Sarin –

An organic molecule
Used for inorganic purposes
Showering civilians
Effectively icing their insides
Contorting the human form into forced frozen sculptures
Acting as if torture was an art of the highest caliber
An acquired taste reserved for society’s finest
And this was the Michelangelo masterpiece.

Atropine –

The organic antidote,
Shoot up the stimulant to hurdle your paralysis,
Relax the respiratory muscles caught in your throat,
Your eyes team with tears because you’re allowed to melt,
Your eyes team with tears out of profound shock,
Your eyes team with tears because humans forgot humanity.

This poem is a Google Adwords ad,
Intruding into the sidebar of your heart.

It’s a 1-800-LAWYERS commercial
Making you money off your personal injury.

It’s a brutal, ****** UFC bout,
Weak in its ground game but knows its Jiu-Jitsu
And it’s got you on the mat, begging you to tap out.

This poem is *****,
a SNAFU waiting to happen.

It’s the sarin gas Syria used against its own
And it’s the attack America will be responding with,
Using ****** to punish murderers.

This poem is a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken
Getting your finger-lickin’-good fingers nice and greasy.

This poem is yet another poet writing yet another poem about poems,
With the word poem repeated ad nauseum.

This poem is a bunch of awful band names,
Like Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, Tapes ‘n Tapes, and Chunk! No, Captain Chunk!.

It’s a summer blockbuster and a teen dystopian trilogy.

It’s riding *****
In your ex’s car.

This poem is anthropogenic global warming
Whose CO2 emissions are dangerously high and climbing
While its polar bears are stranded on the broken ice floes of its verses.

It’s a baseball crowd speaking the words “no hitter”
In the midst of a no-no
Which itself is a no-no.

Its bad grammar, who’s comma’s are all, out of place
And its’ apostrophe’s, are meaningless.

This poem is Zooey Deschanel,
Who will not marry me some day, any day, in the future.
In fact, it doesn’t even know I exist.

I look into her eyes,
Now is the perfect time,
Underneath the stars blanketed by an oak tree,
Christmas lights covered in Japenese lantern shades hang from the branches,

They bring out the sparkle out in her eyes,
I look at her eating crackers,
I love her freckles and how they describe her personality,

I pull out my guitar and play a tune,
As I strum my song,
Our song,
I am certain I know what I am doing,

After I stare at her and her I,
I decide,
I put my guitar down gently on the grass,
I get out of my sitting position,
And go on one knee in front of her,

"Pardis Sarin, I realize that it's only been 3 months, but I have never in my entire life felt so certain of this choice  that I am about to make, and I love you so much and I want to be with you forever."
She begins to realize what I am doing,
She starts tearing up,
Her eyes sparkle even more intensely,
"Now that the cheesy corny parts over,
I have one single question to ask you."
.............
I pause the question,
I pull out the box,
"Will you Pardis Sarin,
be my apartment buddy?"
She is shocked,
I open the box and pull out a ring,
"Okay lets do this again...
Will you marry me Pardis Sarin?"
She starts crying uncontrollably,
"Did I do something wrong?"
I get concerned, I get up and hug her,
"Yes,"
I barely hear the word through the sobbing and the layer of clothes her face is stuffed into,
"To which one?"
"Both you idiot,"
We kiss under the oak tree as the stars twinkle.

Once wars were fought with sticks and stones
to flog the flesh and batter bones
and conquer lands, defending thrones -
though gods provoke, not one atones.

The multitude (by hordes beset
with battle-ax or bayonet)
braved blades, dyed red and dripping wet -
the stains were wiped with no regret.

When raining blood, the teardrops spill,
enough to drown the daffodil
that withers in the mourning chill -
who was it said 'thou shalt not ****'?

The mad machine's now mechanized,
torment and torture legalized,
blind barbarism globalized
and wrath of demons sanitized.

Each rival's right (whichever side)
committing holy homicide
in names of gods diversified -
like Cain and Abel fratricide.

Above, a Drone that terrifies -
a button's pushed, a missile flies
to rip apart, to vaporize
(defending life, they fantasize).

Dismembered victims everywhere,
most, non-combatants, unaware -
a lone survivor, solitaire,
unfolding hands, too late for prayer.

Beneath the dust, a baby lies
with mouth agape, with bleeding eyes,
arrayed in death that money buys -
though warriors watch, none empathize.


The media's impervious -
in truth they're ever devious
for fear that reason's dangerous,
find every question treasonous.

Through eyes lit up like rosy sores,
embedded scribes report on wars
with tales to line the cuspidors -
the Fourth Estate? A herd of ******.

To paint the slaughter civilized,
objective news is sodomized -
when foreign streets smoke, pulverized,
the body counts are minimized.


Big Berthas boomed in days of yore
but now the tanks spit spikes of Thor
and mortar shells like raindrops pour
upon the lands of Nevermore.

The grumble of a hand grenade
is drowned in claps of cannonade -
assorted charnel chunks lie flayed
in battlefields where kids once played.

Somewhere a ******'s bullet flies,
somewhere a voiceless victim dies,
somewhere a famished orphan cries
while weapons warble lullabies.

The bunker busters burst the sides
of dwellings where mankind resides
and innocence in darkness hides -
the die is cast, but who decides?

Use cluster bombs and barrels too,
(crude critters in the wartime zoo),
to shred more souls than hitherto -
choose death en masse, avoid the queue!

The leaders lead (twelve steps behind),
enmeshed in intrigues, well enshrined -
yes, powers, business (so entwined)
pull twisted threads, ensnare mankind.


The mercenaries hack and maim
(god's creatures crippled, morally lame),
do beastly things that none will name -
well-paid for such, they feel no shame.

The ****** bombs and phosphorus
and ghastly weapons gaseous
are scattered widely, bounteous -
behold the desert wilderness!

Yes, Agent Orange burns slow and calm,
may leave behind a blazing palm
(or better yet, a molten mom
inside a hut)  in Vietnam.

And phosphorous… its flame so white,
exploding, falling through the night,
commemorates the Sacred Rite -
and babes in arms, thus blessed, ignite.

Cast chlorine, sarin or VX…
a lethal dose (or side effects
like blistered lungs) will serve to vex -
but death in war? No one objects…


Constructing A-bombs's arduous -
uranium, depleted thus,
can trash a tank with little fuss,
cause natal cankers, cancerous.

But doomsday warheads (dropped or thrown),
ignited, leave the sun outshone -
beneath a mass of melted stone
lies powdered ash, once flesh and bone.

When atoms split in bombs debased,
vast cities smolder, laid to waste,
a million sinless souls erased -
perhaps, one day, all life effaced.


You close your eyes but can't ignore
that body parts and bags of gore
are bursting through golgotha's door,
and strewn beyond the ocean's roar
like rotting fish that wash ashore.

Why can't we stop and end all war…


POSTSCRIPT
Regard the dreary death Arcade
of Armaments (a fruitful trade)
and tally up the millions made
by ghouls that raise a colonnade
of miles of missiles, weapons-grade,
in Armageddon's crazed parade,
and hide behind a masquerade
of lollypops and lemonade
while planning new an escapade
for sending armies to invade
and loot far oil lands, unafraid
of misery and grief parlayed
until our final days cascade
into a hell no more delayed
by happenstance or luck outplayed
that leaves society decayed,
bombarded with a fusillade
of lies upheld and truth betrayed
by pundits in the shifting shade,
and crises of the world clichéd
as sung in solemn serenade
by journalistic hacks that preyed
on wide-eyed folk in sham charade
that lulls to sleep with eyelids weighed
by tiny tears that disobeyed
to stay behind the barricade
and bathe the modern-day crusade
of war in cheers and accolade.

The bottom line? Just profits paid
for deadly sins that god forbade…

Glitterati Gangsters gaze
with commanding stares
and broken plates glass blown and open gates
There she sits eyes
all holding
all knowing
synchronicities shatter the scene
Sparkling
each blink initiates a flood of flaming diamonds
that lash out like hot irons
Eyes like this entice and take
Each blink unlocks a new mystery
as she grinds resistance in her teeth
Igniting my lust
Sparkling
each blink creates a dawning sun
Her gaze inflames ten thousand ways
She wields sparkle
like madmen spray sarin
With sparkling abandon

Le cri d'Alep ; ce principe   d’égalité dénié entre les Humains qui nous interpelle  

Combien sont-ils réfugiés dans les caves
À tromper provisoirement la mort
en se promettant une vie meilleure, où leur voix soit entendue
ou en songeant au paradis promis aux martyrs ?

Et ce cinéaste kurde qui vivait à Paris et voulait voler des images à l’anonymat de la grande faucheuse.
Il est parti là-bas muni de l'espoir fou que parfois les images savent atteindre le cœur des hommes.
Certains les appellent des «Djihadistes» et tremblent pour leur propre liberté d’opinion, pour les femmes qui sont traitées comme moins que rien par une masculinité égarée et pour leur rêve d’un nouveau «Califat» qui relève plus d’une blessure historique que d’un projet concret et réalisable.

D’autres défendent tout simplement un même « droit des gens» pour tous les êtres sur la Planète
Pourquoi être né Arabe, Juif, Kurde ou noir ou même apatride, devrait-il à jamais vous rendre la vie plus précaire et vous priver du Droit de choisir vos gouvernants ?
Il fut un temps où des évêques catholiques bénissaient les armes des troupes de Franco et appelaient à libérer l’Espagne des «rouges».
Il fut un temps où l’on enfermait dans le camp du Vernet les courageux combattants des «brigades internationales» ; ceux venus de tous les lieux du Monde qui ne croyaient pas en Allah mais avaient bien une forme de foi terrestre.
Durant ce temps Orwell, Hemingway, Malraux, ceux de la brigade Lincoln, les poètes de vingt ans assassinés tels, Sam Levinger, mort à Belchite, et Joseph Seligman, lors de la bataille du Jarama. Ils avaient vingt ans. Et bien d’autres quittèrent leur quiétude pour défendre l’Humanisme et l’Humanité aux prises avec les cris du «Viva la Muerte» des fascistes.

Que l’on m’explique, aujourd’hui pourquoi, la circonstance de naître dans le croissant fertile devrait vous valoir la servitude à vie et supporter un dirigeant criminel qui va qu’à user du gaz «sarin» contre une partie de sa propre Peuple qui le ***** ?
Et de vivre perpétuellement et sans espoir que cela ne change dans le servage de régimes militaires et de tyrans corrompus ?
La question de la Religion et des «communautés» ne masque-t-elle pas une comptabilité inégalitaire et sordide faite entre les hommes qui vivent sur une même planète ?
Là, en terre d’Islam, vous seriez condamnés à courber le dos entre le bâton et les balles du policier ou la vision et les sermons réducteurs des théocrates et de ceux qui osent se nommer : «Le parti de Dieu» ?
Qui ose ainsi trancher dans l’Humain et réduire le besoin et le souffle des Libertés à certains Peuples ; blancs et riches, de préférence ?

Allons mes ami(e)s, n’oublions pas le message universel des Hume, Paine, Voltaire, Hugo, d’Hemingway qui permit à nos anciens de prendre les Bastilles.
Le Droit à la vie et à la liberté n’est pas d’un continent, ni d’une couleur de peau, ni d’une religion ; il est Universel comme le sourire du jeune enfant à sa mère.
Assez de discriminations et d’hypocrisies ; dénonçons l’imposture des tyrans et les veules par trop intéressés qui nous voudraient taisant et tranquilles.
Il est un «Monde nouveau» qui ne demande qu’à grandir et à vivre si bien sûr, on ne le tue pas avant ou si on ne lui met pas le bâillon.
Ami(e)s ne te fait pas dicter ta conduite par ceux qui sont payés pour écrire que l’ordre immuable doit toujours se perpétuer.
Ose ouvrir les yeux même aux spectacles les plus insoutenables et entendre ce long chœur de gémissements qui est l'Humanité souffrante dont tu fais intrinsèquement partie toi-même, avec les mêmes droits et devoirs.
C’est l’Humanité souffrante qui frappe, devant l’écran de ton téléviseur quand ta journée de travail finie tu t’assoupis et il est trop facile et fallacieux de te dire que des spécialistes vont régler les problèmes à ta place.
Hélas si tous raisonnent ainsi ; rien ne bougera et les Tyrans succéderont aux Tyrans comme les malédictions de Job.
Peut-être ta faible voix comme celle du rouge-gorge doit se mêler à la symphonie du Monde pour qu'enfin puissent tomber les préjugés entre les êtres et les murailles de Jéricho ?

Paul d’Aubin (Paul Arrighi (Historien, Homme de Lettres et Poète) - Toulouse, Toulouse (France) le mardi  1er  octobre  2013.

Paul Arrighi, à Toulouse, (Historien, Homme de Lettres et Poète)

Click the link if you'd like to listen to me speak this poem.

https://soundcloud.com/venniekocsis/the-separating

I have stared at pictures
of my face with
closed eyes

I have imagined
this is what I would
look like in a coffin

so I will be burned
turned to ash
sprinkled into the
soft earth of this Mother

so they can remember
the sound of my laughter
when I visited the trees

Some say "oh, that is so morbid!
how could you think like that?"

I reply, "how can I not,
when I know I'll be back?"

I am but just a blink
on this thing we call a life
when I return to stardust
I'll sleep a thousand nights.

But for now
I trudge the wreckage
of a complicated pain
to see if I can
build the strength
to return this way again.

How does one hold on to hope,
dying in the snow,
huddled 'round a barrel fire
as the sarin seeps the ground?

I say I am a washer,
some ask me what I mean
I have invisible knapsacks
strapped behind my knees

I have wondered why
I'd choose this kind of life
to feel the saddest parts
of a human's broken heart

Sometimes I stare at photos
I don't recognize myself
not the upturned nose
or the slight overbite of my jaw
I stare at foreign eyes
who was she before
she was forced to survive

I remember planets
where I sat beside the blues
places just like this one
without the sorrow

It has always felt abnormal
to be inside this skin
like my soul has always
fought a war
with being in human form

I have gazed at my face
in colorful gradients
long to kiss my lips
and feel their softness
to know just once
what it is like
to stand on the outside
of a bullet riddled body

I would hold my cheeks,
look at myself so sweetly
in all the ways I imagined
would happen if I was loved
unconditionally, fully,
wholly, without expectation

I have stared at the darkness
like it's a Hearst
where my dead flesh would rest first,
carried through dimensions
back to the before
if I could just have the courage
to step through that door

It doesn't feel familiar
being in this place
with the indifference,
the passivity and
the down turned faces

It's not to say I
don't have moments where I'm happy
but how can I skip through rainbows
when there is so much weeping?

I feel each time they ache
like it's my very own heart
like they're a piece of my existence
their shadowing lingering
in my footsteps and
I cannot catch a breath
for the intensity of
their desperate loneliness

I have stared at my hands
folded across my chest
the way my fingers would interlace
before the skin decays and breaks

the way humans display
other humans
to feel better inside
about the way
their loved one died;
pomp and circumstance
taking precedence
in lifelessness

I have images stamped in my head
my eyes black and absent
the way they'll be in the end

take it back
put it in concrete
make a chisel with a code
so deep
they'll have to go to
great feats to figure it out
because there are two choices
love and doubt

and in the end
neither will matter
it'll just be you and the stars
and the echo of grief
evaporating into the mist

and you will see your face
on white paper
with words about
a second of an inch thick
before you become separated
into a remember when

let the shards fly
sink into my skin cause
I'll be back this way again
but until then

I wonder what will be
written on my epitaph
she felt too much
she let the sadness gush
she whispered in the silence

No, No
save the stone
instead, make me flame
in my last moments let me shine
and be light
then take me to the sea
where the waves will bury me

and I'll return home
to tell them of a dying planet
and the few eyes
who have not yet lost hope

v.k poetry
copyright @ dbv publishing 2013

I

if I yelled into a walkie talkie,
would you melt, or burn,
blaring noise
glaring sun,
glaze the windows, someone!

                 II

fade away and radiate,
move the people dis-populate,
we may all glow,
there are leaks, they know,
but that is not all
they are going to build
an icy wall to STOP thoseleaksnow,
some one strong willed
                                      is taking charge of those positive and negatives
                                                       ­                        keep an i on atom, physically speaking.

         III


shake, shake
roll the water
shake shake
roll the dice
shake shake
what happens
in the kitchen
where it is hot
and you bang
plates together
the do break, explosively
this time, no
tsunami, so sue me
but it was a six point one
when we get a nine what then?


           IV
they have politics,
they have unrest,
they have strife,
put the ad in
the paper, some
one misunderstood, vehement
denials, sabres rattling cementing
bad relations blame the propagandist
bad formula blame the chemist
bad politics cost elections
bad people take lives
that are not theirs to erase, displace
or otherwise disgrace, I know we will
never know what has gone on,
but it really comes down to ONE,
all it takes is one to die,
and it - whatever the point is
is wrong,
all it takes is a million refugees,
not one in power will listen if we
say   STOP                    please,
think of the creative talent who have died,
think of the number of times you have lied,
think of the geniuses unable to breath through their face,
oh wait, if you did think, in the first place,

you still would have done it anyway,
because that is who you are, makin' people wear sarin, eau de ... deathly
                                                silence is a grave filled with the cries
                                                of the innocents
                                                chaos is a grave filled with violent
                                                death with intent
                                                lashing out first and with such force
                                                is a grave filled with numbers of
                                                the lost, who now are no more
                                                the cost is too dear to bear
                                                except with sadness, and mourning
                                                but there is no time there is danger
                                                          ­                              and warring
                                                         ­                                                   while the world dithers uncertain,
close the blinds
draw the curtain,
cover your ears,
we are doing something
here, umm, there.

They used wake up when the sun rose.
High and bright in the sky, the souls of Syria.
Kids gone to school, half asleep babies doze
Off, everyone happy, everyone loved.
Everyday of life, earlier, like a feast, celebrated.
Harmless, innocent and unoffending souls.
They are woken up now by bombs showering
From the sky, straight upon their houses.
Bombs filled in with toxic, fatal gases.
Killing those harmless children and babies
Of months old; who are yet to talk, yet to walk.
Desolating parents who dreamt a new world
With their babies, souls who know not a sin.
Bringing a war to people in name of rehab.

i

As the wartorn baby lied down on the middle eastern battlefield,
The tanks rolled in, the bombs struck heavy, as poured out sin,
It seemed for the young girl no living was as this was to be dreamt, her night-mares becameth real, her spirit of her hath left

ii

The sunshine was eclipsed, as the sarin and mustard gas blimped
The grenade's made servant's, out of the gentle and innocent,
And hatred was spread between the lies, of the media outlet's channel, terrorist rolled their eyes, as burn's smoked the flannels

iii

These brute's woreth green in verdant camouflage grass anger
Were friends before their war, now rebirthed as killing strangers
Yet there was one soldier who put down her exploding bomb's
An saidst "I want war none more" , as was a girl of holy god

iv

She screamed to her lung's, (" canst thou all seeith this is of the devil? I am not one to **** mine brother! I am a messenger of the celestial levels") as the death bringer's heard this, their eye's began to run, they've forgotten of their lovers, and their own love



v

As this girl who was a terrorist, not by her own hand was given
Remembered she was forced, by the men of evil torture and livings, Though she abandoned the war, the evil man hath put upon her, her soul overcameth, with God in the those wartorn flames, for that girl remembered at that moment, she being gods daughter.....




©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

A crime buried without justice is never laid to rest
Those that where responsible never addressed

The exploding bombs had chased them to the basments
They thought women and children would be safer in this containment

But these bombs that droped did not explode
It had a much deadlier payload

The gas it trun lose was Sarin by name
This nerve gas played no games

So much heavier than air, it's deadly fingers reached down
Right to where all the women and children could be found

Quit and deadly, they hadn't a prayer
They where all so caught unaware

Until their lungs wouldn't work
Then the muscles twitching and ****

Mothers agonizing screams filled the air
Me and my Children are dying they declared

Bombs delivered the gas
Now families and children twitch in deaths dance

No real hospital for miles
Poorly equipped clinics filled up, people laying in the aisles

Frothing at the mouth, pupils only pinpoints
Death came to many that day, it did not disappoint

The dead laid in rows in clinics, mosques, and streets
Over thirteen hundred the lord had to meet

And as the living took care of the dead, in their graves they lay
Still no one is punished for this crime upon them, not even to this day

Unexpected early morning,
It struck a town in Syria,
Rebel-held area turned into a toxic zone,
Shaking the entire government from its root.
85 people - 20 children-
                                          D   E   A   D
Some writhing,
Some C-h-o-k-i-n-g,
Some GASPING
             for  
                    air.

Sarin a deadly chemical gas pervaded the streets of Syria
Like grey clouds take over the blue sky.
Mouths inhaled the ethereal gas
As death grabbed a hold of their souls.
One boy was filmed suffocating on the ground,
His chest heaving like an ocean full of harsh waves,
His mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
Faces blue and yellow,
As their lungs cried for air.



The smell of death lingered in the streets
Dead children lined up in
R
O
W
S
on the floor,
Piled in heaps in the back of a vehicle,
Lying motionless in the mud,
Clothes ripped as rescuers tried to separate the chemical from their bodies
Imprisoned in the unpredictable terror of WAR!

Is this the result of a six year war?
Hours after the attack began,
Regime warplanes circled back over the area,
Purposefully dropping bombs on clinic treating survivors.
Death crushed the hope of many
Shutting the door to freedom
SMASH!

13 year old boy,
Drowned in the tsunami of grief,
As lonely as a dog without its master:
“Three of my family members died in front of my eyes.
I don’t even know it the rest are alive or not. ”
A horrendous scene for any human being,
Indeed an AFFRONT to humanity!
War stole the right for a 13 year old to feel loved, protected and precious.

Eyelids closed against the dim light of dawn,
As an airstrike hit their veranda,
Leaping from his bed with the hope of saving his family,
He hugged his nine month old twins tightly.
Handing the twins to his wife,
Yosuf went outside,
To see people staggering
And falling on to the ground like petals of a flower.
He came back to his house to see....
His brothers dead,
His nephew dead,
His niece dead,
His mother dead,
His wife dead,
His twins dead.
Yosuf was trapped in the cage of sorrow forever,
“My wife, Ahmed and Aya, my twins they were all martyred.
What was their fault?
My entire family is gone.”
Holding the dead bodies of the twins in each arm
Stroking their hair,
As their laughter echoed in his ears,
He choked back tears,
And mumbled goodbye.
A six year civil war stole the hope from hearts full of light,
Treaded over relationships full of love,
And strangled a life full of freedom.

You’re quite the wretch, how you expel sarin and carbon monoxide from your pores

You hide behind an accent book, a holy text to justify your ignorant crusades

Do you think God looks at you with grace? You may accept Jesus, but the son of God doesn’t accept you

You sing Amazing Grace, to instill in yourself grace, but the truth is skin deep

When you condemn people to hell, do you think you’ll ascend to heaven?

What’s truly worse, a supposed life of sin? Or causing pain and sorrow for innocent people?

I’m a husk of anxiety and stress, my bones made of Celexa, my mind of insecurity

My eyes are made of black dyes, my teeth of financial dread
I rise each day with a curve in my spine, and weight upon my feet

But I am here, still going

I may be exhausted, but I’m still going

My will made of coal, always burning, never surrendering

I breathe sarin, and exhale carbon monoxide

But I’m still going

Only the dead see the end and its peace
So I keep it like Middle East priests on the beat
No retreat, I delete any cottonmouth’s tweet
With that Northern aggression white phosphorous heat
The Taino elite sickle slash and burn grass
Social class bashin’ sarin gas critical mass
I got caskets on deck for your company’s tech
Cause these money machines elect more college debt
So forget it, don’t sweat it, I got you kids diggin’
The vibe that I’m givin’ off riggin’ your system
With victimless crimes and cold warrior rhymes
Blowin’ mines deep inside of your blood diamond minds
Lucy Sky, Apple pie, with a hint of My Lai
From an all seeing why where the who  goes to die?

The wretchedest recklessness civilized savage
Still life of the dead party politic Ba’athist
On acid dispellin’ out
Truth sarin gases
A flask full of blasts from the way passed Jurassic
A passive assassin
Amassin’ a chemical
Weapons grade cache
And then armin’ the youth
With a freshly baked batch
Of this back of the class
To the top of the caste
Stubborn *******’
Cultural iconoclast
Smashin’ bumpkins
And bumpin’ my tunes
On the track
Cashin’ in on the super PAC
Alternate fact
In the ashen green pastures
Of post-truth Iraq
I got stacks of sealed caskets
Of old me’s I buried
And tales of the lost souls
To Hades
I’ve ferried
For taxes from cryptic coin cons
Cemeteried

studious skinny scruffy scribe

My utmost humblest apology
for inducing the following
cerebral calisthenics upon your cranium,
but the cost of friendship
with yours truly
(me – a foo fighting,
eagle eyed, beatle browed, beastie boy  
christened Matthew Scott Harris)
doth newt come
like some hootie and the blowfish
super tramping
cheap trick linkedin to
wings at the reo speed wagon
spinning zz top soundcloud.

Scathing, scolding, screaming,
scorning, searing, sniggering,
sociopathic sarin soaked skewed
squirt, sputtering, squawking, sleepily
staggering, stabbing, swaggering
sweltering sadistic, sarcastic,

savage, systemically systematically
stigmatized, supersized saber sharp
schick shaving, shunned, sabotaged,
scarred, scorched, smote, sanguine,
stippled, speckled schizophrenic
sensibility, spurring, seething,

somewhat stultified, sophisticated,
spellbound spirited scabrous
schlemiel schlemazel, stenciled,
sundered sniveling sanguine storied
snakebitten sojourning *******,
skeptical shoddy sophomoric

screwball, subtly sagacious,
stunted, sclerotic, scrappily
shuffling short, Shylock
styled sideburns Semite,
sainted Shasta sipping
shriveled sad sack,

sullenly syncopated, synthesized,
slobbering sybaritic, scruffy
sheepish sketchy scalawag,
Socratically scrutinizing, seizure
stricken, stoically sneezing,
shamed Skidrow skeezer, shifty,

sweaty, sham shaman,
supremely spidery, schmaltzy,
sylan seeking subsidized succor,
self shuttered, sequestered,
sidelined, shiftless, shabby,
semantically snazzy, soldiering,

shrieking, skulking, somber,
stooping, Segway scootering,
schmart spendthrift, Swahili
speaking, straitlaced, streamlined,
spongebobbing, sandal shod
sealegs, squarepants sporting

spectacles, sedate, sensate,
sentient, ship shaped,
shanghaied, salubrious,
slithering, snakish, stuttering,
sluggish, smashface scarred,
sober, solitary, sangfroid

skidamarink singing, Shamokin
speaking scrivener, scuzzy,
spunky, starved, submissively
suicidal, sunburned,
salaried shuffling senescent
snoutish soundcloud shutterflying
snapchatting schnorrer.

I crawl to bed , a silent dream to a melodies' prayer,
off I whisper, my begging, to clouds.
and you know the sound of sin.
happy he is, the fruitful snake,
the life that terminates at a humans gaze.
soundless sarin. gaseous respiration
out of necessity at the manufactured devil as he smiles
his job is complete
he always gets his mark,
if you believe.
its always hands that strangle the throat.

(a poor excuse for legs),
and get me the latest
sophisticated prosthetics advancements,
whereat integration of cultured stem cells
into custom made appendages
allows, enables, and provides
unfortunate recipients of amputations
to experience sensations.

No more will yours truly
(skinny legged sexagenarian)
envy amputees fitted with smart limbs
equipped tricked out arms and legs,
cuz he will be proud owned
with false limbs
(mainly legs, I did not decide
about equally spindly arms)
finding a once nasty, short
and brutish solitary
Norwegian bachelor farmer
transformed into a very charming, tall
and humane debonair troubadour
rivaling the likes of any swain.

No insult meant
for those handicapped,
who experience(d) phantom limb
perhaps linkedin to
fierce near mortal kombat,
wondering if stayin alive
after surviving serious wombs
that killed fellow combatants
trying your darndest
to feel worthy earning a purple heart,
(a distinguished military decoration
awarded in the name of the President

those who got wounded or killed
while serving in the U.S. armed forces),
with attendant laurels such as
handsome veteran benefits,
answering the call of duty
nevertheless daily reminders
being survivor as a foreigner
waging war, when host country
loathed American military as infidels,
whose countrymen bathed
innocent defenseless civilians
in blood of barbarity.

Stop saying sassy sobriquets schooled
***** spindleshanks...
studious skinny scruffy scribe.

Scathing, scolding, screaming,
scorning, searing, sniggering,
sociopathic sarin soaked skewed
squirt, sputtering, squawking, sleepily
staggering, stabbing, swaggering
sweltering sadistic, sarcastic,
savage, systemically systematically
stigmatized, supersized saber sharp
schick shaving, shunned, sabotaged,
scarred, scorched, smote, sanguine,
stippled, speckled schizophrenic

sensibility, spurring, seething,
somewhat stultified, sophisticated,
spellbound spirited scabrous
schlemiel schlemazel, stenciled,
sundered sniveling sanguine storied
snakebitten sojourning *******,
skeptical shoddy sophomoric
screwball, subtly sagacious,
stunted, sclerotic, scrappily
shuffling short, Shylock
styled sideburns Semite,

sainted Shasta sipping
shriveled self secluded sad sack,
sullenly syncopated, synthesized,
slobbering sybaritic, scruffy
sheepish sketchy scalawag,
Socratically scrutinizing, seizure
stricken, stoically sneezing,
shamed Skidrow skeezer, shifty,
sweaty, sham shaman,
supremely spidery, schmaltzy,
sylan seeking subsidized succor,

self shuttered, sequestered,
sidelined, shiftless, shabby,
semantically snazzy, soldiering,
shrieking, skulking, somber,
stooping, Segway scootering,
schmart spendthrift, Swahili
speaking, straitlaced, streamlined,
spongebobbing, sandal shod
sealegs, squarepants sporting
spectacles, sedate, sensate,
sentient, ship shaped,

shanghaied, salubrious,
slithering, snakish, stuttering,
sluggish, smashface scarred,
sober, solitary, sangfroid
skidamarink singing, Shamokin
speaking scrivener, scuzzy,
spunky, starved, submissively
suicidal, sunburned,
salaried shuffling senescent
snoutish soundcloud shutterflying
snapchatting Schwenksville schnorrer.

My feelings spark up and the words that want to form
are stuck behind the barrier at the end of my tongue.
...They are trapped.

The things I want to tell you, will never make sense in your world.
Because your world does not consist of 3am calls
from the past telling you that your futue will repeat history.

See my world has sarin rain.
And instead of breathing in oxygen,
I breathe in cynide.
So the next time you wonder why im choking on the words that will never form,
remember that im dying on the inside.
Dying to tell you that I melt from your touch.
Dying to tell you I miss you withought being to eager.
Dying to make things go back to the way they were
Cause even for a minute, just one minute when you told me you loved me,
I wanted not myself but for you to mean it.

Yet you do not love me.
You thought you loved me.
You knew how easy I would fall into your arms
and make every problem you ever had disapear
without there being any residue.
All it ever was, was that I was your worn out cloth only to be torn and used again and again and again.
So do not tell me you love me...because I will beleve you and lose myself all over again.