Choices

My palms are sweating. I’m
dizzy and this sick
feeling hurls me down the rabbit hole.
Lost.
Dazed.
In Darkness.
Turmoil tosses me
just under the ebony waves of
angst and
rage so thick
the smoke furling from the fire chokes my lungs
and burns through my throat turning
my mouth to ash.
Walls closing.
Ceiling crushing.
Everyone is standing to close
to the inferno
blazing, blackening my
twisted guts, mangling my
ragged heart strings.
This is a torture that dowses my nerves with frailty,
pollutes my stomach with acid, then ransacks
my spirit.
(...)

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Freedomland

America the brave, America the beautiful;
freedom’s homeland. Is this not
the land where our fathers died? The land
of the pilgrim’s pride?
What the hell is she doing
getting hammered with Slander and Hatred?
Our father’s blood replenishes this land, but still
Jealousy and Self-pity still get center stage. Fuck
race, religion, speech, pride, she says. Go ahead,
believe what you want,
say what you want,
feel what you want.
But be sure to hate your neighbors because they don’t agree
with the way you chose to live in
this
small-minded,
tunnel-visioned,
insect existence.
That’s how the world goes ‘round, yes?
I’ll respond to her obsidian whispers
deep in that tortured soul, but only once. Listen up.
If you can’t stand the color of my skin… buy a blindfold because I promise
we all sound human in the dark.
(...)

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Pessimistic Ramblings of a Psychotic Mind

Death isn’t absence… it’s not
despair. No, it’s
Truth’s bosom.
Sweet and warm, holding tight
in Her supple embrace.
But I cry. Why?
Why must I cry?
Why does anguish twist my stomach
in stabbing thorns.
Why must we,
those left behind in frigid reality,
cry?
Left behind in the barren, subjugate wasteland…
Hell. Who the fuck knows?
Maybe this has been that all along.
Heaven is up Truth’s skirt, and
she only spreads to the worthy.
One day, yes.
Not all who see, get the chance to kiss those lips, but
one day, yes… I’ll drink her sweetness dry

Inside Me

Precious heart, touched
by the liquid pool
of emotion. Submerged
under the quiet,
rumbling belly of Truth,
my solace is stripped
nude in the dark. Abyss
stretches endless before my worn and weary shoes.
They are ripped at the souls,
tattered at the heels.
Still
I walk
through the drying mud.
It’s a long road
before I reach that steady
haven, where
I can finally shake off the dust.

Quiet

Death is whispering
her sweet lies, “look how alluring I am. Come
witness my relief.”
She smiles, and he missed the glint
of evil. Why
does he stare into Her dark?
I felt the echo, deep down,
behind the door
of ignorance.
Death was watching
from her perch of perfect patience.
She pounced finally;
a quick pop to the chest. She missed.
She struck through the misery and the still,
but
failed to claim this willing heart.
He didn’t go. Why
did he stay? Hope knows
it’s her turn now, “how shall I begin?”
And Love has to know,
“will I be enough?”