The foundation starts to crumble,

building like a muscle spasm

seemingly suddenly

but the chasm’s not shallow.



A throbbing pulsation,

intensity multiplying

through a fragile vein

where the weak start  to stumble.



There are cracks in the sidewalk,

disjointed like tendon

shouting through the pain

of childhood stained in chalk.



And the moment’s not passing.

The golem’s gnawing,

crushing bone into sand

into dust into hand.



The grinding screeching metal

causing the spark to ignite

the forgotten weeded mind

which fights but won’t settle.



Then the clenched power courses,

telling lies in righteousness

crying, “this won’t end!”

unless you stop it.



But the repletion of madness

tears the blood from the knife.



The throat is open.

The mountain’s *****

punching holes into families.



The swinging freedom of

unconscious motion

finds a target in innocence

if exists such a myth.



Sweltering demented meltdown

eroding this tail wagging acceptance,

ripping at the skin of freewill,

proving a point.



That monster has no soul.

that demon stares backward,

smiling from the pages

of mankind’s fiction.



“Burn!” he hollers.

Suffer and burn.

You are my children

in the lake of fire.



Only when it dries,

staining the lips of emotion

can those eyes see once more-

there is a person buried beneath.



A man in the devil’s jacket.



A man.