I want to hit it hard, not romanticize about the blood ya feel me?
As you read that first line,
when you cross over to the second,
your nose will start to bleed just before my fist connects with your face.
I often dream about it, being feared.
The only reason that you're on the ground is because I put you there.
Quite frankly I'm fearful of myself.
My throat still holds the ache of the alcohol going down.
I swear to you I'm doing better.
I swear.

I can't swear in this house hold so I will talk so quickly creating run on sentences without punctuation or breath because I'm panicking over nothing in particular.

******.

Add some shakes to your vocabulary and you've got it right.
My medication puts stray dogs under my finger nails, that's ok because dogs are happiness.
That's supposed to mean I'm happy.

I made myself write this, its horrifyingly scattered just like my head.

That's not right.
That's wrong.
Something is terribly wrong so I must fix it.

That's what I do,
I fix.
I'll just look at this as art.
Some persons trash is another ones treasure.

I'm too scared to write anymore.


This is garbage.

Monday was terrible.
Horrific.
I spent the day sulking on my lonesome and went home ready to erupt.
I could feel the slight tingle of tears threatening their way through my eyelids
Ready to pour over the second they perched open
But due to my lack of sleep last night
I doubt I could even build up the strength to open my glossy eyes
Even if I wanted to

In a weird sense
I enjoyed the mere thought of Monday being able to make me cry
I almost laughed
Or screamed
Or both

A year ago today
Everyday was a Monday to me
Everyday went horribly
Everyday made me come home crying and lock myself in my room
I was so used to that constant repetitive torture
That Monday appeared to be no different than any other day
Monday was just... It.
Tuesday was "it"
Wednesday was "it"
Thursday was "it"
Friday was "it"
Even Saturday and Sunday were "it"

But now, today
Monday is distinct
In a horrifyingly gruesome way
And this tear-jerking unsatisfying Monday gave me hope

Monday made me cry
Tuesday did not
Wednesday did not
Thursday did not
Friday did not
Not even Saturday or Sunday made me cry
Only Monday made me cry
Only Monday

Just as Monday made 7 billion other humans cry
On this torturous inescapable earth
It also made me cry

And that gave me hope that maybe I really am normal
Or I can be
Or I will be

Because Monday is unbearable for everyone
And Monday is unbearable for me
And the rest of the week is alright for most people
And it was alright for me
And Saturday and Sunday are fun for most people
And Saturday and Sunday were fun for me

Somewhere
Deep inside my clouded, muddy mind
I caught a glimpse of hope
That maybe
There is hope for me
Maybe I am cured
Maybe I can be
Maybe I will be

She had been at sea for three decades
her first voyage at age eighteen
a week after her marriage
in the year of our Lord 1883

She married a sailing man
captain of his own ship
handsome, bearded and tall
a fine commander of his men
as they searched the sea for whales

She loved life at sea
and could imagine no other
the motion of the ship
the sounds of the rigging and the sails
the quiet companionship
with her husband every evening

She was beloved by her husband’s men
whom she mothered well
having had no sons of her own
but nurtured and healed
patched and sewed
bloodied and broken hearts and men

Often she came out on deck
for she knew when they would find them
and though she was in the stern
and the lookout was high in the crow's nest
she saw many whales they missed

She thrilled each time she saw them
awed by their sheer size
marveling at their strength
humbled by their beauty
careful to hide her feelings

Sometimes she could feel
when a whale would blow
and she would call to the first mate
so the men looked at her
as the whale passed unseen

Most times she silently prayed
willing the lookout to search
the wrong spot of ocean
and felt again the pang
of disloyalty to her husband
for he commanded a whaling ship

But then the lookout's call came
"Thar she blows!"
and the men sprang to action
taking after the whale in longboats
while she escaped below

She had seen before the killing
she would not watch again
too many whales succumbed
to exploding harpoons
and a death horrifyingly cruel

And she wondered
what would happen
if only whales could scream . . .

I’m not me anymore. I can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t do, can’t be. I am still, and silent, and sad. So achingly, horrifyingly sad. Everything hurts, but nothing hurts at all, because I’m absolutely numb. I curl up and try to keep all of everything inside of me from falling apart. I don’t even want to open my eyes.

Why is winter my kryptonite?

The music of life, at times, is a raucously *** concert
of ominously monotonous melodies sung sirenically
by voluptuously ugly monsters.

Curvaceous enough to flaunt the fact they’re actually ****.
Which makes you feel like an *** but that’s just the way
it was meant to be.

Then the chorus bombs in, and the song starts to get sweeter
since the tune becomes a lot like Bob’s album: Street-Legal.
But as quick as you can nictitate, the ****** you anticipate

flicks away like a spark that was never gonna be lit-to-flame.
And so revert the monsters, their obnoxiously off-key verse,
somehow being, paradoxically, still acceptably heard.

And I almost forgot to mention how horrifyingly awkward
the gawking audience dances! Watching it is honestly
the most awful part of this non-senseness.

Hypocrite,
Hypocrite am I.

Cruel nature
plays the harshest games,
the fire-on-the-Cuyahoga,
****-splatter brain busters.
The city is cooled by her
harsh and horrifyingly
Maternal touch.
Snow falls attractively
on the dying city below,
picaresque and perfect
in this last-winter scene.
The two sky scrapers
pierce through winter's
frozen cocoon,
though envelop will be the
less threshed land.
Slums are ravished in snow,
spoiled by the cold
cold cold crying
of a maiden not warm.
I am buried beneath
layers of snow,
reddened when paled,
angered by my cooling.
Numbing comes with this
frenzied freeze,
like the kids down the street
who grow out their beards
even though they can't
grow their *****.
I am numbed
despite the fact that
Feeling is fruitful;
cruel nature does not wish
for such connections
to fall upon me.
Perhaps it is love,
and I would love to believe so,
that causes her to covet-
no, hoard me so.
Perhaps it is love,
and it so clearly is ringing in this numb numb numbness,
that causes her to bury me
in mountains of snow.
I am counting down the time
til my melt down,
as spring is not so long away.
Perhaps it is love,
and the rising flowers whisper it like jealous children oft do,
that she has always been
so deathly afraid of.
This is the spring of our love,
But we are not as springy as we should be.

Hypocrite,
Hypocrite am I.

A glistening, shimmering, cardinal room flushed with  light.
Bright, white, pale, ghostly light that reveals those I conjecture to be the sick.
A pounding, loud rhythm lulls any intellect I still grip.
A fierce, shallow, pained pulse shakes my blue streaks.
All words escape me.
Yet all emotions haunt me.
The sickness draws near, weilding to be a blurry brass.
It feels me, touches me, handles me.
Hurts me.
A once well-kept health now littered with purple smudges.
The violet raindrops on my skin slowly dissolve to a sickly yellow.
Bones inside my complex anatomy quiver, tremble, threaten to crumble.
Yet, it's all over in slight second.
The crimson, glowing, glittering, sentient walls seem to cave in.
The next level, the next trial.
Blurred brass now replaced with a stick with no stains.
By now, I have no guesstimate as to why the fight in me faded.
Sccrrraape.
A gentle scrape, blade, cutting,cold edge slices me like paper.
Though my own rust spills, I feel more alive than ever.
My personal pulse and hesitant headache fade to null.
Hot, burning flames lap at my body.
I would never have imagined a sickness so horrifyingly painful.
A simple warning would never have stopped my doom.
Rip, tear, slash.
Guts held within my willing bowl now pour like Seppuku.
Maybe my own subconscious knew that it was more than I could connect too.
What am I now but a corpse?
Carved wood, turning death into a spectacular sight.
Roadkill, squashed within confines of a simple vermilion hold.
Bed head, Split head, and a  coma that came to soon.
A drugged animal, put down for instinctive behavior.
A gift switched around, like a fetus left dead in the womb.

This is a red room

I heard Peter Piper picked a pricey pepper, the same day I heard he got chased down by a hungry mob of less than lovely lepers, now Peter Piper and his picked pepper are prodded by hot pokers while a village of now happy, hairless, horrifyingly lipless lepers salivate in anticipation of poor Peter Piper's soon to be pickled body.

The Masses chant and cheer to sounds of Peter's screams that seem to season his sizzling skin as children scrape scolding scraps peeling from his searing kneecaps.

Veins build up pressure, veins then rupture, veins open and spray onto the crowd and moisturize all the rough textures, soaked faces gain weight and fall off exposing maggots that festered, excited crowds jump and cheer as their knees buckle and bodies fracture.

The elder ***** picks a peck of pickled Peter Piper, now the elder ***** enjoys a pepper with a peck of old Peter Piper.

I was to supposed to write of the Thunderstorm.
High winds. Pouring rain.
Uprooted trees. Burning wood.
A terribly terrific piece.
But, I let the words float on.
Drowning in a sea of unwritten dreams.

I was supposed to write of the Dancing Flame.
Rocking embers. Glowing rhythm.
Sweet cinder. Smoking desires.
A horrifyingly honest part.
But, I let the words smolder into ash.
Going down in an arsonist's dream.

But mania, oh mania.
Writing everything about nothing.
But me, oh me.
Writing nothing about anything.

I was supposed to write,
But didn't.

I am very seriously angry
My government has gone mad.
It seems to be out to get me
And take everything I ever had.
Once I was proud of my country
And got a swell in my throat
When I heard the national anthem.
That was before they stole my vote.

That was before I discovered
This country had been co-opted.
That was before the them of hatred
Had been officially adopted.
That was when animals were safe
And our national resources were too.
Now my government was to ******
The birthright owing to me and you.

That was before being rich
Was the only way to be fairly safe.
That was before the government
Chose to put their weapons on strafe.
That was before the wealthy
Could do whatever they might want
And before they felt it was their right
To go on television and flaunt.

They flaunt their hatred of women,
The poor and the weak and sick.
That was before I could not deny
Our country had become a ****;
A horrifyingly rich and powerful
Banana republic , we’re the worst.

Equality and protection are gone
Unless you are a millionaire.
And even then you must adhere
To the party line or else beware.
But we have the greediest bunch
Of liars and evil brand of crooks
That have ever been in control;
The leaders are cooking the books.

The goat didn’t understand
the significance of the bell around

his neck,
smelled

the sunlight hitting
the dewy grass

as he opened his eyes each morning,
looked

at his handlers, the humans,
and thought of them

as his protectors,
took

a kinetic joy
in bounding through open fields

among sage and purple wildflowers,
kicking

up dirt,
and taking naps

in the shade of thick cypress trees
on hot, dry afternoons.

One day,
a rope was tied

around his neck,
and he was led

to a place he had never
been before, and

into a situation
he had never

considered
before.

The goat was tied
to a tree

in a sunken, gray,
muddy place.

He was surrounded by
a throng of faces.

He recognized
some of them—

humans he had known
and smelled,

sometimes kicked,
sometimes licked.

Some of the faces
smoked cigarettes

and sat in silence.
Others talked excitedly.

Others drank
and sang.

All of them were waiting
for something,

but the goat did not
understand what.

And then he
felt a hand

grab onto one of his
horns. Its grip was firmer

than the goat remembered
the grip of a human hand could be.

And then he felt an arm
around his back,

it was almost a hug,
but more resolute in its

intentionality—
wholly,

horrifyingly,
out of character

from what the goat had
understood about

his handlers.
The goat now

realized that
something was wrong.

He did not
want to be in this position

any longer. He
began struggling,

kicking more
and more violently,

but still he felt more arms
and hands

restraining him—
pinning him down

in spite of
his protestations.

The goat began to
cry out

for help, for God,
for one of his humans—

a final plea
to the universe

to come and rectify
the situation.

And then the goat felt
a cold, hard edge

pressed against his throat.
Wild-eyed,

he looked up,
and there he saw

his human,
the one who had

fed him
and cared for him

for as long as
he could remember.

The man ******
his arm

and yanked the goat’s head
back,

and the goat felt a shocking,
slicing pain.

He could sense that warm fluid was
draining

down his neck, could
tell something

irreparable had happened
to his body. His

eyes darted around,
looking at all of

the unflinching, cold faces
surrounding him.

Up until
this moment,

the goat hadn’t
considered

the possibility
that the ones whom he

loved
so dearly

and who loved
him

so dearly
could

betray him
like

this.

(Scene I)

Heeding golden days pays


Making a circle around a big oak tree in paradise Ethiopian patriots are seen sat. The valorous Yohannes IV, Alula Abanega, Tewodros II, Menilik II, Balcha Aba Nefso, Jagama Kelo and the like are seen on the front. They were discussing the current political situation of Ethiopia.

(--> Enters Mai Kadra holocaust victims/martyrs)

Hacked to death
By those who
Lost their mental health
Obsessed by ethno politics
In the wrong-headed
‘We and they’
Political matrix
And also who
Sold their soul
To devil
Inured to acts
Dubbed horrifyingly evil
The fledgling, feeble
Children, pregnant women
Their feet and hands tied
What is more chopped
Were committed to
A mass grave
When the atavists
Lost battle
In the hands of
Nation’s cherished
Sons & daughters brave.

(Stands up Yohaness IV and putting his hands on his head says.)

How barbaric?
To me such an act
Is Greek.

(Enters Ethiopian soldiers who were attacked by the Junta, while maintaining peace.)

Deployed to guard
The border
From any enemy
That conspires
To put Ethiopia
And its people asunder,
By traitor Juntas
We were stabbed
In the back
When it got pitch dark,
Yet, heroically,
We mounted
Counter attack
Till support
From hinterland
Arrived from
Our side.

Traitor Junta’s
Plan had to fail
Together we chased
Them away
Between their legs
Placed their tail.

(Balcha Abanefso stands up and waving his pointed finger says)

It was standing one
Many battle engagements
We won,
Unity, love, peace & cordiality
Must mark our identity!

I am angry
Ethiopians’ super chemistry
Is fast turning
Behind us left history.

This send
It must be known
It is high time
Ethiopians reverse
This trend!

How come, selfless,
The land
We kept once
Barring it
From colonizers’ advance
Fast gone?
This calls for a new dawn!

(Stands up Jagama Kelo and walking to and fro says)

How come the self-centered
And selfish
Than their mother Ethiopia
Their ethnic base relish.
It is with chemistry
Great things like
Adwa or Karamara victory
People accomplish.

In the face of adversity—
Colonial aggression
What is more
Expansion—
Helped us most
Unity& fraternity
To preserve
Our religious, language,
Cultural identity.

Forgetting what
We are displaying today
Let us live
In forefathers way.

Come rain or shine
Considerateness, unity
Peace are fine.

                      A poetic Drama – Scene II

Rewarded Satan’s way

A weekly devil council about evil prowess is being held in hell. Devils were standing on tongues of fire waving their tails and howling in a frightening manner that sends a chill down one’s spinal cord. They were gritting their saw-like teeth and holding double-forked arrows. All were soot greased horn to toe, twisted and long. They were submerging the sinful like Judah deep into the fire.

(Enters lost- in-action TPLF Junta’ informal army members referred Sameri.)

Aghast, at last
Vanquished, to retreat fast
Inflicting vengeful attack,
Tying and strangulating
Mai Kadra people
Brutally, we had made them
Breathe their last.

(A Satan on the front puts his hands together and says ‘How impish!’ ‘What news to relish!’ Then he says,)

Spilling the blood
Of fellow human beings
Is something
We appreciate
The level of
Your cruelty
Is  not
Heard to date.

By inflicting on
The innocent damage
With us
You have come to
The same page
As goes
“Out Heroding
Herod!” adage.

(Enter Junta group members. They were the ones who were killed by counter attack, while stabbing the northern wing of ENDF in the back. Rearing his grotesque face out from the fire ‘bravo!’ says Judah the culprit. A devil pushes his head back into the fire)

Averse to
“Love your friend
Like yourself ”
We ambushed
Fellow soldiers
Off their guard
Though our action
To the sane
Is hard to understand.

Looting heavy arms
Heavy damage
We were to score
No doubt
Had it been successful
Which sadists and Lucifer
Would adore.

(A Satan at the back stands up to accord him a high five)

Stabbing in the back
Fellow soldiers
In the military ditch
Is something
Not heard to date
That is animosity
We compliment,
As it is top
Among sins
God said
“Felony I hate.”

(A veteran TPLF official on top of his voice says)

Unless ethnic groups
Get at loggerheads
We didn’t feel comfort
Because we are heinous,
Who understand
“Cut your cloth
According to your coat!”

We adored
“Divide and rule”
to exercise,
Cognizant to outsmart devil
That is an approach wise.

In a two-year-and-half time,
One crime after a crime,
We had committed messes
To 113 which add up
In the nation’s
Massacres map.
As a result
Reigned supreme turmoil
On Ethiopia’s soil.

We didn’t want
The prime minister
Ethiopia, tranquil,
To administer.

Without us,
The diabolic,
In the top brass
Also trampling on
The broad mass
Allows we not
Ethiopia to continue
Reformed or anew.

Fabricating lies
Was our characteristic feature
As we got it by nurture
And practice it as if
It was our nature.


(At last when a pin drop silence falls Satnael got up and said)

Outsmarted by TPLF junta
For three decades
That lavished
The flow of blood
Like a flood
And which milked
The destitute
But pious Ethiopians
Till they cry
Until their woes
Reached the sky
“God punish us
With TPLF Junta why?
Alive must we die?
For what evil
Are we being punished
By those
Ever who outperform
The devil?”

Today
I have to reward you
My way
“I will throw you
In to a more
Smoldering fire—
Inferno—
As atavism
Is your desire!”

A lacerating fire
Devoid of light
Will be
Your plight.

Devils are seen outrunning each other to drag the atavists into the inferno.////

We sip our coffee and cream
  and drink our whiskey and beer
Then listen to wolves
   dressed as doctors
     with deaf ears
       and big empty eyes
        and blood stained teeth
Who tell us to dull the pain with pills
  and drown emotions
   in prescription prayers
    refillable
     at the small cost of our souls
And we sit in front of flat screens
  and smart phones and insta-gratification
    and press the illusion of our face
      between pages of a metaphor
        disguised as a book
And the imagined life is better
  than what is really going on
   so we script our day to day lives
     and step into the ring
       and wrestle like big men
         pretending its not just
           another form of ballet
We've doubled down on dumbing down
  and we're losing more than we're gaining
    but we keep spinning the wheel
      and the barrel
        and pulling the trigger
          playing the game
            of suicide
          and Russian Roulette
There is two bullets for every name
  and a bomb of every size
   waiting for its time to go BOOM
     and war is just a business
        for the rich
      payed for by the innocent
       and the ignorant
Death is big money
  and blood is cheap
    pump up the world population
      and the rise of inflation
        keep education at a minimum
          as well as a wage
Keep the poor hunger
  and give them an illusion to hate
    divide and separate
     fear is the season of reason
      needed to segregate and dissipate
       any sympathy or empathy
        or kindness or love
We live in a nation of sheep
  being lead by a pig
   and it sounds like fiction
    but it's horrifyingly real
     and he tweets and he oinks
      and he huffs and he puffs
       and he is just a sad little man
        having a bad hair day
         day after day
The world is watching
  and laughing
    a nervous laugh
Maybe it's nothing to worry about
  maybe I'm just late for my pill
   and my beer and my whiskey
    and maybe I just need a little
      cyanide and cream
       to lighten the mood
        of the black coffee news

A world in black,
and white
That's how we see,
our history
A world if good,
and evil
That's how we see,
people
A world of land,
and sea
That's how we see,
the earth
And a world of dark,
and light
That's the beauty,
in life
And the world we live in is not,
sane
Our world is,
a mess
But things stay,
the same
I see the colors white,
to black
And black,
to white
I see the good in people,
to there evil
And the evil in people,
to there good
I walk on,
the land
And swim in,
the sea
And live when it's light,
to dark
Or dark,
to light
What ever it,
may be
And my world has,
never been
So horrifyingly,
wrong
To bad I'm at the pointwere I'm just a, walking skeleton
I rip the flesh off my lips as I,
bite them
For my nails are,
to short
and hurt to much when I try to bite,
at them
And life,
Goes on
And that's all that you can do,
Live *"Normaly"

Darkness holds the silence
The abyss has been staring
Not beckoning; apathy
Such is our worth
Just stardust in the wind

Swirls, a song doesn't sing
Leaves fall with only a breath
Crickets mate, but not chirp
Loose floorboard move
Squicklessly beneath feet

Instruments play furiously
Pages are turned, flipped
Orchastrated harmony
A crowd plays for a crowd
Applauding in silence

An accident in time
Cars flip, moving slow
Horrifyingly in frame
Metal ripping flesh
No one says a word

Clouds hang dark, heavy
Leviathans crisscrossing the sky
Lightning flashes battles between
Expecting thunderous booms
That never come, still landing

One of millions, upon millions
Spinning around stars
Flinging dust here and there
A roller coaster crashing
Giving voice to the noise

Insects on a planet's bowl
The sky, heavens well above
Aren't not listening
They simply are working
Spinning threads from lives

Ants don't worry the clouds
Climbing over themselves
Concerned only with their bits
Digging and building, constantly
Never looking up, nary a sound

Planets collide, building rocks
Striking comets from dust
Gases drift, twinkling bits
Orbits decay and sway
From holes, explode

Just floating in the sea
Maybe my hair drifts
Like my thoughts, or bits
Where the current slides me
Water covers my ears

I watch the bowl of the sky
Laying on, in its marble
As it rolls down a slow drain
In to a ball of burning fire
On the outskirts of silence

Every time
I see you
It's like a wake up call
To the facts
To that I'm not so special
To the truth
The sobering reality
That no matter how much I like you
No matter that
To put it frankly
I might even say I love you
That my feelings are true
Truer than any other emotions along the same lines
I've ever had
But in the end
Every time
Every single ******* time
My insides sink
Like the Titanic
I hit a massive bulk of hard, frozen ice
In my heart
And what floats to the surface
Is balloon poppingly
Blood drainingly
Horrifyingly
Empty

Every time

I met this girl.

In the most awkward way.

She had the face of
an angel,
the body of a model,
and a personality best served with
celery.

I met her in a curious way.
A friend of mine
had a crush on her.
he was a lonely fellow,
a shy fellow,
and an insecure guy.
I forced him to hang out with her.
I brought him to her house, and claimed,

“I’m here for you, buddy.”

But let me tell you the regret
I felt when she walked out that door.
She was so bright,
she illuminated the secluded, dark, back street
she lived on
so much
the street lights were jealous.

She waved,
she smiled.

I knew exactly why my friend
had feelings for this girl.
The hardest part was,
now I did too.

We all became really close,
we talked all night every night.
One day, we went to the park
and I kissed her.
Sparks.
Fireworks.
Rainbows.
******’ UNICORNS
came out of the woodwork.
It was horrifyingly amazing.
It was like something out of a
terribly written
Disney movie.

I ended up dating this girl,
and almost lost a friend.
This girl broke my heart,
and I got my friend back.

Six years later,
an engagement gone wrong,
and my friend has been happily
committed to someone else.

And now I find myself
sitting here now,
thinking about the girl
who could make the street lights
jealous.
Thinking about her laugh
and how she hits me
when I pick on her.

How she believes in ghosts;
and how I find that ridiculous.
How she tries to
play it off like
she some ‘Hard *** Mo’Fo’.
But I know deep down she’s broken,
like me.
Her eyes are a gateway
to a place so far away.
A place where nothing can harm you.
Hearts don’t get broken,
tears don’t shed,
and love is energy.
I bought my ticket
to enter,
I hope it’s not too late
To catch that flight.

I want the chance to make her smile.
I want the chance to make her happy.
I want the girl
who can make the
streetlights jealous.

WHAT TERRIFIES ME THE MOST ABOUT YOU IS THAT YOU CAN LAY ME DOWN IN YOUR BED AND SAY THE MOST HORRIFYINGLY BEAUTIFUL WORDS I'VE EVER HEARD A GUY SAY BEFORE AND SPIT THEM RIGHT INTO MY VEINS THEN FIVE MONTHS LATER YOU SAY THE MOST PETRIFYINGLY ****** UP WORDS I'VE EVER HEARD YOU SAY BEFORE: N O T H I N G.

WHAT TERRIFIES ME THE MOST ABOUT YOU IS THAT YOU CAN LAY ME DOWN IN YOUR BED AND SAY THE MOST HORRIFYINGLY BEAUTIFUL WORDS I'VE EVER HEARD A GUY SAY BEFORE AND SPIT THEM RIGHT INTO MY VEINS THEN FOUR MONTHS LATER HEAR YOU SAY THE MOST PETRIFYINGLY ****** UP WORDS I'VE EVER HEARD A GUY SAY BEFORE: NOTHING.

It starts as something light and feathery.
No heavy, suffocating matter.
Something light and curious.

But then, over time it becomes stronger,
heavier, hard, hot, painful, suffocating.
So strong that it takes your breath away.

So horrifyingly magnificent,
that it causes you to cry out in shock.
It becomes dense and dark.

It becomes passionate.

The thing slowly killing you,
is a disease that many suffer through;
this Death is harsh, ugly and cruel in
many ways as it is soft, beautiful and caring.

It is a Death, a disease, called,

Love.

He was a little child
Who loved chocolates
His dreams were
To be among the 'greats'

He loved his mom
And other family members
His birthday was just celebrated
With the family he remembers

Went to his school happily
To learn
Life's lessons
And be good in turn
But such was goodness
Who would know
His dark chocolate love
Would bury his life
In a brutal snow.

A bus conductor
Who had on him
Dark deep eyes all day
Just like an eagle
Who waits for his prey.
He was 'chocolate' uncle
To this lil one
So that day
He had some dark fun
Called him to the washroom
Tempting him
To his love chocolates
Smiling he went
Unknown that
His life would be
In a shambles

Out came the knife
Then you know
Severed was his throat
Left we're his eyeballs
Horrifyingly slow
Before this
Did he see
Some
Dark fun
If the uncle
As he played
With his childhood
And right through his pants.
But know
Won't be seen
His happy face
Brimming with joy
And dream's play
Oh society
Do you grow
So grey
With neglect
With ***** minds?
This is what I see
And wish to so
For we don't know
This li'l soul
Would be born again
Or no....

Rats in a line,
All ordered and filed,
For miles, they stretch,
Each tail to a head,
Faces calm and well-worked,
No scuffle, noise or protest,
No words, because they know none;
Every few moments they shuffle,
Further down the dirt path,

Approaching a pit,

A pit, very wide,
The width, of course, not their concern,
The leader stops
Before the pit’s mouth, staring into blackness;

With a thought, he falls, silently,
Carelessly,
Wind rushing between his legs,
Whisking itself up against his eyes, ears, and lips,
In fantastic flight

Into uncertainty

A new leader takes hold,
This one, shaken;
He stares into the abyss,
But soon realizes the
Horrifyingly insipid Earth surrounding him

Soulless branch after branch,
Teeming with filth and despair,
Rays of sun dampened by a
Caustic fog

A nudge from his successor
Forces him out of his
Epiphanous trance,
And into the well of nothingness,
Squealing

Who falls the fastest,
The philosopher or the realist?

it was a terrifying thing-
waking up in the middle
the facade of night still
shrouding my head from full
comprehension.
my body like a damp linen;
drugged, torn, held up to my face-
musty, the pangs and echos of
horrifyingly false dreams rush
all throughout my bloodstream;
straight to my face, big and bulky
i think i might explode soon-
yet before an intelligent thought, quickly
quickly! it's a memory of a person
supposedly next to me!
turning my face on its electronic pedestal
i meet the bedroom doorframe,
i meet both sides of my bed
in frantic panic, yet
it seems to me, so suddenly
in my single-sized bed-
my heart has yet again
fooled my pretentious little head

Isn't it true that as a kid
You have nightmares
Of boogeymen and monsters

You run scared to your parents' room
Desperate for their warmth
And that reassurance of reality they offer?

We learn as children
That the substance of our worst nightmares
Can never touch us when we wake

That the threat in the closet is just a shadow
The scratching on your window,
Nothing more than a tree.

We are comforted in knowing that when we wake we can say,
"It was all just a dream."
We cannot be reached in consciousness.

Maybe that's why it was so ******* unreal,
So horrifyingly against all my soothing logic,
When I opened your apartment door that day

Because I saw the monster from my panic-filled nights,
standing, wearing your pants, right in front of me,
And no amount of pinching could make her disappear.

Now, whenever I wake in a cold sweat,
Heart chilled,
Mind spinning,
I will never again feel sweet relief with the words,
"It was only a dream,"

Because it's never just a dream
When you're living in a nightmare.