Verbal Assassin
Please pardon my language as I describe my occupation as a verbal assassin. I do this shit for the thrill of it. Taking these words and putting them in various orders and dropping them like bombs to your eardrums making your cerebrum explode. This convocation can send your mind on vacation of bliss or lead you to a place with those soft padded walls, and those bright white halls, and those fashionable jackets that teach you to “love yourself”. You wonder how you ended up in such a situation by just listening to me. Fuck it; shit happens.
See my job is to ensure you that these words aren’t just spoken to be heard, but to be felt, like a poison injected into your veins leaving you stuck, like a drug that leaves you hallucinating and talking to yourself like “damn I know that’s right.” Or having your mind working over and over asking for help from that littler person on your shoulder, but they can’t help you they’re just as lost as you and the responses that you get are “shit, I you’re on your own boo” and you’re like “fuck now what am I going to do?”
There’s so much more to my occupation than just assassination. I’m also an initiator. I get shit started like clammy hands going, and sweaty brows showing, and like dicks on the rise, and throbbing between the thighs; creating lustful thoughts in minds; and then I go back to the assassination and kill them with those lines like LL “doing it, and doing it, and doing it well.” Leaving bodies sticky and sweat, but don’t sleep because at an instant shit can get deep and before you know it words are being thrown at you like sharp jagged daggers making your emotions splatter on the floor and I write my name in cursive…Another one gone from a verbal assassination.. Murdered.

Lady R © 2012