Seat of Power





Rations culled


War-induced famines.

Undeniable logic precedes the viewpoint of


At a tangent

Never circumventing



Violent empathy

Brooding spores


Social conflict

Based on


Which propagate self either


Excess or deficiency

Full of parabolic extremes

Nurtured by nature taking


While showing fight.


Meninges soaked in blood

Synapses coursing along neurons


Sometimes incomplete

But never lost in transit.


Yet esoteric


And malign





Feelings and emotions

Lucid thoughts and reasoning

Reaction to stimuli

Necessitated and processed,

Yet in one way or another

We are all



© Sena Frost 2k16



Black Hole

Vanishing point,
That spot on the horizon where all lines converge.
Its a simple matter of perspective,
Straight to the point,
Literally linear.
All my actions and misadventures,
Hurtling towards this spot in the midground,
RReady to swallow me whole.
May be bird’s eye,
May be worm’s.
Depending on your view point it might be twisted.
The heartbreak and the heart break,
The whispers of the lover,
Sucked away into tiny whorls on a conch shell.
Making a pit stop to refuel,
A moral Shell station.
I can’t go back,
Cant reset,
Or spawn anyway.
Cos when I die it’s game over,
No extra lives tucked away.
Vanishing point,
That spot on the horizon where all lines converge.
Its a simple matter of perspective,
Straight to the point,
Literally linear.
Hold on tight,
As the line grows taut,
Hurtling towards the quantum fabric of reality.
Dropping messages from the future into the past; interstellar.
All this while the spot awaits for all eternity.
A singularity.

© Sena Frost 2015

This Beautiful Boy

This beautiful boy,
Is six foot three.
So handsome he is described as having beautiful features; a pretty face.
He is so young and carefree.
Hence his thoughts ask,
“What can be pure but not good?”
He thinks of a lot of shit.
Y’all would say deep.

This beautiful boy writes,
“I loved watching you sleeping naked in the dead of the night,
The streetlight filtering through your window,
Touching your supine form,
Caressing your wild mango breasts,
Highlighting the tendrils of hair on your pubis and the beauty spot on your areola,
Pitching up and down your waist and legs,
A continuous side winded beam of light,
Your body bent it,
And your glory shone.
Goodness how fuckable you are.
Arousing my mind and penis,
I slithered round and spooned,

This beautiful boy writes,
“I couldn’t imagine being with anyone but you,
I don’t know,
You are just perfect.
You understand me and know how I feel.
They told me,
Right before they shattered my heart into a thousand pieces,
Please lift your shoe up,
A shard of my heart dropped right there.”

This beautiful boy writes,
“She makes my heart skip a beat,
She knows how to make me feel,
She is,
Because she makes me feel like a boy again.
Does she even know she has my soul hidden in her runaway hair?
With traces of Huey.

This beautiful boy writes,
“You write beautifully,
Because your nipples peek through the front of your dress,
Alert and craving attention.
But you won’t fuck with me,
Even though you told me you have no panties on.

This beautiful boy writes,
“When I die,
Would everyone say my genes have gone to waste?
I’m half tempted to put my semen in a bank,
So in my will,
They show you where my juices are bottled.
At least I won’t die a virgin.
Life’s fucked me too hard in the butt for that.”

This beautiful boy writes,
“Your words are kinda big.
Could you tone them down for your audience sake?
Pick up your fucking dictionary and upgrade your shitty selves.
Do you think you see how beautiful a tiger is in the zoo?
When it chokes the life out of you,
Then you realize it’s black with orange stripes.”

This beautiful boy writes,
“You write of systems and corruptions,
Hiding behind the skirts of Africa.
Grow up and leave it alone,
It is a place.
What has it got to do with you not being able to live?
Nigger is a beautiful word.
See? It means black.
If you think its rude then you ain’t ma nigger.”

This beautiful boy writes,
“You love the high I give you from the words I type,
The orgasm from the paint I daub.
I am your type,
You say.
Well heads up,
I don’t do art to thank God for His gifts,
It’s to pay the bills.
If you aren’t going to give me your money,
Then get the fuck outta my face!”

This beautiful boy writes,
“I like to be alone,
With my thoughts,
I can travel the world and into space and back.
Just so I don’t hear your bullshit,
I’ll plug in my earpieces,
Turn up the volume,
And listen to whatever music I like.”

This beautiful boy writes,
“Some of you think these are just pretty words from a pretty boy,
May be they are true,
But whatever you think,
Fuck you!
I wrote this in church,
And I don’t give a shit if your tongues wag.
Only God can tell if I’m pure in my thoughts or Nah.
I’m outta here.”

© Sena Frost 2015