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Mark Upright Aug 2017

write the scriptures,
the Book of Me,
with authorship
exposed on the books cover,
of every word have ever writ

flawed, ignored, rejected,
necessary to self-publish
upon the unpapered internet,
where words are ionized

I take an oath,
oath sworn upon mine own scripture,
testify before a jury of my peers,
me, myself and I

what you read,
is not imaginary,
I am real,
you are realizing

each of us has a truthful name,
in spite of acronymic disguises employed,
and wearing it,
here, upon this.....line dotted,
place my neck,
ready for
the executioner


October 24, 2015
7:20 am
William Eberlein Feb 2013
I was struck on the head today.
A crushing blow to be sure.

For any other reason,
it might have killed me.
But due to the passion I bear for you,
and the fear of loosing it,
I clung to life as the hammer slid from my skull.

Only after the do was done,
did I conclude...
That my infliction of an iron grasp means nothing.

And is worth just as much.

For you are blind to my burden...

As I am blind to all but you.
Andrew Jan 2018
I'm losing hair
As I'm losing air
For what isn't fair
In your electric chair

You strapped me in
And kept me waiting
Your craft of sin
Got me hating
The pain on the other end of the line
The pain that tortured away my time

You're an executioner
With the flesh of Lucifer
And the keen nose of a hellhound
So you can bury me in the ground
And return as you like
To shock me back to life

I feel your electric pain
In a lightning rain
I am reborn
And you're sitting there
I begin to mourn
The fact that you don't care
My death is repeated
After I am defeated

I feel the pain
And need to gain
Someone to share it with
Instead of your electric chair grip
Andrew Oct 2017
A child wanders the hall before school starts
The emptiness and loneliness are his education
New children enter the school
As they exit the bus
Light shines on the school
As it exits the Sun
Yet the wandering child's eyes must adjust
To colors he's starting to see
Colors like jealousy and frustration
The wandering child is powerless to the explosive light
And searches for ways to extinguish it
He finds his solution in the room where we keep our guns
The room sits in the dark center of the building
Across the hall from where we keep our children

Kids have been playing with guns for a while now
Everyone my age that I know
Imagined shooting up their school
These are well adjusted people
It's just the times we live in
And what it takes to adjust

There are some things that will remain true
Killing is wrong
And murdering a murderer is ******
The executioner hides his face in shame
He's ashamed of the enjoyment he feels
From the power he holds over other people's lives
Unaware the power he holds
Is meant to come from love
Love that has been buried
For the temporary thrill of death

It seems like a dark joke
Giving a child a gun
And then asking them to go through high school
Because kids are ******* stupid
And some people never grow up
And high school never ends

The wandering child takes his newly found arsenal
To the densely populated cafeteria
Only to realize the other children are just as well armed
They drown in tension
When their actions have megaton weight
Before anyone can say anything
Everyone starts shooting
They grade each other in their minds
And their test comes at the end of the barrel
They find validation
In blood splattered on the wall
And bodies that once stood now lying
The gunshots deafened the wandering child
And the smoke blinded him
Reminiscent of the emptiness and loneliness before school started
This was his education

Today I watched a bunch of ants eating one another
Their ant hill collapsed as rain started pouring
Yet they continued killing each other as they drowned
They all seemed to be the same size
But their problems seemed so much bigger
So they found comfort in killing one another instead
Sjr1000 Aug 2018
When I think about the executioner
I think about at the moment after impact
How every one goes limp into total relaxation
When I think about the executioner
I think about our children in mortal terror
And I weep.

When I think about the executioner
I wonder what he does after
Is there exhilaration?
Andrenial and endorphins,
Whiskey speed and morphine
Prayers all night,
Telling their god about all they gave,
Maybe feeling nothing like killing a fly
Or are there endless movies of regret?

When I think about the executioner
I think about the man in the fiery cage
Head bowed
The man looking to his left
Before the shot goes off

When I think about the executioner
I think of the last breath
Before death

When I think about the executioner
I wonder about being there
And how I will react.
I want to apologize for this one, but the poet, he demands it.
Robert G Page Apr 2013

I never cried in viet nam,
I  just seemed to take it in.
The missing limbs and twisted flesh
friends one day and gone the next.
Was I too young to understand?
And need someone to take my hand?

No mother there to hold my hand              
no father there to teach me ways.
To lead me through the day by days.
Just left alone, and alone I stayed

Instead I found my bottle friend
to stay my tears and hide my fears.
Back then “charley” felt they owned the night.
With blusterous thud the mortars hit,
Of saying hi it was “charley’s” way
then to be my friend by day.

From no where came the dragon ship,
and tipping his left wing
as a polite executioner saluting his victim just before unleashing hell.
W/ firery tongue lapping up the earth while mini-guns
roared, eagerly devouring all living things,
leaving “charley” w/ no where to run.

All clear, a small visit w/ my bottle friend
and back to sleep in the alcohol deep.
I was no john wayne, I didn’t fight the war
a target yes for “charley’s” sights
when the sun gave way to night.

But no, I didn’t fight.

I never cried glossary:

Charley=VC=viet cong=enemy: by day he acted like any of  the population, some were even employed around the various bases. But at sundown he would turn…
Dragonship=C-47=2 or 3 several barreled mini-guns mounted on left side of the plane capable of firing a few 1000 rounds per minute each w/ a phosphorous round placed at every 6th round a tracer. At night this made it look like a steady stream of fire coming from the plane, hence the name “dragon ship” or “puff the magic dragon.” To aim the pilot had to dip his left wing and fly in a counter clock wise fashion. Very effective weapon…

Written for a special friend A.S.
multi sumus Oct 2018
By the age of four, like many here in the town of WetOak, i had seen my fair share of those who have found themselves placed on display, Deprived of whatever destiny they felt should have been bestowed upon them, Inching ever so closer towards their great egress, All the while regretting not only their gains but also their losses. Now it is not that the inevitable was to be in vain mind you, As the citizens here would undoubtedly find their demise most entertaining. And far from a rare spectacle as periodically such things occurred, It is rather ironic actually, to see tears of the bereaved pooling beneath the feet of those rejoicing, even more so, The fact of all that has been accomplished has brought me to this moment in particular...But such is life, or death in this case, For you see dear reader, my father, he was the executioner.
Lawrence Hall Jul 2018
“You are your own god – and are surprised when
                  you find that the wolf pack is hunting you across
                  the desolate ice fields of winter.”

                               ― Dag Hammarskjöld, Markings

Crazy old men bellowing at each other
Crazy old women shrieking at us all:
The Spiritus Mundi is hard at play
Among the wreckage of civilization

The stripping of the altars 1 is complete
Holy innocence is a toilet joke
And the literature of millennia
Now serves as cleaning rags for The Machine

An executioner, while waiting for you
Pauses to admire his latest tattoo

1 cf. Eamon Duffy
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.
KCibot Jul 10

Verse 1:

A gun's pressed up
Against my head
All the time
In my mind

I see a sea
Of violet red
All the time
In my mind

I feel
A pain
That Ne
Ver fades

I hear
A scream
And then
I see


A million ways
That I could die
I feel them all

I hope that
They will come
Come and
Take me

A million ways
That I could die
I see them
In my

I pray that
They will come
Come and
Save me

Verse 2:

The executioner
Takes my hand
And leads me to
My final stand

He asks me for
My last remarks
But I have none
Just hit your mark

Cause I feel
A pain
That ne
Ver fades

I hear
A scream
And then
I see


Verse 3:

No I don't want
An easy death
I want to taste
My final breath

I want to feel
The sweet relief
That only death
Can bring to me

I wanna feel my
Final breath
I wanna sha ake
The hand of death

I wanna fe eel the
Sweet relief
Tha at

Ylzm Apr 30
Sword of Ishmael, robed in Assyria's mantle,
Consecrated of God, Prince of princes,
A Destroyer: the executioner of judgements.
A thorn driven deep into the heart of Jerusalem,
Tempting violent men, who pride in their strength,
as Excalibur and the Gordian Knot challenged
Arthur and Alexander.
William Maxwell Dec 2018
I am the master
Of my own demise
The executioner
Beneath the hood
That brings down the axe
Covering the streets
In mine own blood..
Hope Peck May 1
i am the killer of my
future, the cold-blooded
executioner of my own dreams.
i feel relief wash over
tired eyes when the
knife wound weeps.
a mercy killing when i'm
being honest, not a hunter,
not a coward,
just brave enough to
a misstep,
the familiar embrace
of an ex-lover.
Florenza Dec 2018
There is no way out there is no second chance
There is no innocent child ready to dance
There is a fight there is a death
There is a girl ready for her final breath
There is a tear running down a face
There is a walk at an unsteady pace
There is a sadness that causes uncontrollable madness
There is a day that they call the end
There is a foe once a friend
There is a story That ends in indescribable glory
There is a chapter they say is the start
There is a boy who gave his heart
There is a stranger killed for the cause
There is a queen showing her flaws
There is a knight fleeing in cowardice
There is a king finally powerless
There is a princess who saved herself
There is a bottle fallen from a shelf
There is a choice remembered for a lifetime
There is a friend at the end of there line
There is a pauper climbing the ladder
There is a servant turning madder
There is a dragon wanting a life
There is a baker without a wife
There is a witch who did not burn
There is an executioner who was given there turn
There is a hero for once defeated
There is a villain who never cheated
There is a sidekick learning at last
There is a spell that was unexpectedly cast
There is a loss never to be forgotten
There is a final meal left to rotten
There is a nemesis left misunderstood
There is a toddler robbed of its childhood
There is a parent hated for mistakes
There is a family that’s hole still aches
There is a feud based on a gamble
There is a scratch caused by a bramble
There is a legend based on their existence
There is a village that showed there persistence
There is a country fighting for what’s right  
There is a day that didn’t end in night
There is a lesson that should be remembered
There is a love that cannot be measured
kenny Oct 2018
Nobody mourn,
nobody get hurt

We just project
redirect the blame
and sink back
into interactions
with coping devices
of mass distraction

The artificial womb
of the masses

Tethered by an invisible
umbilical cord
feeding us way
too much

Like hungry ghosts
the next notification

We can’t run.
We can’t hide.
There’s a threat to survive,

But we’re so ******* desensitized

Seduced by the school shooter
we don’t hear him coming
singing siren songs
heart-beating shotgun blasts

That leitmotif
in sync with
The American Horror Story allegory

Just forget it
Too much in the queue
Too many new things

We can’t reject this reality
It’s really ******* broken

Em, I’m sorry we’re descending
Much Madness has lost its meaning

It’s just the means to
unlock an achievement

Emulate another scumbag.
romanticize a villain
amplify the bodycount
Like how many do you need to ***** out
before they give you the cover
of the Rolling Stone?

It's comedically-tragic,
Stranger than satire.

The Judge, the jury
Executioner cutie

cut all your losses for ya
cashed in your lil tax deductions

The most sacred snuffed out
before the light could become them

Get woke a-f,
This is enlightenment!

Come on get
your mind blown!

He’s the one who loves
to shoot his gun
But he knows not what it means
knows not what it means.
Do you know what it means?
anastasia Feb 4
the words that once flowed off my tongue have all been dried,
leaving nothing but a cracked and barren wasteland,
desert termites squeeze themselves into places they’re not wanted,
the phantom figure of what was once alive cries for water in a broken voice that will never be heard,
even by the most intent of listeners.
the fruits of my labor are met with mud on my clothes and spit in my face.
at the night’s fall i bask in the eternal cold,
the air i abuse is extracted from my lungs with sleight of hand
and an unnervingly charming smile,
a cherry tree beckons me forward as it waves in the midnight wind,
the crickets fall silent and i am momentarily assuaged,
bathed in the yellow light of the moon.
time ebbs and time flows, bringing with her the judge, jury, and executioner.
like Saint Bartholomew, i am strewn up to be flayed,
from my pocket falls a needle and thread, a note from someone long ago left behind,
and a rotting apple core.
they belong to the Earth now,
and soon so will my precariously perched form,
my very essence pooling around the tree and staining the leaves pink.
at my decaying touch, maggots spawn.
as if trained, they surround my body,
a cocoon in which i metamorphosize into who i’ve always been.
in my chest, the vultures will nest,
feeling safer than i ever could have,
nothing left of the girl who once wove tales of grandeur and painted paradises in her mind,
but a torn canvas and an empty shell waiting for its puppeteer.
experimental piece
CRobinson Oct 2018
My heart breaks for you. Tears overwhelm me every time I think of you.
I remember your flowing dark brown hair that reached down your entire back.
My God, it was beautiful.
We’d jump out of the bathroom window onto the trampoline to see who’d go the highest.
It was incredible. We were so innocent... for a time.
But things change, usually for worse.
I recall walking in on our brother on top of you and our sister.
Both of your eyes were swelling begging me to do something.
Sadly, I had no social cues to understand what was going on...
**** my autistic brain.
I should have stopped it.
I should have told mom and dad.
Instead I failed you.
I feel like it’s my fault you choose a life of debauchery.
Rock bottom can’t be real because your keep finding ways to dig yourself deeper.
First the drinking, then the drugs, now choosing to become my “brother”.
When I first heard it set a clock in my mind. A countdown ‘til I hear of your inevitable death.
You say it’s a choice, but in reality you’re willingly stepping into death row with yourself as the executioner.
There is a way out though.
And I beg you to take it.
Please, shave your sunken face and come to the true savior.
You’ll no longer need to fill a hole in your soul because He will restore it in its entirety.
I just hope it’s not too late.
My sister came out as transgender. Yes I know its a hot topic, but my sister is ill. NOT because she is transgender, but because she has a load of mental health problems like schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, hypochondria, and sadly so much more. She was even hospitalized for these issues at one point. She thinks that this is the answer to her feeling better.

I need you all to hear me when I say that I love my sister no matter what. Yes I am a Christian, but I do not and will not ever shove the Gospel down anyones throat. I love my sister dearly, I just want her to get better from all her mental health issues but she refuses any help.

I do know that transgender people statistically have a higher suicide rate, I am not sure why.

I hope this clears up anybody who may come at me for being insensitive, I just wanted to share my heart.
Prelude  PART I

"Today when the threat is looming, as close apocalyptic years approach, it will be by cohabiting itself and the ruining valley of debris, which will make this world corrupted the next issue of the numeral scale of the new count, a rising hyperspace , concerning the parts of the kingdom of God ... "

Then on the Lord's day, John saw the glory of the risen Christ, and she understood from the point of view of God, he saw that the fate of the Church and threatened in the first persecutions took the appearance of a dark beginning.
And the time John wrote the Evangelist, including books were Jews called Revelation, that is, "Revelations". With fantastic images of monsters, angels and cataclysms, evidence of the Jewish people are stressed and are invited to await the judgment of God who intervenes from heaven with all his power.  So my beloved world is harsh and does not represent an apocalypse, but it is the true reality is when I will bear its overwhelming slaughter.

" Today when I walked with my winged feet near my friend Victor, I confided down the road crushed by afflictive legs; how difficult the taste of laughter when the decadent surrounds you, the human, the vile, the loose ...
Even though the celestial charisma invoke his memory and help nourish the weakness of Robert in hyperspace, with clean clothes, I can see his beloved mother consumed as automaton can take care of him. She is also her father, because it carries rooted in its members and manners, infinitely sharp look; in their arms they will gather wherever his soul is under his patronage that lives there ..."
I am  who  say that Roberto is a dog, who bears all the faces of dogs humble and serene. Perhaps tired of hearing young people, it is flush adults who do not accept, and who do not share as young faces were watching them, getting them to receive them what they should disclose them.
This is how we are numbed and distraction is fleeting, and he looking aside in his astrayed, he would be saying ...:
"Among the cradle and the grave I have a feeble scaffolding, and then complains, though his other I demolishes; unsconcient defends his executioner ... that the threat of death is its widespread depravity, which dominates it and want to go on like mortifiying.

      I want to talk about life ..., he said in his short years of life, which is more of it; possibly coming to complex, what our Somatic territory responds in normal or involuntarily. Comparative anatomy, and its innermost portion, the link body and mind, as a pure white as Samadhis and nature.
Homeostatic factors regulating our vitality, making its experimental modification, increasing to evolution, or maturation as a criterion of personal psychology go with the passage of time into in the depths of our mind.
Thus in a known threshold of Vedic architecture, its sensitivity is excited by regulating the effectiveness of the response to be made ... and everything related to the world of Ludwig Garroch; brother Robert in his strange Emigrate.
Yesterday when my arms away from hers, my fingers pounding away and recording what the heart more than a song, was a symphony sonata with a single end, long and sustained movement; It was the adage inner melancholy with an eye romanticism, which dominates the
passions of the visible world, which inhabits Antonieta, causing me, unbalanced living.

                                       CHAPTER I

In the beginning years of his childhood, little Ludwig sitting at home, in the gallery. Ask her aunt who was ironing ... Madelain, how I would always be a child of five ...?, And being as such, a privileged to receive toys for many years. Attentive aunt, maybe go to hear with little complacency as his hands only want unroll clothes.
After two years at the age of seven, when her aunt arranging his coat to go to Mass, she teaches a carol that had been taught in childhood. When many wondered whether there is a Santa Claus ...?, And among his friends they looked to unravel the mystery. One year later, when he enjoyed his unicycle, who just dominated him, called him a cousin telling her it was her birthday. He did not hesitate to go to find out what was behind the call, so he found the means by which we celebrate, we live and cooperate towards happiness and delight to have us at each other.
Not long after a friend told him .. "You do not have ten years are too big And Ludwig thought he was well endowed and well stopped, so not your friend was wrong in the above. It is my label and my stance has put the world on me.
Every passing day came the stamp of manly character, a woman or girl who made change her hairstyle, and he did dress more attractive every day.
Later, in his teens, his gaze was well received and their voices radiated security screening. Where He must continue the line of men. Even when I was living as smoothly, looks out strong destination with which calls us to live with skin clean or *****, because it is inside the feeling and the pain does not come out, it is enclosed by the overflowing affection. Here is the portion of good or evil haunting things casual and destroys the healthy, it fertile.

              ­                           CHAPTER II

Then was a year with a sports compensate pleasant summer sated outdoors, almost fugitive ... will not wonder that life smiled on him serfdom, and very willing opened his prudence.
Every time I decided to go to his favorite places, he went with his burly comrades in the best mood to conquer optimistically. Thus, no wonder he wanted when he was alone and put your reasoning judiciously, because nothing is distant, nothing is impossible.

After unite desires and forces, to clean your bike, piece by piece, in full sun know much security would not allow the mother of vices ruin their fun, that scarce alive to possess the desire to move and go on compliance instinct. Casts on itself, the vigor of the inner, its desolate world full of free enthusiasms who obey no doubt the vital complex activity.
Ludwig and entering the maelstrom of men love hate Godson, you can glimpse the friction with the air, with people ... I wore. That their voices heard their soul contracts, and thus puts light feet towards an acceleration which does not afflict his troubled stomach, nor regret his decision and put fearful, but, bring himself retained encouragement of his mind to remember the maternal cooing, comfort and timely relief to protect forever the suffering, the suffering of torment without end, not he shut the inspiration of the good man that no harm will result, and not for nothing the valence of living and not quarrel prancing. No existing could shed some light on what role, and that little thought is not complicated, and thus shown kneeling and unable to distressing oppressors and agents tangled conduct to chaos, those characters of ambition and discrimination.
Ludwig, who lives in the Ecologist City, where large forest ... budded, is home jungle floral site, whose relations are flowers, trees ..., next to Strange birds migrate flower in her intra nature reproduced, and pods evacuated by butterflies.
His close friend, is the watery and salty sea, which is beloved because he falls in love, puts on alert and curses him by his surroundings and invoking him. Anyway, it dwells wherever it is, and is accepted as a basic element of the universe.

                                         CHAPTER III

The act of tender love would be fulfilled later ..., what his voice fell silent and had his eyes and heart fortify, which will be linked from far inside.
At night, with Roderick going to a festive night, they climbed the rungs center alone, with heat in his shirt skin later. And in a deliberate action, someone asks you a sign that taking care tired and distinguishing see that John was his friend, school mate. He did not hesitate, he approached, greeted him and his sister and a cousin when she noticed well, he saw that he wore perfect for your night.
Debra wore elegant, dark clothes and sang with her dark brown wavy hair; his white brunette and harmonious ****** complexion line, gave her constant reflection. Fate was present, as it would not go around the world to be looked at by someone, he would watch his choice. Little was said, he only realized he was not passing and North America came eleven years ago.

They roasted the hours and the party ended, Ludwig remained with her new friend and his old friend John. They went downstairs, thinking about committing his new friendship, as I had noticed a slight interest in it. This happened and the meeting lasted for several hours.
The next day, he went to see her lawns roads where she lived, always with its mystique and kneeling the beast that wanted to impose upon him, that gives it excessive materialism unloved peace.
She arrives at her house, which was to John, though not very comfortable, but sure to please and attentive to host it.
And that night said much that was the tender feeling and liking her, but as his policy was rigid and concerning celibacy, only mattered to him, the unknown world of madness in his brawling to survive.
Time passed and deepened love, Ludwig went to say goodbye to his beloved, especially that he had faith, but that day would betray him. And so I wanted to put his heart and iron sleep peacefully, but Debra no secret  to tell ...:

"Ludwig, do not abandon our own, we must have faith, and I understand what it is. Ludwig rested and then brought her hands to her, hugged her and kissed all over her face, covering her eyebrows, nose, forehead, mouth; his lips positions in the middle of it, wanted to feel her warmth and tell her he loved her and would miss a lot of pain. But there was no show weakness, he must be strong and not to complicate the farewell from North America. Mourn scared him, because he had forged the feeling, because his aching grief was deep and it was at an undetermined point, with great desire to hold her and kiss over his face.
So ever, it was unbearable, she would like to die in his memory and had to remember in the collective thinking of his family circle. Which it fits the feel shivers ideas with sensations, such as the best in its inherent upstart point.

It was hard, as if more than man Ludwig out the feminine side of himself. But irremediable was the end, eager poisonous reaper approached. Ludwig hugged her, kissed her and stroked her right breast ... saying: "Do not forget me ..." and so left. Then he wrote her, that madness had transformed her away, but the distance was prevented against carcinoma being all postponed.
To know he could not boil your blood heavy thinking, they were contracted muscles. When he relaxed, he saw back through the hatch of his head, the soul that was in an ****** tragic holocaust, where Eros tenaciously and rebellion dictated its laws. Ludwig slept, and consciousness became natural color, as if it were safer, eternally fresh and manufactured this dream a poem ...:  

" That one corresponding to the celebration,
I wish to reunite with enthusiasm and strength ...
touching eyes closed
the sad sky, the dry ground, dried flowers
and people backward habits.

As meaning if it takes itself ...,
is the meaning
although they are scattered
in flows oppressions ...
the animosity of delight just widow and desultory,
losses and more losses at the time of aging ...
and profits to appease others.

For more like,
there seems to be a big drop ...
the same credibility ...?
and setting as a feeling
remain imagination stationary.

As hard it corresponds to the body,
It is destroyed inside ...
and hardened thoughts
tears falling to the esophagus,
without recognizing either way.

Who the pace of living is customizable,
and no opportunity is lost ...
but growing and creative
rears its profile,
as an unforgiven mirage. "

    Have been and unrestless forms of peremptory perceive, and when it starts to wander in my solitude, transporting my sorrow with grief, wherever I go I will take silent and vivifying separation completes the probable brain, which lives and endures in avidity stamped man with his need to want the Lord's command that made me forge this creation .--- he told himself, as a witness epilogue of his poem, albeit as the cry to its essence it was about. Originally from the Ecologist City, where reigned the wise and calm, where he healed their diseases, which has dodged the putrefaction of their wounds, where you inhale the aroms most want and cordoned off its without a grave lack of soft and flowering odour.
To believe missing, do not be afraid and trust that will grab everything, that not a drop of air was not lost on her fingers, which will not fail to display their imaginative stuff Alma Mater.
With all their eating, you want to cure your bad like venereum, and would go into the hands of a counselor or a warlock who extirpated the curse. Heal her feet and hands to despair, to heal the memory of his thought that I seasoned and voluptuous breaks the veins of his caleter, which seems not of it like a dwarf be provided with a dagger will break their venal, and this to commit such surgery, he laughs loudly with garnets eyes, full of the worst evil.

And this way Ludwig Garroch, vague without fear of rags, without fear of hunger or the messiness, only idles so that someday I can walk on the water surface, leaving their hydrocentric footprints where plankton reverence their sense of pain, his infarcted heart , her long fingernails of violence.

Under edition,  then under All...
Kore Nov 2018
          tried to take
a girl

          sunk his teeth
in to that girlflesh
          and ran

shot dead
           by the cops
in less than a day

           that we are

            animals to our humanity
when they know
of our lives

            the girl lived
       bearing the mark of teeth

the coyote perished
            for human vanity
i just find it really strange that we drive animals out of their homes, give them no replacement, take them nowhere else, just leave them to fend for themselves in the middle of suburban developments and then expect them not to do what animals do and try to get food any way they can. there's nothing okay about a wild animal trying to eat a child but i think the PD's resources could have gone to better use than killing that coyote.
Trevor Hageman Sep 2018
I feel so ******* depraved.
I'm out of touch, with myself.
I don't know what drives me anymore,
perhaps it's the most basic goal to live my life
and find my way to my grave.
To rest easy within the Dirt.
I am convince that there is no higher power
that could create such a living Hell,
nothing to save you.
I feel like a histrionic madman.
The insomnia, the drinking, the abuse
is all bad for this physical frame,
but it fuels the creative engine.
It provides a push to keep the drive going.
Is this enough to call myself self aware?
Is it possible to be my own judge, jury, and executioner?
Sneha 2d
i’ve dedicated my life
to doing penance
for sins i did not commit.
whose ledger is it
that i am trying to wipe clean?
i toil with desperation, as if on trial,
fruitlessly trying to prove myself
to judge, jury, executioner
that not even i know.
which laws did i break
in the checkered past only i see?
the glass shows a liar and a cheat
an adulterer, a glutton
a sloth, a jealous beast
they all stare back at me
as i try to exonerate them.
they all look like her
and she calls out to me but i cannot hear
she is muffled beneath their cries of innocence.
i shackle myself in their stead
and pay the debts of demons i never knew.

— The End —