The beatings were never super brutal. They were just the rough thud of her working out her frustration. The real pain came when I resisted or when I expected something better. The moment I forgot who and where I was she would remind with the belt, a ***, a boot, a wooden paddle, the broom handle, or whatever implement. The only way I could come out a winner was to illustrate my anguish. I tried being strong but the stronger I was the more enraged she became. So, instead I gave her a way to feel more powerful, enough whines, whimpers, and tears to satisfy her rage but leave me less scarred then I might have been.

They say wait
Things will get better
Wait it’s in god’s hands now
Wait it will all work out
Cause our lord has a plan
Wait
Wait
Wait
Wait says the man
We’ll I am tired of waiting
Of people debating
When I get the right
To be who I am
To love who I do
To stand up for what’s right
To fight
I ‘m not waiting
Tonight I write
For the rights of life
To get what we deserve
Instead waiting
For something
That will never come
On its’ own

I got these strange romantic notions
No flower petals unless it’s four play
Where strangers can hear her screams from the doorway
But before that
I want conversation
Not the plebian kind of gossip crap
But the deep unexplored caverns
That she doesn’t even knows she has
I want to share a journey of intellectual exploration
So that when we are facing
Each other naked
It’s not just the flesh that is bare
So that when we touch
She knows that I care
About her mind as much
As the skin behind
The cloths she wears
Let her know that when I stare
It’s because I am enthralled
By the diamonds she hides behind
Her deep dark dream lit eyes

I got a friend who finds her heartbreaking
Even though she is breathtaking
Perfect flesh made for the taking
Of love of air of hope and dreams
It seems that screams haunt her heart
The lines built in her skin
Are threadings of the once him
She has lost a light that I never knew
I never had the pleasure to see it shine through
Only now do I get an inkling of her truth
She is a violin in the cemetery
A wolf with bat wings yes she is that scary
She is a writer like me a dark art beauty
Whether she will ever know it or not
She is a beloved dear friend
And I will treasure these moments
We shared till the end
Or until my Alzheimers kicks in

I wonder
will my words
reveal
the truth
of how I feel
or felt.

I remember
myself
curled in a
a curving
form
when I
was very
young
and going
to sleep.

Knee
collapsing
into my
stomach,
hands
around
my knees,
as if
I was a
rolly polly
worm
or a child
who was trying
to remain
unseen.

Why did I
compact myself
in such a
manner?

The broken are so beautifully
Strange and distorted
Mirroring the mistakes
Our societies makes
The risks we take
And failing
Little monsters make
Swollen bellies bloated with pride
They walk upon the ashes of the broken

Sweat and dirt
Earth pushing deeply into our fingers
Till it hurts
Till the nails drop blood
Like they were seeding the mud
And those ticks
**** it up
Snuck up
To **** up
Our lives

But the broken
Bare their pain
Take their shame
Like pharmaceutical products
In the morning and before bed
Before the doctors bled
Their children

Oh god
The golden gone
Father forsworn
To wear the thorn
Which you broke your children with

The slave owners whip
The stings
As mothers screamed
While children
Ran deep into the dark forests

We broken are the children
Of the Natives Americans
The African
The Chinese and Japanese
Our skin was not Jaundiced
We were not black
But earthly brown
Not red but slightly tanned
Beautiful
Our cultural heritage
Stolen
Disfigured
As the starving
Lay dying

While the morally bankrupt
Keep thriving

We are broken
Spine curved
Tired and wretched
Scared of the cops
And the injustice system
That we live in
But still beautiful

We are pink brown
And every other color
That paints this town

They are the sociopaths
The monsters
Masquerading
As moral crusaders

99 desiccated corpses
bloated bodies ready
to burst from
the gasses building up
in the bellies of
our friends and kin.

99 bodies of newly
non-binary identities,
cause in death
he and she means
nothing.

99 tragedies
for all those families
who will have to
dig through
the bombed building.

99 sons, daughters,
mothers, and fathers
become a statistic
that no one will remember.

99 reasons to stop this horror,
to end our hurt making economy,
to stop selling weapons,
to the enemies of humanity.

This room is a prison
A soul ******* constriction
Of cold capitalistic ambition
Silent stares for the sake of
Professionalism

I can feel the embolism
Bubbling up in my blood vessels
Red water ready to burst
Till my heart hurts
From such callousness
In the name of business

Corporate copying
Money making, taking
And eventually losing
All that we are trained to believe
Is the measure of a successful
Human being

She tortured me
Like a lonely sailor I was easy prey
It was easy to say ok
Even seeing the inkling of deceit
Staring right out at me
She touched me and there was hope
And with enough distance
She cut my throat
Left me to bleed
To lay here and seed the soft earth
With red water as I sank deeper and deeper
Down into the ground
She resurrected me with love
But left the better part to death
And I became a zombie

Our love is a dry desert heat
Leaving me drowning in sweat
Till the scorpions sting me
Till life releases me

Our love is a furious tundra
Endless white winter land
Urging me on till my limbs go numb
Till I forgot where I came from

Our love is a hurricane
Wet and destructive
Violent and unproductive
Leaving chaos in its’ wake

What I am trying to say
Is our love really *****
So stay the **** out of my life
Oh **** wait, I’m *****
Let’s give it one more night

I am weak
as all men are,

but on my best days
I would not hesitate
to take your pain
as my own,
bare your wounds,
live in your cage,
so you could be free
to grow and be
better.

It would be
a worthy sacrifice;
You see
but that is just me
on my better days.

She is the only Christmas gift
I wish to unwrapped
Red cap, red lips
Fitting my tip
In this desirous being
Emptying all that I have
In her soft silk stalking

I pop the **** filled pocket in my gums
Not because of the pain
Or the feverish swelling
I let the dripping drainage
Linger on my tongue
The bitterness
Fades
It is an answer
To the tension
The struggle between
Living and dying
My body is trying
To do both at once
Cells wither and wash away
While new ones form
The DNA patterns
Weaken
A copy of a copy
Of a copy
Of a copy
Imperfections
Compounded
Upon imperfections
Replication
And multiplications
Of defective cells
That is aging
Your body waging
A battle against the decaying
But we know
We will lose the battle

I think that I am full of truth
Artistic stuff to share with you
So that’s what I try to do
Living in this life I knew
But sometimes there is something else
I can’t even help myself
Don’t want to talk to anybody else
Maybe this is depression talking
Dark predator stalking
Ideas and expectations
Unexpected destinations
Sometimes they fail me
Sometimes they assail me
Like I am some sort of fool
I never thought I was cool
But sometimes I wish I was cool enough
To shake off this painful stuff

I wanted to be dispassionate
To prove that I didn’t love anything like that
Resigned to old designs of loneliness
I was fine living with this benign cancer
Social disease of desires and needs
To want to plant my seed in your furry weeds
But you were bubonic ***** and ****
Violent without a fist to hit me with
No guns just lies and manipulation
Leaving me disgusted with me
But more disgusted with you and the whole love thing
The whole romantic scene that left a hole in me
Burying myself so deep into my mind
Until I finally realized
Finally opened my eyes
Let go of expectations
Freed my soul through *******
Emptied the veins of my frustrations
To be or become a truer version of me

There is no one speaking. Time is a sparkling atom placed perfectly on the pinpoint of pain. I am precisely nowhere. I cannot see, or move. All that I have is me. Whiteness is everywhere. Sometimes I hear voices. They are like distant thunder rumbling, but never coherent. I scream but I don’t think any one hears me.
I am certain that I am not dead; certainly not dead; deadly certain. Sometimes I lose the train I call my thoughts, then a flood of random happenings happen to me. I see bits and pieces of whatever. A brown crumbling leaf crunching under my feet. The green bench with paint chipping off the sides. A short old man with false teeth wearing suspenders, jean shorts, sun glasses, and no shirt who I know is dead. Then it is whiteness again, a blank canvas with no heat or cold.
I can’t walk so I project myself farther and farther into the white infinity. I hear another rumble of thunder. I swear it sounds like wake up. I try to focus on the words. Blurry faces face me. I push past the blur trying to focus. I raise my arm but it never moves, it’s not there.  
Again a thunder voice sounds saying, “Wake up.” The blurs lose their fuzziness. I see a little face. What a sweet little baby face; a little boy stumbling around dragging a pink fuzzy teddy bear that is almost as big as him. Then I see the same little baby with a cute cowboy hat smiling adorably while he tries to take it off; the thin elastic band keeps snapping it back on his head.
I hear myself laughing, at least how I use to sound laughing. The voice thunders again. The little boy is slightly older now. I see the presents under the tree. He opens up the silver suited Buzz Lightyear. He loves it.
We go to the park and I push him on the swings. I take him trick-or-treating. There is a painful sadness in my stomach. At least I think it’s my stomach. I cannot tell where any part of me is. I feel a flush a fresh warm air crossing my essence. I think the warm air is me.  Sadness permeates my being. The sadness tingles like sleeping limbs and stinks of regrets. I wish I could go back to those days.
Am I dying? No I am not dying. Something sharp takes a bite out of me. I see a ******* dog pulling on my pant leg. I feel a sense of panic. He is dragging me one way when I know I have to go another. I’m going to be late but I can’t say what for. I feel the skin on my ankle rip, as he tares through the jeans pulling me to the ground repeatedly.
Wait, I am not wearing any jeans. I try to pinch myself. I try so hard, but I cannot find the skin. I cannot even find the origin of my intention. Again the thunder calls to me. Water is falling fast and cold on my skin, but there is no water.
I can feel my bare feet squishing through a muddy puddle. I run. I play. I laugh. I wonder what is wrong with me. Owe, the white water drop drips of red crimson dots and they slip and slide expanding into long lines. There is a horn, someone plays the trumpet. I feel the pressure of blowing in the trumpet and it hurts the sides of my neck. Man I hated that brass piece of crap. There is a rhythmic pulsing pounding like a drum set. I should have stuck with the drums instead.
I feel dizzy the redness expands further, then comes shades of fuzzy light brown. The thunder sounds again. I know it’s raining I can feel the water trickling down my skin. Someone is touching me. I struggle to pull away. The harder I fight the harder it pulls me.
No, no, no, I scream. There is the sound of a baby crying. I see my brother’s little brown slimy face. It is the first picture I have ever seen of him. He will be home soon. Something jerks me forward. The thunder starts to sound less like thunder and more like a voice.  “Get up.”
“Get up!”
My brother is on the back of my bike as we roll to the store.
“Get up!”
My brother is playing video games at my new apartment.
“Get up!”
My brother is crying.
“Get up!”
My brother is laughing.
“Get up!”
My brother is coming slowly into to focus as a grown man.
“Get up!”
My brother is yelling at me to get up. The blurry edges of reality are slowly coming into to focus. I shake my head, and it hurts. I hear something big rolling this way. A shadow rises filling up the wet road ahead.  A hand pulls me up. I stumble off of the road onto the side and slip into a small ditch
It hurts so much. I check my wrinkled flesh. Yep, I still have all my fingers, and they work. Yep, all those age spots are still there. I see my younger brother, he is saying something. Man he looks old as ****. Now sound is perfectly restored. I hear him clearly for the first time. Are you ok? He says with a toothy old man smile.
I smile back. “I think I lost my teeth.”
Behind me is a horrible mess.  One small car crushed in the front with a semi truck not even five feet away and other vehicles are just breezing on by.

One day when you are gone
the world will defeat me,
the heart will bleed me,
leave me barely breathing,
not wanting the new,
but sorely needing
a final rest,
and I will sleep
the last and emptiest of sleeps.

One day when my skin
wrinkles and crunches,
when my chest forgets
how to rise and only falls in,
I will close my eyes
never to rise again.

One day after much is lost,
after siblings and friends pass,
and I am the last poet,
the last kind hearted prophet,
I will let my breath rest.
I will let my heart stop,
letting the end start
till I am a part
of the age old cycle.

But for now I am
going, going
going on
till all else is gone.

We breathe like we bleed
Living to plant seed
The only way to succeed
Is to pass it on

But ragged breathes
Equals bloodied chest
Coughing red phlegm
Is such a dying problem
The plague that is us
Destroys and distrusts
Mentally able
Yet we see are facilities rust
From dis and misuses
From sad bad abuses

Till we bleed more than we breathe
Ceasing to be
Less than alive
And more like a painful memory

They broke me with the shadows;
Fears and uncertainty,
loss haunting me,
till hope turned towards
celestial possibilities.

They broke me with love;
One father figure
who I figure
has something better
for me.

They broke me with confusion;
Contradicting rules
cornering this fool
till, I submitted.

And when I didn’t,
they broke me with fear
and hellfire.
Till, I either died
or gave in
to their desires.

This could be a great place to rent
but I don’t want to live here.

So, I let the train roll heavy
breaking every bond
in my once well rooted
but now withering body.

These words don’t mean ****
when there is no one listening
cause I am just an over entitled
society fighter who think he is enlightened,
but in reality, I am just a coward
running as fast as I can.

It has been an hour in-between spent
just waiting for my metal chariot.
My cup jingles with ice water
because I can’t afford
the hard liquor
that other strangers adore.

Earbuds distract.
Loud music
plays strange extended chords.
The electric vibrations
swirl around
then wave in and out
as the tempo of the drum
beats in the background.
So loud and strange,
it flows faster
then the rain
that hits the rusted track.

I change trains
cause I would rather
hit the rails
then stay tamed
like a well trained
house cat.
Who never leaves his home.

What a strange constellation she makes,
sweet stellar body
that I view from
a safe distance
cause she would
burn me like the sun,
scorching me
with her radiant beauty,
as I study her astronomy
the anatomy
of cosmic glory.

The winter falls as fast as hailstones. White wonderlands crossing every horizon, except from my bedroom window. Then she comes, in a fearful mood, mitigated by what, I am uncertain. Maybe I did something, maybe I did nothing. As a child I am almost certain it is my fault.

            A hand crashes forcefully against my face. Then again and again as I am restrained by the collar of my shirt. I can hear it stretching to its limits and tearing. I can hear this because I have stopped listening to her. Which makes her even angrier.

            I disappear. Why bother existing at all? There is a dull sensation of pain, but it is nothing. When she is done I come back. This is how I remember it. Although, I am certain this is wrong. I am just covering up the horrible stuff with some form of acrobatic escapism.

            When the fury ends and she is physically and emotionally spent, I am sent to my room. It is a safe prison, a place where I cannot confess my shame and hers to anyone. She is safe from the prying eyes of DCFs and I am safe from her.

            Ten to thirty feet away from window I watch the world go on without me. There is a painful longing. My neighbors enjoy the day unsullied by my darkness. I wonder how bad I must be. I cry and wish to die. This is a fact unclouded by time or wishful thinking.

            I read the bible. I sneak a real book and read it. The book is wedged between my bed and the wall. I conceal half of it in the covers as I read the other half, adjusting it carefully and as quietly as possible. When I can’t read I sleep. I sleep so much that I get tired, then I sleep some more. I work as far ahead in my assignments as I can. Thank goodness the teacher is predictable.

            I think, I breathe, I live, but it feels like death. When my sentence is over I am free for a week or so. Then she is angry again. Whatever, back into my cell as I watch the world change. Winter is in its full bloom. Sometimes, I **** in a cup because I am only allowed a certain amount of bathroom visits.

I sit. I think. I sleep. I dream.

I am not even safe in my own dreams. In every dream I am pursued. A monster in space, Freddy Krueger, or just her. I run but spikes start sprouting from the ground, and every step sends spasms of sharp pain through my feet. I can fly but only so far and so high. Electric wires act like rubber bands and sling me painfully back to the spike filled earth. There is no freedom.

            I am out for a day. Then back in again. Sad songs repeat themselves on my cassette player. This only perpetuates and deepens my agony. The children laugh and play slinging snowballs dangerously fast at each other’s face. Why am I the freak? Why can’t I be free?

            The violence subsides. Now there are only harsh, well extremely harsh words, hundreds of sentences to writes, and longer confinements. I come and go so fast that it feels like I spend more time in my room then I have ever spent anywhere else.

            Summer comes, and thank goodness she has to work. I have some free time. However, summer passes and the spring brings with it the same dullness. Now, I am back to winter. My life has become a sad echo. The kids can see that I am weak. Of course I am weak. I must be weak, because I can’t handle what must be normal.

            The snow comes, so deep, white, pure, and humbling. I watch it for days.  No one goes outside. My room becomes a strange universe with me at the center spinning but never moving. I never leave this room, except for meals and the occasional ****. There is something building up inside. I open the window. Then I slam it just as quickly. I open it again feeling the full frosty force of Mother Nature. What a glorious breeze. I shiver with pleasure and with the coldness of it all.

            In the past I have tried to **** myself, but I can’t seem to die. God won’t let me go, and neither will she. So, the window comes open again. I am overcome with another impulse. With no shirt or shoes I jump out the window. It is only a two foot drop. My feet bury themselves in the cold snow. I run around as long as I can stand it, till my feet ache with the pain of cold, then pull myself back in.

            The next day I do it again. I run about a block or so and return. It feels amazing. My mind can barely take in the magnificence of it all. I hope that winter will last forever. The pain and pleasure of it all excites me. My feet go from warm to frosted then I focus on the sensation of them warming up again slowly. It is like they go from alive to dead then come back alive again.

            There it is. The grand pleasure of a small release. No fairytales or dragons. I come and go as I please. No one is outside but me. Me reveling in the cold; me dancing like a madman. I do not get sick. The beast never catches me. She is defied without pain. My dreams don’t change. The world doesn’t get that much better.

            Then when the snow fades and children, come back out to play I am trapped again.But, but this minor pleasure remains. For a bit I came and went as I pleased, free to freeze or not.

Its dejavu
the things they do
writing the same poem
but for who?

**** near everyone starts
with the same words.
He or she
and what follows is
some heartbreak
or stroke of obsession.

As if their words
are possessed and compressed
into such tiny things.

Where once blue jays sang
as they softly perched
partly leaning over
where deeply green leaves grows,

now their heart moans
and their skin grows
silky red river scars.

Where once chipmunks
chattered and scattered
dancing around each other
in a wild rumpus,
claiming this ground is
theirs,

now she cries
a ****** without her
drug of choice,
not ******
but his angelic voice.

Where fish scales sparkled
and the pond rippled
in pursuit of what fishes do
while the water was
glimmering to,

now he is perplexed
about how complex
her brown hair is,
wants to know
how she tastes down there
and longs to smack that
backed upped ***.  

Nature evaporates.
Philosophy and poetry
lose their edges,
while I sulk away
to wither in rage
and my own heartbreak
cause I know they are
so much more.

They are vast caverns of complexity,
deep seas of variety,
and a universe inside themselves,
but those are depths
they will not explore.

Feast or famine,
if we examine
nature’s pursuit
of balance,

we will see
all extremes
try to find
their faithful counter;

Like a crazy climate
that tries to
adjust to
current carbon caused extremes
by creating a new standard
of homeostasis,

like when animals
over populate
till their general populace
is pushed back on
by environmental restraints,
such as resource scarcity.

If you observe
you will see
pressure
will cause other species
population
inflation
to fall back down to
a more reasonable
figure.

However, we
human beings
have moved beyond
the environment’s ability
to steady our fertility.

Resources scarcity
can be managed by
emerging technology.
So, the limited environmental capacity
to sustain our human society
becomes more of a suggestion
then all of the previous pressures
that once pushed us back
for the sake of harmony.

She did not need swords
Or cannons firing
Her eyes conquered my desire
Pupils piercing the core
Of my gluttonous yearning
A hunger I wished
To feed
A ravenous need
To devour her soul
Teething and
Nibbling gently

She did not need a gun
Or axes slashing
Nor hammers smashing
Her poetry
Spoke to me
Weakened my resolve
To never love again
Such ardent whispers
Calling out to
Like minded souls
Such loving verses
Cursing my heart
To lack of control

With a snap of her fingers
I would wither
Let winter consume me
For a small chance
That she would warm me
With her naked flesh

Her pictures make
Me touch myself
An *******
Fury
Because to me
It is more powerful
When you fantasize
About the eyes
Of someone you love

I am not conquered
So much as happily surrendering
Let her being devastate
And devour me
I would follow blindly
To my demise
Behind her devilish eyes

I am looking for a world where I don’t have to be sad
People don’t always act like their mad cause I know
That they are not bad, not cardboard cutout, stiff and preformed
Made to perform in the swarm to dive into the **** storm
Killing the warm form of normal affection for a quick *******
Defection for assimilation,
And I would consider self-immolation
If the rewards would exceed the pain it cost
The innocence we lost was just Christmas dressing
Preachers oppressing with fairy-tale lesson
Like lesions on our brains
Like leeches suckling on our flesh
The lies drain us of so much
They train us to do so little
So I am looking for a better world
Not out in space but a race to place human beings and nature
On a pedestal above baser things
A place where human beings belong to each other
Not the state or the denomination
No more discrimination
No more recriminations
Just a world more about love and less about greed

I know a girl who writes
The same poem over and over again
A dark hearted artist
Sultry mistress
Who dismisses
All other lovers
But her pain

However
She plays it so clever
That I can’t help but love her
And read all the variations
Of the poem over and over again

Dopamine swelling
And swarming
Our brains
Fingers hands
Arms
Touched
But in loss
We lose ourselves
Shivering in withdrawal
The agony of life
Is in the loosing
One by one
Addictions
Not given up
So much
As stolen away
And we tremble
With tears
Knowing
But still living in fear
It has been that way
For hundreds of thousands of years
Since the first burial
Till the last mound is past
Till the last human basks
Withering in grief
Wallowing but raging against the thief
Who stole eternity
And will not give it back

The horses do it
The chimpanzees
Do it as they please
I watch all of these
Dreams
Growing
Cell by cell
Mother and father
Express themselves
Creating tiny haploids
Making a zygote
Minds expanding
Into a newly forming
Consciousness
A new universe is born
Came into being
A natural thing
But this birth
Will never be for me
It is only an echo
Of a loving
Fairytale dream

Some songs will make you cry,
some verses will make you wonder why
it feels as though no time has passed.

Some lyrics will make you think
spend your time perplexed
as you obsess over the talents
that other artists possess.

Some painting will
force you
to alter your view
as you turn your head
sideways,
to the left
and at an awkward angle
to the right,
even upside down,
in a curious query.

Some works of art
will stir a hardened heart
to actions
of minor and major compassion.

You embrace a dark character
and call it my flaw.
Demons in your eyes,
I cannot tell
if you are telling lies,
if you realize what madness you spread,
or have the worms
burrowed so deep into your head
that you truly believe
such severely stupid things.

She was a vile venom sac
Poisonous black widow
A spider spinning webs
In my back bedroom window

I went back
In time to where the place was
Taking up space because
I was wrapped up in my own world

Teddy bears and a fluffy pink snake
Broken action figures
Battle damaged with no legs
Yellow rusted Tonka truck

Saturday morning cartoons
Hiding comic books in my room
Sneaking and reading while everyone slept
Stealing stealthily I quietly crept
Keeper of the secrets
I kept to myself

Shadows via the windows
Shadows in her smile
Danger in her temperament
Demons in her eyes

Snot and tears
Years of fear
But not of violence
The fear of still being here

The Trip is done
And I come back
Come back to myself
Back to the fact that I am strong
Back to the physical present
Where my presence belongs
Back to me away from the shades
Which haunts my memory
The shadows cannot touch me
But they still haunt me

I love the sound of laughter.
It is the sound of despairs defeat;
Enemy now fallen to the side with no ill will.
Chuckles Bounce back and forth volley per volley
Set match and serve has made you smile.
There is less stress in the sound of laughter.
Tensions easing out of our bouncing bodies.
Spirit safely restored with a strong sense of pride and dignity.
Even if it cost me mine,
As I take a tumble or make a frantically funny face,
Laughter is endearing knowing by hearing that here there is just for a second a little less hate.
Laughter can mark each moment with new lessons learned,
Or simply take away a tid bit of pain.
I love the sound of laughter cause when it’s good,
It echoes from stranger to stranger to stranger ,
In danger of engulfing the entire room.
It is ironic, it is unexpected, and it is easier than an ******.
Give me laughter or give me death.
Preferably laughter, please.

Face flushed
I taste dust,
cause she’s livid
with a vivid
imagination.

I move up
one bar
then back down
to the clown car.

Light signal changes
to the wrong color
giving me
a signal to see
that is a
confusing
communique.

I am enraptured
by the next chapter
she used to capture
my heart.

The past is the spark
where she parked
her poetic heart,
as I asked to see
whatever she
would grant me
freely,
in her poetry.

I long for
a great dialogue,
but she
doesn’t
long for me.
So, I am left to see
the slow decline
of my sanity.

There was a time when things were fine
But he went from full time to part time
Then came to find they had no time for him
A short trip barely a blip when he slipped
And was stripped of his security
And the narrative went from the American dream
To some other sick sad distorted Norman Rockwell scene
And his family went from prosperous
To welfare kindling struggling and burning in anxiety
Choosing between eating and heating
Between water or electricity
but the numbers read him wrong
Statistically society claimed that he
Was a poor *** deserving his shame
Classified with those he despised
Those he never bothered to look in the eyes
Cause he just made bland generalizations
Now he is the generalized
Marginalized by the lies
Forgotten by those who fail to realize
They too are one high wire walk away from
The same kind of pain and devastation
Cause the safety net keeps getting clipped and snipped
Soon even you to will fit, falling right through to
The same sorry state of poverty

Why do I have to be tense
when the easily offended
are the ones who commit the offense
emit attitude with their pretense
moral to a biblical degree
With no true human decency
Publicly they frighten me
privately they sicken me
declaring hateful victory
over love and humanity
Or is it just me?

With every spear thrown
With every flying arrow
With every javelin ******
With every sword parry
With every cannon fired
With every bullet shot
With every gas and bomb
That we dropped
Like Oppenheimer and Thanatos
We have become death

The beauty that held me hostage
Was scaled dreams
Fire breathing armored wings
Green eyes glowing in the night
Green fire
Green streaks across the heavens
The beauty that held me hostage
Was a vicious predator
Ripping its prey asunder
Limbs and bones crunching
Chomping violently
Nipping at me closely
Turns me ghastly almost ghostly
To know such beauty
Could be the end of me
All it takes is one misstep

Welcome to the me society
Look at me
Give me
Me technology
That builds a bubble of biasness

I want
I should have
Without giving back
Without sharing that
Which makes us human

But I want
To live to see
An us society
What can we do
To make life better
For our brothers
And sisters

When I have time to think,
when the dark thoughts
are hailing me
like Starfleet academy
across the universe
of my undermine;

In the dark regions
of my dreams
where legions
of thought demons
come rumbling in,
there is a red wave,
a reservoir of pain
reserved for the perturbed
parts of my overactive brain.

When the melancholia music plays,
switch flipped to repeat
as I listen to the beat
of my heart’s history,

I remember all that
was given to me,
the bits I took for granite
chipped rocks eroded
connections no longer
able to be loaded
because they are just
echoes of binary encoded
in my overloaded
grief molded
dual lobed
computing *****.

I write
a little life
littered with
the broken bits
of split
and distorted
reflections
I recorded
and reported
as reality.

Oh how cruel the day is.
Slant rays invade my space
because the curtained covered
windows can only bend them
not completely conceal
the light that I feel on my skin.

Partially piercing my eyelids
daylight becomes a strange shade
Of red, orange, and annoyed.

Warmth trumps cool sheets.
Sunny Sunday sounds sneak in
with the interrupting day.
I wish it all would go away.

Bring back the melatonin moments.
Bring back the colors of the night
dark, quiet, and tranquil as death
with my memories still intact.

But if I brought the evening back
I would want to stay awake
cause I love that silent night
and hate that ******* sunlit day.

I am the wind
Going in
And blowing out
The riddle
In your fiddle
When you can’t
Figure it out
I am the lute
I am the flute
The wooden piccolo
And the bells
And the drum
I am the hum
The thumb
In your mouth
The thwang
The twang
Diddlee do
Rocking me back
And holding
On to you
I am the beat
On the street
I am everywhere you are
I am in your ears
On the road
Bumping loudly
In your cars
Till the day that you die
I am yours
Oh man
Oh man
I am what I am
I am the jazz
And the blues
The melodic muse
That you use
And this could go on
Forever, I am the music

How many times can you clench your fists
Claim defense while proactively seeking conflict
Looking to others as the culprit when you did it
How many times can you wage war
Taking more and more before
The blood soaked shores
Come back to haunt your greedy heart
Are you a tin can machine man
With little or no heart to feel for
Your victims in this strange war
Or are you human with eyes to see
That the soft warm flesh you cleave
Is not an illusion or video projection
But a genetic copy with only minor variations
That your enemy is not a nation
That fills its ranks with fanatic monsters
But a funhouse mirrors that reflects
The same passions and drives that move you
To do what you do
One look through this cold Chrystal clear blue lake
And you will be forced to take their pain as your own
Look just one time with an open mind and it will be known
That there is no enemy
Only unclaimed family

Your affections are not gold.
They are more like acid showers,
like thin tendrils that compel
a deep dark inner shiver.
The grating timber
felt like summer in
early December,
when I was yearning
for the cold of winter.
Fingers like shadows
strangle day light
and when I say no
you say you might.
We may have been
friendly at first,
but it hurt when
you tried to push in
to be more than just friends.
You know what they say
how you can’t trust men.
Well *******,
you just proved them right
once again

The walls are a litter
of chaos layered upon
the anarchy of
spray painted letters;

Various styles of
dripping calligraphy,
silver lines spilling
their energy down
this hard word laden wall.

A lovely looping Y
is engraved in flesh tones
while the rest of the word
remains unknown
permanently obscured
by the intent of
newer artists.

I am awestruck
to the point of
an autistic response,
paralyzed by the
thick presence
of chipping paint
that flakes off
to take us back
to a blank canvass past.

Till, a swirling view
twirling through
enchants me to move.

My hands tremble,
reaching for the small breach,
longing to be swallowed,
absorbed, and added
to this discordant beauty.

I was sitting quietly
just outside the city
beneath a starry sky,
contemplating all that is
in this strange 3d life
and enjoying a cool night.

Knowing that once
the night ate the day.
Then the sun ascended
in an orange expanding blaze,
reaching out to touch the blackness,
allowing the dark streaks
to sneak away.

I was slightly blinded;
Dry eyes sore and blurry
from the light a shining
as people hustled by.
It was a change you see
from my normal
nightly duties
of guarding empty factories.

Even so,
I still know
they are both
great places
to ponder the briefness
of our human existence.

The smoky spasms
of specters passing
fill my teary blurred
vision;

Forced phantasms
of former friends
and family
which I remember
quite fondly,

The young girl
across the street
who was missing
a few teeth,

The old lady
and old man
who brought me up,
helping when they could,

The elderly grocer
of Kregor’s store
where I purchased
penny tootsie rolls,
and three cent
laughy taffy

The long dead dogs,
the trees,
the memories
of a younger me
living dangerously
hanging upside down
thick branches,

these spirits haunt me
partially paining
but mostly reminding me
of the good times.

I am not a werewolf but there is a beast buried deep beneath my chest
Howling raging and trying to escape this thin veneer of human flesh
Everyday day I find myself shifting and changing as I grow
But what will become of it I never really know
My bones may crack, shift front to back but the monster never shows
It lurks inside my bitter mind waiting to rip off all of my clothes
The rage of disappointment the heartbreak of regret
Are the only feelings that I long to forget
They feed the freak until I’m too weak to resist the beast
And one day it will make its great escape the monster will be unleashed
I shudder to think that even on the brink I can vaguely recall
That the vulgarity of all the violence and desire is such a human flaw
Maybe the thing that lives inside me is not what I should fear
But the thing that I should worry about is if it disappears