interrogated
or
questioned

heart stopping times
every creak in floorboard
and stairs
the closing of a door

toymaker
where
is
your
responsibility
to
innocence
gone
and
what
of
your
contribution
to
peace

My stomach
churns
acid.

I lay in bed,
counting
the sheep
in me.

And I
hate myself
for every
lost cause
I find and
pet.

I want to
cut open my
stomach
and burn
the wool off
the sheep
with the
churned
acid.

Jesus loves me,
yes I know.
For my nation
tells me so.
Cut the wool
off of every one.
My words go on
but I am done.

Yes, Jesus loves me.
****, Jesus loves me.
Yes, Jesus loves me--
my nation tells me so.

mistakes are my speciality
so never despair
I  have made them my life's work

history demands its own voice
and many false interpretations
try, try , as they will to twist
and try to suit a taken stance
is this; I stand on my understanding
forgetting my own nothingness
in a hundred years they will laugh
I sincerely hope at my written down
understandings and laugh again
at the history we made for us
making it up as we go along
pretending we had the ultimate answers

if I could be a witch and maybe I have been
flying around in denial
I must admit, flying, I find most pleasant

You're not in love,
you just like
entertainment.
Blood boiling,
tense muscles
put your mind
at ease.

You're not kissing,
you just like
the gesture of hope:
the softer the lips
the harder it is
to walk away.

You quote their texts
like you're quoting
scripture.
The tweets you study
cause your heart
to freeze.

You're like a god
without a people:
You're looking
for anyone
to believe
in you.

I dreamt about
a ****** t.v.
movie.
I put myself
in a lover's shoes.
I said, "You're
not that lonely
but you like
the attention.
And I guess
I'd like to
give it
to you."

why cant i awake from this nightmare we call life