Lol it's cold where I live.

Hey, I'm Nick and I'm 20 years old. I live somewhere in Canada, and in my spare time I write poems for the hell of it. I'm also currently writing a novel. This is where my bare description ends, mortal. Follow for follow, except porn blogs.

[the-winter-soulstice]

Home Soil.

I don’t fly colours but I will burn your flags,

We don’t do drive bys just dump drum mags,

Three oh hate loaded to the tip ready for war,

Full auto heavy ordnance staccato encore,

Bringing the trenches to a hood near you,

Short-stroke gas-piston open season debut.

[the-winter-soulstice]

Seven point six two.

Spit out that blue-tip sent my way,

Like I’d fold to 9mm that’d be the day,

No playin’ around with the Rugers,

No bitch in my veins so I don’t pack Lugers,

Nasty .45 hollows and dirty-thirties,

Three-oh-hate chirpin’ like birdies,

Heavy-trigger red-barrel drum dumps,

Heavy ordnance only no pumps.

[the-winter-soulstice]

All black 350 Iroc with the T-Tops,

Top-down view make em do bunny hops,

Hit em with the 308 bolt catch,

Boonies shit your whole family’s a dirt patch,

Run em with the dirty HK slap,

Swiss cheese body bag that’s a wrap.

[the-winter-soulstice]

I promise I’ll shoot your fuckin’ kids,

Pop em straight in their dirty lil lids,

Art of war no apologies or backsies,

Just planted full of brass seeds,

I’m the finished article to your chapter,

Rip through your whole branch like a raptor,

High-carbon and high-caliber in your chest,

Put your set on the back-burner hard-pressed.

[the-winter-soulstice]

Bringing fists to a machete fight.

Dropped in the Drano tub left to leak,

Pick up your mom and give her a peak,

Kick your girl’s womb in with steel-toes,

.45 barrel in your son’s mouth; he froze,

You spit venom but I fuckin’ spit lead,

Won’t stop till the whole family is dead,

Smeared your little brother on the pavement,

No problems digging more holes in the basement.

[the-winter-soulstice]

FHNK.

All black with the flashlight my 45′s dressed to the nines,

You kill cliques but I wipe out whole bloodlines,

I don’t do any drug running but I do run guns,

I’ll die with empty 45 sticks and low funds,

Open season for any chapter that operates,

Drop their sons in the lake tied to weights.

[the-winter-soulstice]

Unsafe.

Put ya in the dirt and go for where it hurts,

Sweet tooth chipped with flatheads its just deserts,

Pulled through the mud like a dirty Blood,

Slugged in the jaw with a German dud club,

Scalping skinheads and running down bikers,

Don’t really care if it’s San Quentin or Riker’s,

I just wanna get to your cop-calling shot callers,

Dancing around with dirty dollars acting like ballers,

Choke you out with your fucking bed sheets,

Chopped up and bagged like trash found in the streets.

[the-winter-soulstice]

Bricks and keys.

Make you chew the fuckin’ glass you sell,

Put down your whole chapter in the cell,

Gonna need to put me in adseg again,

Leaving everyone leaking in the playpen,

Dirty toilet bowl plastic shanks in the neck,

Come down on you like a whole train-wreck,

Put holes in you while you bunk for the night,

Go ahead claim that set with your nightlight.

[the-winter-soulstice]

Soul Crush.

Machete home invasion on the local meth den,

Oops puttin’ faces in the crock pots again,

I’ll kick your door down with your kids home,

One more cook and I’ll twelve gauge your dome,

Makeshift your kidneys as my new sheath,

Flathead screwdrivers to the marrow and teeth,

Dump a whole thirty in your living room,

Bring war to your home and make that shit boom.

[the-winter-soulstice]

1945

I wanna cut that symbol out your skin,

I’ve come for the father and now the kin,

Skinhead scalps made into leather chairs,

Born to give Hitler Youth nightmares,

Bred to exterminate no matter how young or old,

Fly that flag again and I’ll make sure you go cold.

[the-winter-soulstice]

(B)awkwards.

Gonna knuckle-chuck all these fuckle-chucks,

Hands up mother-sticker this is a fuck-up for your bucks,

Duke all ya shits out while deeking in boxers,

Call me Prof. Knockers handing lessons in meeting doctors,

I’ll knock your shooters for giggles and shits,

Fisted in the dome cockpit got your wig hand-split.

[the-winter-soulstice]

EXTERMINATE

Shred your whole squadrant with shotties,

Turn all your family members into bodies,

I fucking dare you to throw up your signs,

I’ll hang your hands across the powerlines,

Fly your colors and you’ll hear my Chevy 350,

Get buckshot-facelifted just cause ya look shifty,

Bang; buckle; drop has to be one of the fastest licks,

Whole chapter taken out with prejudice just for the kicks,

I wanna be why you look down the street,

I wanna be what turns your clique into ground meat.

[the-winter-soulstice]

Rest.

Grew old in the span of just a year,

I’m tired so I think I’m just gonna rest here,

Pull the blankets over and remember youth,

Dug too deep with nothing left and that’s the truth.

[the-winter-soulstice]

Griff and Tigger.

I would’ve written your name in all the skies,

Just so everyone could see your sunrise,

All those early morning walks with the stars,

Pawprints on the snow were perfect memoirs,

You were my sun, earth and my moon,

I knew I’d never be ready but that was too soon,

I’ll make sure to do everything in your good name,

Only out of love for you and never glory or fame.

[the-winter-soulstice]

Foundations.

I’ve laid rest to my two best companions this year,

It’s getting harder and harder to hold back the tears,

I’ve never been good at these kinda of goodbyes,

Could say that I’ve been doing better but it’s lies,

Truth is I still look for you in the night my friend,

Can’t help but notice that was an abrupt end,

I still dream of holding you each and every night,

Just wished I could’ve saved you with all my fight.

[the-winter-soulstice]

{G̶o̶o̶d̶} Bye

Smoke in the lungs turns to flame in the brain,

Needles in the skin turns to blades in the vein,

I grip tighter but it just slips through the fingers,

Sick to my stomach and the headache lingers,

One foot in front of the other but I’m done moving,

I’m tired and I don’t feel much like improving.

[the-winter-soulstice]

(Numb)ers.

It’s always when the knuckle-chucking doesn’t work anymore,

When I’m faced with a battle that can’t be won by war,

I’m sat with myself wishing that I just had a different core,

Pouring out all that I am only to piece it back the way it was before,

Late nights and later mornings buried in pillows and closed doors,

I’m just so damn sore and tired of being tired and sore,

But I guess we’ve all got sins in us that need settled scores.