TW

The world stands still
And a silent scream
Bounces off
The synthetic walls
As people transform
To hollow statues
Void of consciousness
A million miles
Away from here

The scream gets louder
And fills my empty chest
Tightly squeezing
Every inch of peace
Out of my pulsating veins

I dangle
On the edge of a cliff
And with every pulsating heartbeat
I loosen my grip

As words slip from my mind
The hands on the clock
Spiral down to hell
Taking my sanity with it
And I just
Feel
Everything

Till I'm numb
It fades away
I cry
And shake
I am saved

sit down and listen to the sounds of the world.

the gun shots and explosions echo through continents
and you hear the pleas of the hurt and murdered.
the night's music fades to white noise and screams in the ears of men who loved men,
the black woman is trapped in the passenger seat after watching her black lover get shot by a cop for a headlight,
a thousand muslims are hurt and killed in the midst of a holy celebration,
young boys and girls no longer laugh but cry in desperation.

people are killing in the name of faith, and color, and love they deem wrong,
the body count gets higher and higher
as the tears cried and the blood shed
form a well the world is drowning in.

the sweet smell of life turns to death and grieving,
and in times like these, we stand for the threatened, we heal the hurt and broken.

with your voice, tell stories of the murdered and their kind that show they're human too.
with your arms, fight for rights and understanding the oppressed deserve.
with your hands, help and guide the ones who are now afraid.
and with your heart, love radically
until love is enough to put the pieces of this world back together.

recently
after every massacre
by some fanaticized pathological idiots
politicians call upon their citizens
to come together
and pray for the murdered and their families

this is absolutely appropriate

but it seems
that ever since 9/11
the nation only comes together
AFTER more of its members have been killed

I wish very much
that the nation
   AND politicians
would come together
BEFORE  the next massacre
and take appropriate action
to prevents such disasters
in the first place

I breathe in.
I breathe out.

The air is cold--
Or maybe that's
Just me.

My hands are icy,
But that's nothing new.

My heart is racing,
But I have yet to hear from you.

I can feel my pulse,
But I can't feel any blood.

My wrists don't ache,
But maybe they should
And I'm confused
Because isn't that
How anxiety presents itself
In the physical form?

But maybe this isn't
Anxiety.
Or maybe I don't
Have a physical form.

I breathe in.
I breathe out.

He whispers something kind under his breath.
Something that makes me stop going towards that light.

Something like
"I wouldn't want you to keep talking to me
If it makes you uncomfortable."

And I stop and I look over my shoulder
And he's looking down at his feet,
Remembering something good,
Something fun,
Something real.

I hear him again
"You're so kind and good. I'm sorry that happened to you."

And it makes me feel sick,
Because if I'm so kind and good,
Why did you leave?

And then I hear it
Over and over and over
Like the ghost of ex's past.

"Abuse abuse abuse abuse"
All my friends and loved ones
Chanting what a monster you are.
That it was all a game
All  a sham,
An act.

That it was just an act to you.

So I turn from the light.
And walk into something I'm new to.

I walk into the warmth of
Something I don't recognize.

It's called friendship.
It's called kindness.
It's called human decency.

You should look it up.

I breathe in.
I breathe out.

why are you so enchanted by the light?
why do you keep on sticking to bright streetlamps
when strolling
through cold, quiet streets
bare of any living being?

(with their fingers crossed behind their backs
and knives hidden in their smiles)
the creatures mischievously sneaking around in the dark
are given the benefit
of spotting you right away

they easily observe you
(and see through your hesitant footsteps and shivering arms)
from a safe distance
and wait
for the chance to pounce

what is it
that makes you so
terrified
of the darkness?

is it because of the stories your mother told you
when you were a wee, little thing?
when you could barely understand the words coming out of her mouth?
when all you could believe in were your mother's words?

"Remember this: always walk under the streetlights, so the monsters don't chase you. They're terribly frightened by the light."

child,
do not be afraid
of slipping in the darkness.
do not be afraid
of what kind of unknown being lurks inside.
do not be afraid
of breathing the same air as your predators.

why not blend with them
as they search through their surroundings
all terribly confused
as to where their prey was
as you observe
(and see through their hesitant eyes and shivering backs)
from the shadows
and wait
for the chance to pounce?

/ after all,
creatures of the dark
rarely expect the attack
coming from their own side,
don't they? /

hardly a day goes by
without the news
of yet more suicide attacks
that **** mothers and children
     innocently playing in parks
     listening to their favorite songs
friends chatting over tea and coffee
expectant travelers on their way
     to business  family  or lovers

the perpetrators of such deeds
must be a very lonely crowd
with eyes as empty as their hearts
and frozen souls that harbor the illusion
       that cowards will turn heroes
       that killing innocents is brave
       that the world will recognize their great importance
            when they bring ****** ends to happy lives

it will not come to pass

no peace
     in this   or any other world
can find its way to them
who ****** in cold blood

religion should be about hope
not putting fear in other people's souls
should be about about peace
not about starting wars
about forgiveness
not about punishing innocent hearts

imagine all the people living life in peace

but how can one do this when bombs are thrown
instead of love
when moms cry
and children die
peace is impossible to be seen
when music dies and we hear only desperate hearts
praying
begging
wondering why.

we have different Gods and rules
our prayers sound different
our holy books are not the same
and
there are many sins in our souls
but
you're not God, nor am I
and none of us should play
the game of washing sins away
with spilled blood
and shed tears.