nothing to gain, nothing to lose with nothing to prove… I continue to hold my own for no other; overly grown, weapon of choice in hand; I continue to stroke, awaiting the release of my unborn seed.

... over it all and under the sky above I continue on... for my self, by myself and foremost for my soon to be. A seed obviously, planted by the tip of my over grown intuition and post mature ejaculation. Critically acclaimed to be anticipated by the immaculate Zenith. One of two doors have Been pried open by the eyes that continue to lurk upon a page. Where is the respect for personal space, strictly business. An affair is contaminated by criticism... conflict of interest will leave more than just a few astonished by the lack of respect for others… broken off the deep dead end of a grave, shallow as it may be the depth of the dead have over populated in an increase of innocent ignorance. Mutual feelings can be felt as if a ribbed shaft can be forced upward towards the center of the anatomy; gutless solar plexus that quiver with the sight for sore eyes when an obscene gesture is never actually hand crafted by the art of speechless language: “MIME the business of those that rather use words than actions… spoken, ignored, in one and out the other, only to be forgotten and unremembered at a more inconvenient moment; as a reminder:

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything said can and will be used against you in a court full of cowards as if gossip is the native tongue of those that choose not to pertain to their own business; lack thereof potential. You have the right to an attorney and no right to judge others. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you due to not being able to pay for attention when attention mattered; common sense courtesy to beware of owner and operator of an obsession with obstacles. Amazing it is to be still standing; corrected in the midst of it all; The Door to Chamber Two has yet to be fornicated by the solid thought figment I have grown attached to; like wise vise versa.

Does it sound quit familiar and/or similar… understand the concept of rights; your eyes have just mind witnessed as words were once written with a bit of authenticity along side a premeditated plot against the one who takes high offense with no regards in considering the experience it took to gain strength to stand up for ones own existence; just read and be quite? Unless words can compete and conquer what has been written in structured order to entertain the pain away, targetless audience… I applaud the offense with a standing ovation, currently at this exact moment both hands are full with facts that are being alibied by the mind… along with true emotions that floods blanken pages with the color of blood; Read! All feelings are not available at this moment, including sympathy, empathy and apathy… With these rights in mind post being read after being written, do you wish to speak to me unprofessionally or does the stability of an irregular mind flow easily offends the conformed sized matter that has been mentally cleansed by a fractured society that does not deserve the slightest bit of respect due to not being able to open the mind to other options?”

The cards have been dealt as if a sinner’s hand can be as dead as a door knob that has yet to be turned into an opportunity, with a twist of a wrist and a flicker of a flame can ignite the ignition of a transmission in order to rev the engine and begin to be continued where “Pxalm XXX” of “THINK; Know Truth, WRITE; Know Truth, READ; Know Truth” left off with no point to make… the premature ejaculation of introducing the mind that will soon take place from within my most beloved Zenith; INSIGNIA will be the name I raise out of a New Found Hail.

Flames ablaze in a furnace of a rapid pace; matter that multiplies prior to a solid thought becoming all that it once dreamed to be, a fetial position can leave one fornicated with out mercy, in submission, clinched and ready to set goals to even the score with more than just one point of view. Upon a field of lost dreams and forgotten wishes that never had a chance… Distracted by illusion and brought up by conformity all hope is dead and gone for The Art of Art… each breath to breathe is a step closer to a death bed covered in red luscious pedals pulled by a repetitive question, obnoxious and redundant… “Love me so, Love me not” I on the other hand rather ask “Hate me then, Hate me now, Hate me soon until the moon converts a rare moment into an expression of depressing colors that will forever paint the mood BLUE; sadistically sad!”

Words once written and read unclearly I repeat, yet another deja vu to add to the list of many: “Never say I never said” in correction I never did so; silent as can be I have killed more moments than wasting my valuable moments on an action that will serve consequences in my direction, as a wise slave would learn from the honest mistakes once upon a committed decision to disregard the suggestion given by a slave that has already learned the difference in reality and illusion; psychologically proven due to the lesson learned, selfish respect earned and intolerable thoughts to teach to those that can not reach out to others due to lack of experience in existence… master the mind and a master will be revealed as a vicious warrior that does not take “NO” for an answer… a wiser slave will learn from the dishonest mistakes of a pirate that lived to tell a tale of heart felt tragedy. Fiction, Fantasy, Physics, Philosophy and Psychopaths have much more in common than the average consumer blind to the facts in hand that can not be swallowed with out a choke… a massive sized daily reflection; medication…is as advertised “The Unseen and Unread Collection” collects dust as I teach the ways on “How to Lust a Queen; King Sutra”: Truth be told! (in other words FUCK THE WORLD) King B. Rite - writer of LIFE



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