We've become a
civilization of diseases
we build
monuments
statues
institutions
thinking death won't ever find
us here.

Our minds are scrambled
our bodies are damaged
our food is poisoned
our skies are toxic
our vices
are forces of processes
beyond our
control.

When we are not humbled
by nature's power
we inflict our wounds
upon ourselves in
the names of greed
and self protection
and no one knows
what it really means.

Fearful of the silence
we fill our skies with
endless noise
babbling on in endless
monotones, droning
while traffic stalls
at a hot stand still
idling engines
idling souls
depletion of every last glimpse
of the past.
Jam packed
in the stench
I am lost today
in
this vitriol
as anxiety, death and desperation
from every corner
screams my name.

That's why I came
to these woods
where the illusion of
peace remains
as
wild fires burn
just down the lane
as you know
as you say
its always been this way
when bodies hung
at every cross-roads
hunger, power, ignorance
and strength
all ran
the show.

I'm sick with
every disease I
know.

I float upon these tranquil
blue waters
and
we are reminded of the peace we all
really can know.

I use the pen to dig in to the paper
To exhume the words
For my
Darkest writes
They are decayed upon the white
Black corrodes the pure
Pungent
Faded
Not as they were before,
They stink of death upon the paper,
As black infests
The write is dark, it feels cold
The ink drips,
                       ,
                      ,
                    ,
     ­              ,
On white like,,,,,,,,,,,blood
These words only fitting
on my darkest writes
I exhumed the words for my latest terror
The corpses of words,
Shrivelled dry upon the paper.