The heaviest sound lays us to rest
Tied to the steak and eats our heart out
Composure fixed to the evening sky
Swivel the scenery then throw me away when I am colored dead
Let's all pose then fall down the well together
Understudies for the part we weren't meant to play
Courage for cowards in the rewriter's chair beating the around the rose bush
Sink thirty thousand feet into the shoes too narrow for human feats.
Back to factory settings until you can learn how to sing let alone speak our names
Caution tape leashes the struggle bus in gear on your best days
One step further than slipping up on a Monday, blue and battered
I wake up to the sight of the out of boundaries shred to pieces
Water for the pills stuck in swallowing fashion
Wings tied to the bed abstract as ever
We dreamt of the rise and fall of the house of us
Blueprints of further disappointment with marble inlays to hold onto this moment
Shock jocks of jealous siblings gnashing at ankles going home
Nostalgic for chaos and that bitter root
I didn't know that I was this obvious
Innocence donated with and without the will to live
I feel the harshness of this language,
This bare syllables that bear the weight of fragmented mountains
These naked words that make you feel naked and worthless yourself
These insignificant letters put together strategically to make harm, to hurt rather than love.
I feel the harshness of this language, and I do to my very skin, and the one of the girl in front of me
To be careless -said the brave, but unfortunately throwing words is easier than understanding pain.
Let the stars sing
a silent chorus, impending
the quiet, echoing
in the stillness of space.
Let the stars dance
a violent waltz
beams reflecting, dancing
faster than humanity can muster,
until like a cloud of arrows
they pierce the sky
sparks of white
upon an endless canvas.
Let the stars scream
mouths agape; soundless
Echoing of Nothing
into Nothing
as their souls wink out.
Let the stars die
smoldering husks
heat imploding on itself
ignored by the untrained eye,
the threads unwind
incinerating everything in its wake.
One final act
raging against the throes of death,
Until our own sun dies, screaming.
Bang my bongos and I'll pluck your big bouzouki
or shake your maracas at me
and I'll rattle my tambourine for you
it's all it takes to make beautiful music together
undeniably the right thing to do
which in and of itself is an ambitious endeavour
but as the tectonic plates in my fate all shift
I'm starved for intelligent conversation
in this intellectual wilderness there's a rift
how long can I hold my breath in negation
living here among losers in the land of make-believe
where they can only relate to characters on television
and rude loud local yokels dumb everything down
Lord I'm not truly grateful for what I am about to receive
from these ignorant arrogant violent clowns
I must be satisfied
Never denied
A wicked insistence
A raging persistence
I will cut you all down
Throw you to the ground
I will destroy all that deny me
I desire love violently
I must have love now
Some way somehow
It is my destiny
Love me
Your words were violent
I flinched
It happens often in the city
I am used to it.
Hate me slate me or berate me
call me names it's all the same I don't care
to my mind it's no more than
hogwash simply put just hot air
the proclivities of others
I don't judge
and their predilections
I won't begrudge
I live and let live
as I too do have mine
but tresspass on my territory
there's where I draw the line
tho' non-violent
step on my toes
and believe you will receive
a black eye or bloody nose
after Privilege of Being by Robert Haas
A tipping point of too many
are talking harshly. Down below,
demon-dead in the unstirred inferno
and perdition of animal thirsting
are coiling one another's tails in response.
They are honeyed vermillion and covered
in trim the texture of hot picamar.
They espy up all the time
at the graceless rapture—
it must sound to them like cold butter
dancing across a cast iron skillet.
Then one voice—she is about to shout—
takes the man's rigid hand and says,
listen to me, and he does.
Or is it the man caressing loose
the gravelly noose of anger?
Anyway, they do,
they listen to each other:
two minds with matured mediums,
hungry to be heard, to be fed by the frisson
of recognition, their skin sizzling with it—
brutal words turned into kindness
by well-intended touches,
and the gossiping, nosy dead are derelict
and growing deaf. They hate it.
They scream a chivvy about injustice
that breaks no skin, but frays the veil
between
what's bone and broth—
a warning, a dirge, a hiss of envy
worse than silence.
The day that Armageddon came,
he thought the entire thing was kind of lame.
Nothing but the noise and smoke of a fiery battle,
and people, left and right, bloodily slaughtered like cattle ~
not much different really from any other mediocre computerized game.
The knife held in trembling hands.
Gasped breaths intermingling in the cold, dreary night.
Hushed whispers, choked off words.
Thousands of what if's disappearing like smoke in the polluted sky.
Soft flesh held in calloused hands.
The soul staring out through its window— or maybe the bars of its cell,
Wondering in amazement at the brine red pools.
Wish you'd have kissed as softly as the knife hurt you.
Glided your dirty hands on unblemished skin as the glinting blade did on yours.
Oh to think this violent,
to force others to be silent,
all to earn a god's favor,
with a reward that few will savor,
life always being a second thought,
a holy war to never be wrought,
lives taken for a denomination,
lives take by discrimination,
oh to see the evil that has been done,
to see the killing of injured just for fun,
I pray this evil to never be shown,
if so, your mind would be blown,
just to see what's capable,
just to see what's flammable,
enjoy your warm blanket at night,
while many join this self righteous fight,
this evil shall spread,
with a goal of us dead.
puppies are asleep
one has violent dreams
from a puppy mill
violent downpour
of disorderly toads blab
squishy lullaby
In the twilight’s amber glow,
Where secrets of the bottle flow,
Reason dims, and shadows creep,
In liquid courage, demons sleep.
A whisper in the mind’s retreat,
Echoes loud, distorting beat,
Calmness fades in fiery waves,
Memory lingers, sense enslaves.
Impaired by false elation's glee,
Bound in chains we cannot see,
Rage ignites, a spark, a flare,
Inhibitions stripped to bare.
Ghosts of anger, sorrow's past,
Surface in a reckless blast,
Words like daggers, actions wild,
Lost the calm of once a child.
Blame the drink, it’s easy said,
But deeper roots in hearts are bled,
Wounds unhealed, a silent storm,
In the depths, true pain takes form.
So when spirits fuel the flame,
Look within, address the shame,
For the violence, the fight begun,
Is but the war of lost and won.
The violent tornado
vengeful
overpowering
through peaceful puddles
trembling windows
uprooted cellars
devastated lives
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