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Andrew Rueter Jan 2018
I drive all night
The only way I know how to fight
I drive all night
To search for light

I noticed a possum
I thought it was playing dead
Until blood blossomed
Like a flower out of its head
My vision flooded by red
My heart filled with dread
My mortal anxiety only grew
When I realized I have blood too

I hear the deer
They're busy snickering and bickering
While my emergency lights are flickering
They scatter in different directions
After possible danger detections
They are timid and meek
They hide in remote foothills
People see them as weak
Because their kind doesn't ****

I followed a mad rabbit
That made a bad habit
Out of always running
And digging holes
It thought it was cunning
And made of gold
Until a predatory eagle
Made it feel less regal

I witnessed a raccoon eating and called it a thief
The next day I saw it lying dead in the street
Did my erroneous blame
Lead to its execution?
That's part of the game
In this institution

Every step
Could mean death
Just by making noises
You're making choices
There are jaguars and elephants in some places
There are humans in others
Predators have different faces
They could be your brother

On this darkened road
I reach a sedentary mode
When I approach a herd of stray cattle
In my mind there is a reciprocal battle
I could ******* a saddle
I know where to prophetically lead them
But the path of least resistance is freedom
Is it really right to use disciplinary order
To keep them within a fenced border?

This road is a loop
That passes by farms of no fruit
Or vegetables for that matter
Yet we somehow get fatter
Society bloats while it starves
Because we refused to see the signs that were carved
So mothers start crying
And vultures start flying
Because everyone is dying
We're always making new recruits
To drive along this predatory loop
Can be found in my self published poetry book “Icy”.
https://www.amazon.com/Icy-Andrew-Rueter-ebook/dp/B07VDLZT9Y/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=Icy+Andrew+Rueter&qid=1572980151&sr=8-1
Andrew Rueter Jan 2019
Ill
Why is God killing me
So willingly?
He’s filling me
With a ***** disease
Brought by biting fleas
Who do as they please
Until I’m on my knees
Begging for release

Sneezing wheezing
My phlegm is breezing
Through air that’s freezing
Trying to teach me
To act more pleasing
Can I kick this sickness
Brought by wickedness?
Or will it punch me
Into lunch meat?

To be in His vicinity
Is to have divinity
So why does He get rid of me?
Could it be the viscosity
Of all my atrocities?
Or the viciousness
Of my wishes wished?
Or my visceral
Scissor hold
On growing old?
Despite my reverence
I fear his benevolence
Involves my severance

The difference between dying and trying
Has me in bed crying
Fever frying
Medicine buying
From salesmen lying
Saying add pills
Of Advil
And mad will
To not be ill
My plague remains still
On Sisyphus’ hill

Can God cure me
Of this absurdity?
Almost certainly
But by hurting me
I learn to see
He uses pain to teach
The one thing that’ll reach
Through the ******* I preach

My gut round
Shuts down
Lust found
That must drown
In a dust cloud
Of an allergic assault
To an absurdist result
Of catching a cold
To examine my soul

He gives a heart attack
To the heart I lack
As part of the pack
Ignoring God’s path
And finding His wrath
Once He chooses me
To lose and bleed
The flu He feeds
To pull the weeds
That ghouls breed

So cough medication selection
Becomes a time for self reflection
At least until my health inspection
Shows no feverish detections
Of the feeblest direction
When the evilest infection
Is joining Satan’s section
Andrew Rueter Oct 2018
Ostracization
Contamination
Through my deflation
I find devastation
On the devil’s station
Of severed relations

My misfit
******
Sin bit
Prison stint
Reminisced
Of my bliss
Without a kiss
So I eat a dish
Of a returning wish
But I’m a burning witch
Who’s yearning to switch
From learning I’m glitched

I received
A receipt
Of deceit
By elite
Petite
Feet
That stepped on
My weapon
Of inspection
Due to detections
Defused by erections

The jaded
Invaded
And waited
To be hated
So I’d be baited
And mentalities traded

Pickaxe
Sick facts
Impact
My tact
As I react
To the flak
I use to attack
Coming back
On my track
Turning black

How do I deal with their negativity?
Is it really just a matter of relativity?
Must I have my relatives killing me
Before the hatred filling me
Is justified?
Why must I cry
When only dust resides
In my desolate insides?

The heartless devastate
Making me separate
Into a mental state
Completely innate
An unseemly inmate
Of the tumultuous strait
Between finding a date
And the bitter fate
Dinner plate
Sinners make

This challenge leaves me petrified
Possibly electrified
From their pesticide
That infects inside
Until I elect to hide
And convince myself I don’t care
My mental health I won’t share
I’ll just scream no fair
Flailing arms in the air
I will not have been spared
By this devastating nightmare
Hayley Sep 2018
will scream my lungs out ‘til the sound numbs the
room, I will scream my lungs out To you I am immune.
I will scream my heart out While tearing out your tubes,
You know that you can't hold me down To you I am immune.
Immune.
I'll pass your inspections Downing water by the
glass, Evading your detections Concealed behind my mask.
I will hear my heart pound As I sweat inside my room,
You know that you can't hold me down To you I am immune.
Immune.
Show a smile, gain some weight Yes, I'm looking ‘well'
Good to see some meat upon your
bones!" Your words they burn like hell.
I let my eyes fall to the ground, Say what you want to hear, "
Oh yes, I'm doing much better now" But still, they've no idea.
Discharge me from this unit, Revive me from my tomb
Simon Mar 2021
A truth without appearance, is like something that molds into the very fabric of one's own intricately woven massive systematic blueprint.
For it calls upon the very "residue of complications" to avoid the next such detections of embroidering madness!
Decisively playing around with that very important intricately woven massive systematic blueprint...like a slave (without contact for its very own self too ever bear for its own ideals).
In the very end, being a slave (is what the truth without having an appearance) is all about.

— The End —