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Graff1980 19h
He wants peace and tranquility,
but without rage he has no vitality,
there is no reason for him to keep moving,
if he isn’t struggling against the fear of losing.
It never ends,
it will not change,

I watch my friends
in so much pain.

I watch the world
were men
struggle in vain,
but still get
gunned down,
by the cops
that run their town.

Wanna see them
with their heads up,
wanna watch the
whole country
get fed up
and stand up
for those who are
suffering right now.

Yesterday,
a man with little kids
took multiple shots
from some *******
bully cop
who would not stop,

and sadly
it will not surprise me
if when I turn on
my computer or tv
I hear pundits
or youtube dudes
demonizes
the victim
cause that is what
they always do.
-- 2020 August
This year has been the last,
failing falling fierce battle axe
hovering above my neck.
Panic keeping me in check
as anxiety for the end of society
builds up like a wall of water
which rushes in
ready to crush me and my friends
and drown us all in the end.
The rivers
only run
backwards
in our dreams,
fantasies,
and memories.

We can
only go back there
when we think
and remember,
no sparks
or embers
can relight
December’s
fire that has died.

A corpse is just
potential dust
but in the end
we all go that way.

The road may bend,
curve out and in
but the traffic
won’t let us
drive back
to the exact
same place and time again.

When you read this
if you do,
once or twice
or more times
if you like,
I will not be
the same me
I am while I am
writing,
and tomorrow
you will be
different to.
The red apple
reflects perfect
imperfect randomness
of this
wild world
that whirls
in my malleable mind.

False fabric skin
folds in
concealing
empty pockets
that we pretend
are not there.

While
two fish swim
diving in
and out of
our fishbowl
forehead
as Pisces
abstractions
such a strange
water sign reaction.

Till, dark waters
rise
from behind
my already
cloudy eyes
and drowning mind.

This is lazy writing,
soft lightning
inspiration recovered
from other
poems
and translated into
the language I use
to handle my
mad hatter nature.
Used to punch
metal freezers,
shred my bare knuckles
on a black bag
when I didn’t feel like
wrapping my hands with
***** dishrags.

But I put those fists down,
lost the pit fire,
let those flames expire
cause I was so tired
of how that rage burned.

Simmering passed
a soft-boiled brain,
used to workout
just to dull the pain,
now I workout at night
just to feel a little more alive.

Dreams won’t let me
go to sleep gently,
or rest peacefully
but it is the waking hours
that are more disturbing.

Always been a fighter
even when
I wasn’t even
scrapping with
other slack jawed idiots.

Sometimes it is just
my own mind
that I am battling,
as my demons come
ready to swallow me.
What darkness did we inherit?
What sick gift did we receive
from our poorly informed parents
who thought that they were right?

Was it genetic buried in our DNA,
making it almost certain that
we would turn out the same way?

Was it in our up bringing
the sick streaming of violence
and language that was demeaning?

Is it our destructive birth right
to perpetuate the same plight
that plagued our family life
with late night outbursts
of abuse that hurt worse
than falling off our bikes
or banging our head against
the thick mental metal bars
of our psychic cement prison?
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