He colours in the night using the rigged crayons
because everything and everyone needs an edge.

Today I fed the killing need
dug the garden and murdered
the weeds,
I can still hear them screaming,
pleading to be spared.

I should know better, I never will,
far too late now, but still,
I should know better,
live and let live.

Sometimes though
the inner demons surface and
place their burdens on me
and it is then
that I can only see
what they want me to see,

and you're all so excited about your
fifteen minutes that you don't have
a moment to spare, not even for
the weeds.