I Hear Your Crisis
I Hear Your Crisis
Scream if you have to.
Scream out your guts if it’ll make you feel better.
Scream out everything you have inside your spasming soul
And let your tongue be numb.
Scream out like a banshee
All your festering frustrations;
Frustrations of always losing and of desperately drowning,
Frustrations of accelerating powerlessness
And of deepening deprivation.
Life as we know it is getting dicey in the big city.
Dull-brained dopesters with tattoos
Of fading flowers and dangling dragons
Know the score.
They know of the hopelessness
They have tasted the vinegar of reckless abandon.
They have seen the downcast stares
Of ten thousand depressed days.
I hear your crisis.
I know your pain.
I understand your disease.
Look out this window here
And notice the old Victorian house across the street.
It’s a dead house now.
The flowers in the garden stand slumped over
And the front yard grass has faded,
Faded like the faith of a million Catholics.
The windows are creased and cracked,
Like the bulging buttocks of a dozen whiskey *****es.
And there are genuflecting ghosts
Of long-dead children in the closed-up chapel;
The cross of Christ is covered with burlap now.
I hear your crisis.
Scream loudly dead children of the night.
Scream out your guts.
Because I know your pain.
Copyright © Stark Hunter | Year Posted 2013
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