Creeping vines climb
crisscrossing the cracked clay
Crumbled brick shards collect
at the base of the tower
Essential oils permeate the air
Invisible liquid fire
Inflaming all feeling
skin bubbling and peeling
Grotesque **** oozes
from ragged ripped flesh
Itching is incessant
Swollen red eyelids
Tear drop elicits twitching
A scream of unfulfilled urges
Vines encircle the neck
countless green nooses
contaminate flesh
Breath becomes brutality
swollen esophagus
Red and green monster stalks
searching for someone
with skin thin enough
to climb underneath
into the innermost layer
Death
brings an end to the maddening agony
Body a bulging red ball already collects maggots
Creepy vines questing
never ending searching
not satisfied until they find
the next target
Cycle continues
no escape from the ivy.

*** dada dum dada
*** *** ***
Melodies cradle my soul just for fun
*** didi dum didi
Dum Dum Dum
Soliloquies burst off the tip of my tongue;
Lyrics illogical and beautiful, some.
Brilliant by accident, sudden, and young.
Tra lala di lala
Do do do
Convinced of the magical things words can do;
These lovely inscriptions, all assumed to be true,
Are not carefully built, nor genuinely glued.
Fa dala di dala
La la la
So from sockets comes streaming oblivious awe;
Silly and shameless, and secretly flawed,
For unknown was my motive until these stanzas were thawed
La, lala, la, lala, la la la
By the warmth of good fortune, and mind’s last hurrah.

i was born into a generation immune to tragedy,
conditioned, we have been made, to calamity.
hearts hardened by television images,
minds numb at the sight of pained visages.
i was born into a generation wrought with fear,
for the end of the world is coming near.
whether by anthropogenic atmospheric grumblings,
or symbols of american freedom crumbling,
the earth is no longer our home.
a place where mind, body, and spirit
are subject to torment,
and every child's aspirations must lie dormant.
the world, as i know it, is an unwelcoming place,
no matter what your sexuality, age, gender, or race.
our forefathers have pillaged our once overflowing pockets
to fulfill empty goals on lofty campaign dockets.
what is left is ours to fix, though not by choice,
and nobody knows if "they" hear our voice.
i was born into a generation less than "Great",
yet it is only we who can determine our fate.

Scattered thoughts flood the page
With rage, I try to torture my victim
The harsh realities I've revealed
Only show what has been concealed
With the hope that it will all change
One day, things will get better
One day, we will shine
One day, we will inspire
and some days I want to die
The words I leave behind are evidence
to a crime against myself
I had to be cleansed
Things needed to be fixed
The pencil is my weapon
And to me it did this...

Calm on the surface
Do not show signs of panic
Launder pants later