(CHOCOLATE DROP SEXUALLY EXPLICIT SEE)

(CHOCOLATE DROP SEXUALLY EXPLICIT SEE)
THE SOUND...
Cum be my chocolate drop. Drip a lil drop pon me.
My journey to the heavens as I suspended linger in the folds of thine flesh.
Mmmm.
Cum ride me away to the land of orgasmic bliss.
Butterflies and cum soaked as we fluttering and roaring find the most secret places.
My tongue oh my tongue...
Damn.
Cum spread before I, such a delicately intricate and explicit vision.
Slay me in your sweetness
Drip your juice.
My tongue oh my tongue...
Damn.
Cum wrapped round my pole.
Spinning down.
Tassles and  g strings... phat mound jutting out.
Pull them panties to the side and display thine flower.
Mmmm.
Cum screaming and squirting, spurting and sputtering, scating and stuttering.
Such music to mine ears, thy song thy song.
A moment as I stirring rise.
Such a heavy head.
Cum my dear...
Drop your chocolate pon I...
Mmmm.
JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(SCATTER MY DEAD BONES ON LOVE'S DOORSTEP)
THE SOUND...
https://youtu.be/Zm3y65XLvso

Love, I ain't got no more tolerance for pain, my heart can't bear anymore.
My hemispheres have been rent asunder and my equator has been bent into a jagged misrepresentation of itself.
I might as well be a barren world orbiting a cold sun.
Once I as child knew you in mine mothers eyes... in the tones of mine fathers voice.
I thought you would shield me forever.
When did you begin to hate me love?
When did you begin to teach me to become so cynical?
I who fear no man fear you for you carry the sharpest sword... the biggest gun.
So many laid to rest because of you.
Broken and torn I walk this planet alone.
A figure cloaked and hooded as the wind howls and my threads become unraveled.
I disappearing in the distance ignominy.
Love the gallows where crows caw and flies buzz, picking the flesh from mine very bones.
People walking by I the warning, dangling  and swinging.
Such a tortured existence that at times I have prayed for death to come.
Hold my hand and lead me away.
I man alone on a world of so many souls.
Each heartbeat a reminder that I still live.
Why love...
Why?

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(AUTOTUNE BULLSHIT)
THE SOUND OF PROGRESSION...

What is life???
Man on the outside looking in...
Dirty windows and shit, people gaily passing by on the way to inclusion...
A false sense of being in a world where they already exist...
The futility of being a non being...
A cog in a system... spinning in place and being ground down.
Dirty ass window and a faceless child, lost in the crowd assimilation...
Tears running down dirty glass... fingerprints in the dust... The days wasting away as potential thwarted drifts in the sun as flecks... Shimmering and sparkling and falling between fingertips...
Life...
Hmph...
Commercialized, systemized, synthesized and pumped over the internet... fed to the masses enhanced chemically at the neighborhood market...
40 Ounces a Pom Pom Molly and some auto enhanced philosophy...
Life...
Man looking in the dirty windows wonders why.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

(FROM THE FORGE TO THE FIRE)
THE BEAT... YOU BETTA LISTEN...
https://youtu.be/NWj0DyfIj5U

Could you be an angel?
A theoretical being carved from the seam... Ripped from the makings of another cosmos.
I mean could it be that you exist at the edges of my peripherals...  Where I see you fleetingly?
A slice of divinity... A flash of serinity... I digress rather deeply.
Could you be the one to touch me and raise me from my death?
A child of segregation, slavery and mental drudgery as fed to the masses of we as information... Such things got me in a quandary as I navigate the pages of all this deception.
Where once our ancestors walked with thee in gardens of splendor and blew sonic trumpets we now live denying our identity.
And you angel make me peruse pon these things as I sit surrounded brick and concrete... Inhaling auto fumes... Watching feet hit black asphalt on the way to serve the beast...  Angel speak to me.
Sing me the ancient tomes that rang the alarms of The Book and the Quran and raised dry bones... Built them anew with vicera and sinew... Clouds of smoke and fire as they grew.
On Angel could you make me well rounded... 360 degrees and built on solid foundation... Able to weather the storm...
I once heard a story that you were created of fire... The light...
That you were the spark that would ignite whole nations...
Could you be that Angel?

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

{POETRY SOOTHES THE BEAST} THE CELL

{POETRY SOOTHES THE BEAST} THE CELL
THE SOUND OF THE BEAST IN RETROSPECT...
https://youtu.be/BihKqIUbarQ

Man or beast... He ponders this... He slightly feels the pain... So exquisitely.
Some he has caused and some he has been the victim of...
At times even his eyes mist and threaten rain... It running in rivulets down his face to be evaporated... Dripping to be absorbed by the fabric of his shirt.
This theoretical torrent... This salty water...
He waxing poetic... He waning spent words fading away...
A new form perhaps?
These sordid thoughts trickling onto paper... A new number two pencil in a jail cell...
Young brother beating on the wall... Dropping fyah ass lyrics.
All these seemingly lost souls on a slaveship en route to the mythical land of instant fame and fortune... the far off land of ain't no way where big green buds hang off of puff puff dreams.
White judges wear deep black robes... Grim reaper with a gavel in his skeleton hand... The pain... The pain... A scream... Death and rebirth.
These emissions scribbled, all that will be left.
He cold lowered into the hardest of earth... What he wonders is he?
Man or beast.
Could he possibly be the healing?
Scab on an open wound?
Regenerated flesh.
He dreams of family.. of love.
The soft tongue of a woman in his mouth... her puffy nipples betwixt his fingers...
He so close to eruption.
His seed staining the white sheets.
Am I?
He ponders...
Man or the most savage of beasts?

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

{BLACKEST SPACES OF A MANS HEART}
THE SOUND AS THIS FUNK IS DROPPED...


And you got me thinkin black...

Not that black that they want me to be...

The weak docile one that aspires to think that race dont matter when things is very apparently that way.

No... You got me thinking of the deepest black that can be... A man proud of his ancestory... Of his link to thee...

A queen of this planet where we find ourselves located... Floating in the blackest places of I as antimatter...

You got me thinkin black cause it lingers in your tones and I like that... Holding out my hands in your darkness...

Blinded by your light... Oh I... Oh I. Want to touch you. Oh I... Want to touch you... 

And I... Oh I gotta.

These words lingering in the pit of my stomach... The darkest fibers of my diaphram.

Gotta... Gotta... Say em to you.

The pupil of a mans eyes connected to black as surely as the night... A dark drop visually into the heart and soul of these manifestations that we call life...

Rising and falling with various levels of impact... A rising crescendo and a hushed fine... The laugh of a baby and the cries of an old man... These existences and we... We live on.
You got me thinkin of old times where our ancestors fought, were enslaved and dreamed of better days... Where they thought by now that we would be free... And we... We still gotta get free...
Black in Amerikkkka still aint free...Still paying to inhabit these skins...
Trapped by white lies cause black just aint dark enough to manifest thus... Not the melanin.
You got me thinking origins and infinite possibilities...
You got me thinking black.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY

{OF THINE FLOWER AND MINE SUN}
THE SOUND AS CONNECTION IS ESTABLISHED...
http://youtu.be/DsocoIK82Ww

A moment, a second as I peruse the beauty of thy flower...
The way that thine petals glisten with thy wetness, thine anticipation.
A pause... I blow and make it flutter as you shudder...
A breeze in thine garden.
So cooling while making thee warmer.
Drops upon our very skin... Dew on the carpet of thine nappy locks.
Come mine dear and spread in the light of mine sun...
Thou art so fertile as thee invade the beginnings of mine thought.
My formations...
I mezmerized and hypnotized by the spurs of thine pollen hover like bee and alight.
Ever so gently as mine soul cries out its appreciation for thine creation.
You and I symbiotic...
I without you and these lives would die.
Thine flower so vibrantly colored that it attracts I... Draws mine attention and brings mine primality surging forth as a raging hard...
My swollen head throbbing against the softness of thy thigh...
Our aroma filling the room as we in coitus melt...
The promise of little deaths and great resurrections as the moon gives way to the sun and the earth rises.
A moment, a second, your flower spread.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY