Listen
Hear how the pitch varies yet stays constant
Silence permanently halted by that
Which processes it.
We are forced to mould pain into peace,
Sleep forced into the lack of,
There's no cure.
There's no remedy for calamity.
No homemade soup
or store-bought pills.
We who are diagnosed are dissidents against the police of
silence.
Listen now.
Hear the perfect consistency,
A straight line
in one ear out the other,
Like a power line from one pole
To the next.
It hurts.
A string of pain connecting each ear drum,
making sure that well notice if it misses a beat.
Sadly for us,
It never will.

Santa murdered Christmas,
by excluding the Christ
and only caring about the Mass
of how much one can get.

No-one gives a **** about Christ anymore.
Myself included,
but I didn't need a perverted holiday
for that to be a thing.

I've grown tired of love poems,
They are all dried up ink,
Forgotten valentines,
Stale ideas to think,
Upon receiving your letter,
I remembered the weather,
Care package bouquets,
and I hope you get betters,

I will hone my skills
to the peak of my potential
and whittle the most beautiful thing
that mortal eyes have seen...
**Only to destroy it
and set fire to it's ashes
because even though it was rooted
from my own fingertips
it was flawed
in my eyes...