You told me you loved me,
You lied to my face.
You stole my heart,
And put it in a case.

You locked it away,
So far away.
You own it, you stole it,
It can't run away.

You told me you loved me,,
You lied to my face.
You closed my mouth,
Just incase.

You told me not to tell anyone,
You made me promise.
You made me quiet,
I still broke that promise.

You told me you loved me,
You lied to my face.
You stole my mind,
and entrapped it away.

You bruised me,
You hurt me.
This isn't the way.
Why did you have to
Do it anyway?

You told me you loved me,
You lied to them.
You put on a smile,
And a façade.
They believed you,
And threw my words away.

You told me you loved me,
You still lied to the rest.
I knew you were lying,
This wasn't what was best.

You lied, you pried,
You said you wouldn't do it again.
I cried, and cried,
You still inflicted the pain.

You told me you loved me,
You lied to yourself.
You said you were sorry,
But that couldn't help.

Stop, oh stop,
You did it, nonstop.
You hit, you bit,
I just wasn't enough.

You told me you loved me,
You lied, oh you fucking lied!
You could never love,
With your demons inside.

Cello cords snap, slice, fresh
Wounds bloom next to old scabs
Rosy slits puncture through cotton gloves
With thread and time, they say
We’ll mend.
Intertwining blows face a silent war
Unwinded by a cannon salute.
Across the battlefield
Conductors pick up their batons
Holding ready
Waiting
For you to throw
The opening note
Waiting
For me to throw
The first Molotov
Shatters.
The trumpet hook screeches
A familiar overture blares
Confetti glass garnishes our drinks
Gasoline reek, whiskey aftertaste
A night of dancing dares.
We fall back
Into a bed of thorns
Composed by sleepless fights
We have not learned to knit or sew
Our petals dangle from the receptacle
Swaying to the chorus.

amidst the terrifying news
that oozes daily from our television
I wonder what our world is like

is there indeed nothing to report
but global warming  war  and refugees

why does the money I donate
seem not to make a difference
in suffering Africa
end global violence and exploitation
help refugees to find a home

I wish the news were more exhiliarating
and lift our souls
rather then send them
into useless desperation

this is war
you have turned my life into hell
you need to die and burn in hell as well
take your own cross and crucify yourself

you have betrayed me
and I will tell the entire world
for ten days I was a worthless maggot to you
and now I will show you what a maggot you are

put your skull into a grinder
make sure that you die along the way
worthless and inconsequential is your life
and you will die a painful death for no reason

idiot, why do you live?
you promised friendship for what?
to throw me on the curb as you go your merry way?
you are no friend and I guess were never a friend anyways

~(About 8 hours later)~

these raging and pointless thoughts
going on and on about useless nonsense
about someone who was just an acquaintance
I realize now how little I even cared about her myself
just wanted a fighting match since I was moody
and she seemed like a nice target to attack

I see the fire
I feel the burn
I see the bodies
We’ll never turn
Bodies drop
Children cry
Towers fall
War is waged
Blood on walls
Torn up faced
Thousands dead
Millions more
We’ll never stop
Its in our core
Deals broken
Missiles sent
Rage awoken
Prophesies kept
Arrows flown
Widows moan
The loss of life
Beyond our hope
When do we stop?
When do we see?
Men scream
And children bleed
Hades’ seed
And Hela’s breed
They keep their rampage
Their evil deed

the sets of teeth i hold between my lips,
form a lovely aroma of violence that leaves a harsh kiss,
it causes boys to cry and wishing they would die,
the tears that fall from my eyes,
prove that it isn’t in my heart to make them my demise,
i simply want love but don’t who to choose,
which personality that i should allow to shine through;
the capricious lascivious woman inside,
or the sweet little girl who swallows her pride,
a quaint writer who knows that her art is dire,
or a hell raiser who admires the stargazers,
there’s too many to choose from and don’t understand why,
why god has cursed me with such sweltering lies,
i am reminded of the boy in the navy blue sweater,
who broke ounces of trust in me during the stormy weather,
he gazed at me with nothing-ness in those bright blue orbs,
yet that boy is the boy i continue to adore,
in spite of the way he cuts down others,
which is as impactful as killing his own mother,
he is one of the many reasons i refuse to get close,
and decide my loved ones deserved to be choked

Is war coming? Are we headed for another crazy cataclysm?
My sons, draft age. Only now can I appreciate the pain
so sharp it drains the color from one's eyes, your reason
for living gone in a spasm of violence to be forgotten
never by survivors. This fear could become real as no movie
is surreal enough to distract attention from the certainty
you did not do enough to deflect man's trajectory.

All could be well in the end but history portends
a periodic bloodletting followed by a quietus
without mercy. What's the best that can be said:
he died beside his friends and buddies. Steady
on to your own inquest and rest. A perfect rest
that improves upon the inadequacy of your efforts.
What solace can be found in the remains of marriage.

So you better fight back now even if that means
war comes sooner. At least you're fighting back, but how?
Take a minute to meditate on purpose. Science
cannot save you, neither can religion. Abstaining
from violence with love, letting prisoners go, detaining
no one at the border, inviting Chinese and Russian
scientists to our shores, defusing your own anger before it detonates,

none may be enough to save your sons.
A war president needs war, whatever. A trained
and deadly warfighter. You become what history wants
you to become. You survive if you're lucky, if not
so what, your old parents will be alive only briefly to mourn.
Then they too go to their good graves and the pain dies down.
In the meantime a new generation builds a new space station.

Since the vortex will be sucking up the poor,
let's not let the rich escape untouched. All go down
together, no one hoards gold or gets away with fiction.
If we have to fight let's make sure we fight as one,
the sons of the rich side by side with the poor's sons
and their daughters. You want slaughter? Then
let every city and back road know the new order.

I would rather watch Lalaland ten times over than have
to write this poem. I can leave home and live
in a tent or bunkhouse, eat dinner out of a tin cup
and drink water from a wooden bowl, give up
music and most of my memories to save my sons,
to save the world and avoid this war.
But that rarely happens. One is lost and found in what happens.