In a crypt where suffering knows no bounds.
Breaking minds to splinter to insanity
For all who enter such a torturous device,
Ye shall know the vice of
"inhumanity."

Drugged to will your damnation
To the bowels of Satan's secret lair.
The underbelly of earth where hydra's dwell.
Drug from heavens realm:
No man lives to tell.

In queue of many delirious fed,
From pots of boiled flesh.
A fermented smell of acid seers their lungs.
Cut from sight, taste, and smell,
Drunk from the searing taste on their tongues.

Beyond sight, in the grey mist ahead.
The decapited from sense, sojourn into
The nocturn abyss.
Within. Squelched screams of millions
Mask the air.
A final moment for living souls.
Drowned in utter woe and despair.

Involuntary suicide as
Satan mocks the scorn of millions.
A massive acid bath ****
Of melting flesh
Awaits them on the other side.

To be passed into pots, for the stomachs Of the next batch
Of a beguiled mass of man.

when a boy shows you his hands
bare except for the dust
he’s begging you to look past
take them in yours.
squeeze them once.
twice.
say without speaking
that you understand that the valleys
in his palms were meant to cradle
shooting star wishes
that he’s allowed to still hope for.
when a boy shows you his eyes
of milk and crimson and melanin
a bloodshot vein for every night he can’t sleep
let him shut his eyelids.
say without speaking
that you understand that the black hole pinpricks
of his irises hold more than the universe
should allow.
when a boy shows you his soul
shivering but still working toward friction
iced over but still working toward melting
let him come to rest next to yours.
say without speaking
that you understand that he is lonely
and that his silence speaks volumes
and that you kept his treasure close
because you love him.
when a boy shows you his hands
show him your hands.
when a boy shows you his eyes
show him your eyes.
when a boy shows you his soul
show him that
this is a comfortable place to rest it.
when a boy shows you the hardness that shaped him
show him the softness
that you have in store.

Mary had a little lamb,
two lobsters and a Christmas ham,
a three-pound tub of chicken wings,
seven bratwurst tied with strings,
thirteen loaves of garlic bread,
a schnitzel bigger than her head,
four rare steaks, a dozen eggs,
caviar and turkey's legs,
strips of bacon, mushroom stew,
chunks of bread and cheese fondue,
and two whole jars of sauerkraut,
(to clean all of her insides out).

Finishing the pasta salad,
Mary soon looked drawn and pallid.
"I don't feel well," poor Mary said.
"I think I need to rest my head."
Then from her stomach came a moan,
a straining, churning, twisted groan.
Mary gasped; her eyes grew wide.
She'd only seconds to decide.
What could she do? Where could she go?
Her stomach was about to blow!
So, reaching for the nearest bucket,
she retched, and then began to chuck it.

All the courses that she'd swallowed,
and the apertifs they'd followed,
all the steaks and all the fish,
each and every single dish
came flying back from in her belly,
filling up the bucket smelly
with a foul and toxic brew,
and no one knew quite what to do,
so this went on for ten whole minutes
till Mary had expelled her innards.
When she was done, her eyes were red,
and sweat was pouring from her head.

"Are you alright, sweet Mary dear?"
her mother asked. She didn't hear.
For Mary was already off -
the waiters saw her try to scoff
the whole entire pudding bar.
Now, this had pushed her mum too far.
"Alright!" her mother cried, "I'm through!
I've done the best that I can do.
I'm sick and tired of all you eat.
I will not pay for all this meat.
I'm going home. Go get some help —"
Then Mary's mum let out a yelp!

She glanced down at her legs and saw
sweet Mary there begin to gnaw!
She struck the lass, but with great haste,
alas, the girl had reached her waist.
As Mary's ma was there devoured
by her offspring, overpowered,
she cried one thing ere final slaughter:
"It smells like lamb in here, my daughter."
Mary licked her lips and grinned.
She belched out loud and then broke wind.
She felt her tummy start to rumble -
and calmly ordered apple crumble.

They say being different makes us unique
But when our skin is different we become incomplete
If we are born to that of a race that is to dark
And not white
We become outcast
I'm not being racist but why is it that being black
Is looked down upon
Growing up id feel the constant stares the hate filled looks
Being a little kid i didnt understand
Just miss understood
I never knew what i consider my beauty others consider my flaw
Because i'm not like them i had to fight each day
Because i'm not white
I had to worry about being shot
Or getting killed by the cops
I'm not saying this because i'm black
And i may seem racist but i'm stating facts
I'm am a person of colour but why does my colour define me
My skin is just a part of me like colour on a canvas there's a bigger picture
I am not the colour of my skin
I'm me
And why is that so hard to understand
When did our value become our skin
If i'm black and they are white
Why am i treated like i've got no right
The colour i am isn't me
Why does no one understand
To be seen as something other than right
I'm human not paper
Dipped in the wrong colour
but black isn't a colour its a shade
so what am i if not just human
I don't want to be name called and looked down upon
Have my colour become an insult
And hate myself because i'm
Not white

The poor boy knew Christmas beckoning at the door
He saw every house bright with many a lamp
And streets illumined with colorful lights and stars
But his tiny hut looked dismal n’ dark like a prison camp

With a suppressed sigh, he inhaled the festive air
His little heart grew weary and dim
There has never been a merry Christmas in his life
As the days advanced, he grew moody and glum

He, born into a cheerless, crammed shack
With parents so poor having very little means
To bring up their children and foster a family of seven
At a tender age, saw shattered all his budding dreams

Year after year, he had seen the city in dazzling lights
But never once on Christmas he could feel any glee
While the rest of the world partook of umpteen delights
Never his heart, from sorrowful thoughts, was free

When children of his age feasted on roasted turkey and ham
And their mothers baked Christmas cookies and cakes
He and his siblings had to be content with a meager fare
That left their cheeks wet with saline drops pooled in their eyes

Their house in winter was too damp and cold
No blankets had they to keep themselves warm and snug
They lay huddled together in biting chill
On the wooden floor on a worn out woolen rug

One evening, on a leisurely walk from school
The boy saw a man selling colorful balloons
With the little penny tucked safely in his trouser pocket
He bought a balloon and headed straight to the lagoons

There as he sat on the sprawling silver sands
A strange idea had come upon his little head
To send a letter to Heaven asking for some urgent help
Hoping Jesus would help, he too being born a poor kid

On a white paper he carefully scribbled these lines:
“Merciful God, look upon us, this miserable seven
Here in our humble hovel, we die of hunger and cold
On this Christmas, send us a little cheer up from heaven”

He folded the paper and fastened it to the balloon
Nevertheless he didn’t forget to put his full address
When the wind was strong, he let it go off his hands
And watched it soar high with his earnest plea for redress

Days went by and the awaited Christmas Eve arrived
While the world splurged in all gaiety and merriment
The poor hut remained dull and cheerless as before
The helpless parents were lost in grim bafflement

Abruptly, there halted a Mercedes before the hut
A man, old and graying with a graceful smile
Alighted with his hands loaded with Christmas gifts
Looking for the boy, he had travelled many a mile

It was during one of his daily strolls around the lagoon
That the gentleman saw a balloon suspended on a willow tree
The white paper tied to it made him curious
He took it up and saw an innocent’s earnest plea

The man so rich and kind was moved at heart,
He from his wealth decided to donate a large sum
To support that family of seven in dire straits
And give them the merriest Christmas with no trace of gloom

The little boy believed Jesus had answered his prayer
He came in the guise of a man, he had never before seen
With rising delight, he saw a star in the graying sky
It shone right over his head with a brighter sheen