Living demons

I read you
over
and over
and over
again
I read you so violently
.....so vividly
You are viscous
Vile
Venomous

Raging red mist
Clouds my vision
Your viscidity allures my fury

....and I would **** you

....I would not stop

Fingertips of razor blades
Knuckles to the bone
Spitting tears
Mouth foaming
Veins protruding with every single
Stab

.....And I would **** you

......I would not stop

Infiltrated by evil
Life for a life
Death hath no fury for what I will commit
......I'm already dead

......And I would **** you

.......I would not stop

And after....,
I would light up a smoke
And finally breathe from the heart you broke.....

I killed you .....

And I did not stop....

t/w: violence, death

-

dear little miss dreamer
i'm sorry i couldn't write to you sooner
but yesterday night, i've read all three
each and every one of your letters

your mother sounds lovely
a brave woman, from what you've told me
if your brother comes by downtown
tell him, he's welcome to visit me

you have some big dreams
and i hope i can help them come true
i'm sorry i've been so busy
but i would truly love to meet you

you remind me of my wife
of her dreams when she was your age
we grew up together in the center city
like you, she was wise beyond her days

i agree, we need to help kensington
and we've begun taking some small steps
i'm pushing for a new bill to pass
but it'll still take some time to prep

i know you mentioned drugs and violence
and yes, i agree, it's completely true
please stay safe and stay inside
it could help protect you

actually, that just reminded me about kensington
my wife had told me some shocking news
a mother murdered at her kitchen counter
a little girl, shot, in the same view

i think she was writing a letter, too
but i don't quite remember who exactly to
it was titled, i think, "dear mister life-changer"
wait, it couldn't be— no, God, please, not you—

please note: t/w: violence

-

dear mister life-changer
how have you been?
i know you never answer
but i wanted to try again

introducing myself for the fourth time
i'm a small girl with big dreams
my dad walked out when i was real young
my mum hopes i'll have an easier living

i'm in kensington, philly
it's not a nice place to grow up
with drugs, gangs, and guns
my older brother once even got mugged

i'm writing from my little closet
my mum said it's for me to be safe
but i hate being alone in this place
it's such a small, empty space

a couple of gunshots outside
it's like this every other night
brother's not home right now
but i sure hope that he's alright

there's a clicking noise
it doesn't sound very nice
i hear footsteps down the hall
they're not mum's, they're too light

mister life-changer, i think that might be my brother
he told me you could make things right
but why don't you ever write back to me?
why don't you ever reply?

i want to tell you my dreams
i heard you can make them come true
just give me one chance, sir
it's worth it, i'll show you

i dream of a big wide world
where i can walk outside and not be afraid
a world big enough for every little brown girl
to skip down sidewalks and enjoy the day

i hope to move to the suburbs
buy a big house for mum one day
buy her leather bags and pretty dresses
and not a single cent she'll have to pay

-

dear mister life-changer
i'm sorry there's blood on this paper
mum's bleeding out in the kitchen
someone shot her at the counter

mister life-changer
they told me to wait
i called the life-savers
they said, just wait

i don't know what to do
so now i'm back to writing to you
will you ever make a change?
will you tell me to wait, t—

Sometimes it just strikes you in the gut,
A flash of a face smiling
Then dashed, red, fear –
An intrusive thought, a grief paralysis
At breakfast, in line at the store, waiting for that phone call
When he took just a little too long coming home,
When you send her on the bus,
When they kneel down for one moment of prayer.  

Maybe you never see it you just feel it
Maybe one hundred and fifty times a year,
Maybe twenty-six times a day,
diffuse, like an throb radiating outwards,
like a ghost,
like a seven-year heartache.

Maybe you stopped feeling it, you just see it
In black and white
In colors that you know matter, but you
Choke on your own descriptions (what a privilege!),
And the world chokes on the words that would
Shake you up and wake you.  
When you were given the right to bear something
it wasn't to bear witness to a waking nightmare.
But if you’re sleeping with earplugs
You’re never going to open your eyes.

Crayons and colored pencils,
spilling waxen graphite blood
in collective pigment wars.
The box they fight in,
reaching a point of ruination
from the river shed within.

James E. Roethlein ©2021

Why so much violence
Why can't we find peace
Why are you protesting
causing so much destruction
is that really better ?
Breaking windows
spraying hate upon
these walls
Your destroying
people's lives
your turning our
city into a ugly ****** up
mess
How does that get your message across ?
Grow the **** up
and look up protesting
see it's meaning are you reading the meaning ?
It's about using your voice and standing up
Your all acting like brats
hurting others
acting like bullies
that's not protesting
your not getting attention
Your getting us *******
I hope you get to feel the
damage your causing
You belong in a cell
Where you can't destroy
and steal and throw
temper tantrums
Where you can't spread
your ugliness
and we can find peace
and find our way ahead
It has to stop
your not proving anything
I know you must be stopped
it has to end
it's no longer about
race or hate
It's about adults who are
acting like children
You need to learn
the meaning
of protesting
You need to build others
up and help people see
there is a way forward
So stop just stop
We can handle this
You need to be taught
a lesson and karma
will handle you soon
I just hope sooner
not later
© Jennifer L DeLong 🦏
4/17/2021

Another gun, another shot, another bullet flies
Another place, another wound, another person dies

Another paper’s headline, another claim of disbelief
Another time of sorrow, and another family’s grief

In the aftermath of ******, it’s another call to prayer
Another prelude to inaction in a land that doesn’t care

I pray that we can live a life devoid of death and fear
I pray to stop the slaughter in this barbaric atmosphere

I pray the hate stops flying.  I pray the threat soon ends
I pray for all my children; I pray for family and for friends

I pray for love, I pray for hope, I pray the killings cease
I pray for you, I pray for me, I pray for lasting peace

Though God may have the upper it’s not God’s hand on the gun
Give a weapon to a demon and a wicked deed gets done

We have armed the devil’s legions, and oh how he is smirking
It’s time to change the gun laws. It’s clear the prayers aren’t working

Thoughts and Prayers
They burn
Ashtray of humanity
Incense offering
There is no god
Thoughts and Prayers

The winter is over, the men want action
like rams without ewes and without a shepherd
By the fishing lake, I promise to be their king

It takes a fortune, rows of carts
bring bread and fish every day
the campaign begins, we march
through the outer regions

On the Mount of Anointment near the capital
we camp under the olive trees
The saint pours a golden crown of oil
over my head, it is my best birthday

I address the men: It is near!
And my enemies, who do not want me
bring them here and slay them before me!