What kind of demon is this?
That stays in the house
Where words are mostly broken glass
And right or left goes too far
What kind of devil is this?
That lives in the lobby
With subversive tactics
And the root of all evil

You can be right
And its all wrong
You can be left

It doesn't matter how it happens
In the end
The devil wins

Thank you for stalking me.  
You are my number one fan.
Thank you for stalking me and changing my poems on the internet.
Would you like my autograph?
Thank you Hacker you hack my poetry pages and change my poems around to let me know you're stalking me.  I feel so important.

I'm sorry.
Twas not my finger that pulled a trigger
Nor was it my signature that sealed the fate
Of an exploding bomb delivering destruction,
Death,
Loss,
Pain,
Suffering.
But I'm still sorry.

My sorry eyes have been blind but always teary,
Guilty,
Helpless,
Longing,
I see your pictures and ache to hold you,
Comfort you,
Soothe you,
Help you.
So sorry.

But I tell myself I need a car,
I need to save,
I need to eat,
I need to think of that trip home,
Christmas presents,
Next weekend,
I need the money but
You need to survive and
I need to wake up and instead of being
Sorry,
I need to be helpful.

We all do.

You go to church on Sunday
And then you've done your part.
Instead of saying “I hate that *****
You just say “Bless her heart.”
Monday starts the week anew
With dog-eat-dog intention.
Live and let live and the like
Seldom rates a mention.

Help the poor and needy
Doesn't pull too much weight
When measuring by dollar signs
To decide what is truly great.
The Bible verses get changed:
“Do unto others” is rewritten
To “Do what we can get by with.”
Thus is the common man smitten.

So you allow the Congress
To do whatever they want:
Outlaw our rights and rob us,
Laugh at us and then flaunt
That nobody can touch them
As they bleed the land dry.
We're just to bless their hearts
While the watch us slowly die.

We can keep on pretending
That everything is just,
Then go to church on Sunday
And brag about “In God we trust”,
Or we could wake the hell up
And start to participate
In what used to be our country
Right now before it's too late.

But that would mean standing up
And not just going along
And not following on party lines
Not singing the downtrodden song.
It means questioning our leaders,
But, you see, right there is the rub.
If we stop ourselves from being robbed
We can't belong to the Hypocrite Club.

There do exist,
Such people on earth,
Who have not seen happiness;
Who are untouched by success;
Who are longing for kindness.
Who have been poor for so long,
That they crave for death.
Hoping the other side would be better;
At least, they will not be aware of others,
Comparison would thus be inexistent;
And the lives happier,
If any should prevail.

Maybe death is peaceful.
Maybe it soothes us.
Perhaps obliviates the bad memories.
In every case,
It surely is an escape
From this monotonous life.
Can be considered an experiment,
An experiment of fate;
A trial for kins.
These people are untouched
By all the good in the world,
The springs don't exist in their lives,
Joy seen nowhere,
But death:
Death never discriminates.
It comes to us all.
It waits,
Only for the correct night to fall.

I don't want to know
what your skin tastes like
under my lips  
covered in sweat.

I don't want to know
the way you feel
in the darkness
closely against me

I don't want to know
the sound of your
sighs as they mix
with mine.

I don't want to know
you every inch
of you every little
piece of who you are.

I don't want to know
the way it feels
to be curled beside you
as we sleep.

I don't want to know
how easily you
can just toss me
aside now a days.

I don't want to know
that you just look
through me
after all we were

I don't want to know
all the thing I do now
but it seems I
can't forget.

And all the king’s men
Were a cursedly rotten bunch
Took the corrupt out to lunch
While their allies launched
Bombs that eviscerated
The hearts and bodies
Of the foreigners and natives