Being "in the right," this nation of sick animal killing,
Insect spraying lunacy has now gone ahead
And called us all a bunch of Eco-terrorists,
Yes, that is right, we're all "conspiring evil," everyone.
Whatever.
Cute, we're the villains for stepping in between
Their atrocious evil-doing and all of it's "purity."
May you all burn in hell if nature ever made one.

Nikki*

You are a feeling,
Always present, a spectre,
A mere memory, once so
Vibrant. You feel like an
Empty spot in my very being.

Once there was joy and life,
All that is and was and
Will be is now bitter-sweet,
Tossed in the smoking fire.

Nothing but your number
Your name, your eyes,
You are a space where once
Was hope and care and peace,
These things burn up as well.

I gave up, and cast your memory
Into the fire, you will always be
Nothing but the smoke that climbs
Into the air and nothing else.

There are thousands of cars everywhere, parked,
Some to the sides, others facing each other,
The outside a gloomy dark grey haze,
The sun casting a pale empty light over the
Desolate, bleak landscape of sand far away.
Hundreds of empty cars, an end-days scene,
This dark tunnel unbelievable as can be,
I'm looking for a cause of all this I'm seeing,
Suddenly these angry glossy eyes of "the thin one"
Right before me, in an instant I see him staring back
At me, like a preying mantis? It's something unreal.
*But this is how I found out about them in my dream.

With the sun
The fire spirits
Bring amber hues
Golden and applied
To a weathered canvas
In the deep blue water
Floating in pools
Of violet and marine
Evermore fulfilling
Evaporating upwards
Floating as silk-smooth white
Clouds, then only descending
Into the emerald green
And soft grass
Holding flowers
Giving them
A cordial of life
With her laughter
Echoing afar.

I would that if you increased
The spoken statements on your mind,
Would be you used this tone with me,
I'd "lop off your head," for better words
Suit me fine, defended by a suit of armor, one
For my own well-minded ears hearing safety,
An armor I deserve for being your king,
Your master, you are my throne even,
I sit on you when I'm sad, and spit on you
When I'm mad. This is it, there's nothing
More to say, you wash your mouth out now,
My "honest perfection" grows day by day.

It is not that I do not love you
It is not that I do not respect you
It is not that I have made wrong choices
It is not that you do not matter to me
It is not that I must always be isolated
It is not my "imaginary friends" and "voices"

It is that you are way to demanding of me, I have lost a lot of
My most precious dreams, and am only running on empty.
Sorry if this isn't an excuse to you, but you're not me,
"Ones trash is another ones treasure..." or something
Silly like that, thanks to your endless hustling at this time,
*There is no telling when I'll ever be free...