Ten thousand screams, seething with rage,
Ten thousand cries, trembling with pain,
Merging into one, a relentless wave,
Years of feeling, fractured and fleeting,
Rushing through the corridors of my mind.

A violent melody, endless and raw,
A symphony stretching across eternity,
Then everything dissolved into silence,
I sank to my knees, drowning in emotion,
What was this feeling, unnameable, ungraspable?

It was everything at once, yet nothing at all,
Tremors rippled, inside and out,
Echoing through the fragile shell of my world,
The walls I built, brick by careful brick,
Collapsed in seconds, a symphony of ruin.

What was that feeling? They called it panic.
I thought I was fine, thought I was okay,
But was my well-being a masterful illusion,
A play I directed to soothe my mind,
To fabricate solace for my existence?

That feeling—everywhere, yet nowhere at all—
The tight, suffocating pain, piercing through,
Everywhere, yet nowhere, a phantom ache,
My world crumbling, and truth dawning:
I was doing too much, yet not enough.

It was cold, unrelenting, this truth—
Nothing is enough, not even everything.
I wanted to cry, not just inside,
But to pour out the ache that hollowed my chest,
Yet Death hovered, its blade aimed at my heart.

Cold, numbing, but somehow awakening,
I had to stop pretending, stop the facade,
To find the strength to truly be fine,
Not in illusion, but in truth’s embrace,
To seek the help that heals the soul.

Everywhere, yet nowhere at all—
The pain, the guilt, the resentment,
Aimed at everything, yet nothing at all.
And in that moment, I gave myself permission,
To not be okay— and that was enough.

-fir.m

Malignant gangrenous political cancer
     corrupts, festers, and poisons United States,
     thus opposition cannot wait,
especially since Gospel in accordance

     with feeble minded Donald Trump
     implemented wrought ugly trait,
particularly obliteration, sans progressive
     human rights legislation

     more or less pronounced positive
     in every L ionized Nittany or cotton bowl state
and ratiocination inherent within
     mine Democrat oriented mind doth rate

this forty fifth president (defect)
     with sawdust packing
     his noodle oven egotistical pate
trophy wife (spouse number three),

     a Slovenia mate
donning "I don't care anymore"
     t-shirt rousing media firestorm of late
essentially silently corroborating,

     fostering, and illuminating hate
mutely bolstering the Trump anthem,
     viz make America great
again, which pathless,

     pithless, and pointless aim
     roars like an earsplitting runaway freight
     train oblivious of wailing soul asylum,
     that no era meets said criteria

     backtracking time machine before
     rightful indigenous occupants of this land
     got decimated as one after another
     exploiter did inundate

(comprising a multitude
     of indigenous variety of village people
indignantly subjected to Genocide,
     when first "discoverer"

     of new land didst promulgate
activation wrought deliberate sealed fate
vis a vis capitulation, demolition,
     and extirpation, cuz

     a scathing rebuke aye attest,
     those murderers didst equate
worthlessness of
     so called "Indians" on 1492 date,

and still remnants of storied tribes,
     now attempt to create
historical documentation operate
ting with limited resources to adjudicate.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Food methinks doth buzzfeed drumbeat agog
at pyrotechnics July 4th, 2018 shared as blog
posts, a falsehood prevails which dog
gone “FAKE” brewed watered down grog
posits that the majority of Colonialists stay hog

tied to strict task masters, and mainly the scant
upperclass experienced autonomy,
     no matter the under class didst futilely rant
and rave with the occasional
     uprisings over time did grant
minimal appeasement to stifle violent kant!