Coward kingly with his ketchup
It doesn’t matter it’s only fake blood
Destroy our thinking, it’s just painful

Stop people walking
You won’t take our words from us
Quell my flavour, my foods too good

Extinguish our fragrance, your smell’s rotten
Our lightness illegal
It’s heavier than all of you put together…

All of you are meaningless
There’s no time and you’re an embarrassment

So what will you do,
Look in the mirror?
Touch?

Or are you weightless, faceless, nothing but duds
Weightless, faceless, nothing but duds…

The child looks like a clown because of what you did…

The child’s not scared of clowns now, they’re not scared of anything…

Soot on their face and blood on their lips…
They’re broken inside, yet we are the sick…

With the blue face of Picasso,
he grabs all the strangely dismembered and distorted deprivations,
pressing them like wild flower stencils onto the canvas before him…

His sausage fingers rolling up his collaged carnage cigar… placing it to his clay mouth -
Looking at the skyscrapers outside his house
“I do this for my paradise country…”

On a dizzy permutation of this ferocious routine; he realises - nothing fits -
“I’m a preacher in my own ****…”
But the apple is sweeter because of me…
The pear trees are weaker…
And at least we lost their weeping wisdom
and childish victimisation…

remember…

“We make the system - ” art is meat, art is mickey…

And we’ve shrivelled their fruit to display in exhibitions, give to our children; and to flavour our unique trappings of meat certification…

A smile that postered peace has cracks…
Cracks that were covered that start to appear in times of great test, revealing its uncertainty, vulnerability, venom towards the thing that makes it fear…

The smile is a signature of submission
A stamp of insecurity
Because to feel one must think, not temporarily fix,
And to truly fix, one must insist on feeling - everything…

A smile full of love, wisdom and youth never fails, but is thrown; blasted by veiled vast-disappointments, so that the face that holds it moistens with incredulity…

But a smile that has no truth -
When it starts to fray; stiffens easily - turns anodyne, bitter, frozen…
Until the corpse behind that smile becomes clearer - and dictates death with no mirror…

But beware… you can turn away all mirrors
Yet in the darkness they will linger, slither, shimmer, hunt you down…
There’s no escaping from the silent screams in your head and eventually this realm of darkness will fully consume you - if you choose to take this path of lies, safety, silk teeth…etiquette… wrong rest.

For every viral gun death - a poem…

For every slither of hope for a beautiful family or person - a surge in funds for them…

For every ****** golden lie by politicians -
The fine fresh summer’s morning that makes their stomach turn…

For every company complicit in this torture, trying to keep us and them numb -

You can’t survive this - and neither can your conscience, whether you know it or not yet…

The whole thing will crumble like dried, ****** bubblegum - and art will be watching, like it always does…

Orchestratedly killing children, what kind of child were you?
Shoot shoot with no feeling, see how you’ll have no future, sucker…

You think that you’ve marred their grave,
But the child’s cloud escapes…

You’re not even a part of the picture -
Only a void for the paintings that will stay to show how great they are and how sick you were…

You’ve got no place, no room, no virtue,
So more fool you…
You’re not a conductor of any orchestra -

You’re just a fraying lace in an old man’s shoe
Yet look how young you are - or could have been…

I know you’re not one for feeling anything but you’ve got to admit; the deafening din of children’s wailing light and death’s scythe keeping you secretly afraid all night is gonna be hard to remove…