silent carnivorous savage,
                                          why prey upon our innocent flesh?
streamlining your black venom into fragile veins,
                                          sparse roots multiplying sickness

this lack of color that you provide
drains the blues
                    and reds
                    and yellows,
                  until 4 white hospital walls remain,
and in this bland, neutral palace of death,
                  the beeps of machines
and cries of heartbroken families serve to torture

this, the true fashion of your killing . . .
          no, not the mass piling of amounting dead cells,
but this blood,                                     it's not just blood anymore,
                            crimson liquid melancholy,
traveling into a mind that can only construct horrible images,
                                         groups of mourners surrounding a single grave,
                           wiping Sunday's tears against their pale faces

gnawing away at the slabs of sanity,
                                           concrete and brick,
the image of a young boy with a shovel
                                           far too heavy for him,
using all of his strength to catapult dirt over a casket,
                                           burying his vital innocence,
into the unforgiving soil where it will never be retrieved

how many tears must you taste for your thirst to be quenched?
how many lives must you waste as our friends are entrenched?

why, cancer?

cup it and clasp it
grab and grasp it
firmly, proceed to strike it and stab it
before autumnal flames scatter it like sewer mice
and clouds of thunder become clouds of somber snowy lights
illuminated by the little lamp reflecting off Christmas ornaments
my vacant eyes and their hollow flights
of endless stairs
pitting to a cave of solid ice
i lay in the center
each and every of these numbing nights

Intricate strings
    Bend with cracked cellar light
            Revealing a dancing spider
                                 Cowering in fright
                                                                                                Delicate eyes
                                                               Consume cracked cellar light
                                                 Noticing a terrifying arachnid
                                 Crushing it with might

Resting in an icicle hammock
Between the only two trees on a tundra of thick tears
The world remain an uncolored book
Neutral sheets of parchment paper, it usually looks
Yet, visible remains the vermillion that dribbles from my dry nose
The only shade around, which resembles petals of rose
Tissues soak up ruby rain that drips and drips
Streams of scarlet sorrows and crestfallen crimson collect as they cascade in the crevice of lust lips
The warmth of it all still cannot melt the frozen bars of this cell
But I must enjoy the only tint that reveals itself
Even if it's lava tone resembles the terrain of desolate Mars or the sinful flames of hell
Soon these cherry rivers will make way for a new pigment
A hue I will soon be wrapped in
When too much of this spills, and strings of a flowing red licorice yield to simple black
~~~~~~~~~~~
*And in a faint yelp, he knew there was no turning back

Limb by limb he dissolve into the moonless night
Brought to dust, he is carried by unforgiving words into the infinite frontier alleys of black and white
Gravity condenses his remains until it has it just right
And a nebula is formed above immeasurable heights
Elements interact and ignite, for his smite had never been shined quite this bright
Now we will have no choice but to succumb to our ignorant fright!
Everyone will have to recall the plight of his daily flights
He hangs brilliantly in the sky, a dazzling, yet ominous kite
Reminding us of our lack of care for him, as our guilty pupils meet his superb ultraviolet light

However, now he shines above snowcap mountains and red cable cars
Entrapped in somber words coupled with an acoustic guitar
As a funeral director recites his beautiful poetic bars
We mourn him,
He who own the cold wrists fitted with twin scars
Your words will live on, as those in need of guidance will look up to you,
Oh luminous star