I will turn my skin inside out.
Bathe my skull in acid.
Tear my nails from their beds, for use as nails in my coffin.
Grind my teeth for confetti at my funeral.

The sounds keeping me up at night, these imaginary sounds. Her bed moving, her lips smacking, those rough hands grazing her skin. God, don't let this thunderstorm end, or these sounds will drive me insane. Let me even be smite, burst these eardrums so that they may never hear again.

Obama was the nicest guy - Intelligent and cool.
Comparatively speaking, his successor plays the fool.
Ridiculous and baseless tweets, The Donald can't avoid.
His recent missives indicate he's turning paranoid.

Barack Obama seems to be Trump's ongoing obsession.
Obama saved the U.S.A. from Bush-induced recession.
The Donald hates Barack's success and can't leave it alone,
and Trump, now "off the rails", claims Obama bugged his phone!

Trump's offered no supporting facts for his emphatic claim.
No warrants from the F.B.I. or C.I.A. to blame.
Perhaps he thinks Barack Obama has a super-power
that lets him fly high in the sky to break into Trump Tower.

So, do you wonder, Donald Trump, just where Barack is now?
Is he there behind the curtains? Is he in the walls somehow?
Is he watching from the ceiling? Is he in the chandelier?
Is he in your 15th closet? Do these thoughts fill you with fear?

Is he down at Mar-a-Lago, in the old groundskeeper's shed?
Is he disguised just like Melania, right there in your bed?
The truth may be much worse than that! Does it fill you with dread,
to realize Barack is living... deep inside your head?

They are coming after me...
I can hear them braking the chains...
Screams, cries, silence...

Silence at once,
Is it over?
Am I saved?

Screeching...
I hear screeching, crying and screaming...
They are coming for me!

I hear them,
They are everywhere,
Spinning in circles,
All around me they've come for me!

I hear them.
I hear my inner demons.

-Kathia Mariana Landeros

New King Born in Zion -
Revelation of my destiny, outcast and branded
My face bringing profound joy but yet sadness
Was born to lead away, not to follow the rest
Yet hated for what I was born to do
I provide them (doctors) my  brain to tamper with

Vexed and poisoned, from beginning to end
Take my job seriously with the present hackin'
Will it be heaven or hell; a limbo effect sways
The choices we make here (earth) we live n' we pay

Parallel patterns, continuous thoughts, remark of events
A trail of evidence never stops, engulfing in stress
Eternal pain from on out; cannot escape now
Depiction of admission to safety (lies) to each it's own abyss

Drowning in my own flesh and blood, bone too
The world swallowing me whole spitting me out though
The elders, the conman, the snakes, the cops, the terrorists,
The nurses, the rich and the poor tell me to stop...
Yet I know it's too late for me to ever go back

               - THE END -
©Franko the Christian Poet

when did compasssion leave you
and get replaced by apathy
and lips touching bottles of alcohol
like they belonged to her mouth
you only wish you could hold the sun of her face
sweat off your worries in her holy
let her know that to be resurrected
you first need to perish
let her feel the sadistic toll of stillborn happiness
let the content promise
be a threat
let her know you will not auction off your heart
for it to be sold again at a profit
let her fall asleep knowing that
you will be there in the morning
but you will watch her all night long
to make sure
she does not leave you hollow like a haunted house
an abandoned building
you've watched too many lonely sunsets
to believe that hills like her are anything more than a shelter
you've heard too many whispers of the wind
to think that the way she touches you will last any longer than storm