cruelty

Streets Governed Criminal

Can you grasp something that's invisible
In the streets governed by the streets driven criminal
In the sheets, painted up with a face that isn't yours
and your hands tainted with the blood of others, and unopened doors

The sun has gone down, and the homeless are freezing
Some dancing around, and with food appeasing
While you and some others are in the room all alone..
and the air smothers you, and anxiety brings life out of the zone

A hand comes out of your thumping heart, and suffocates you silly
It comes out screaming, and dumping the pain of the world, and you get chilly
You wish you could save the world, and cradle the ill in your hands
Bring, pave and stretch out the curled, lost, to comfort the bullied trans

What is the world, when you walk around to live with someone else's blood on your hands
To live when you ignore and talk happiness but can't give and end the flood to the disappearing lands?
Don't you ever wonder what the world means when there's a bunch of so called nobodies?
Acting like a blunder is a murder and people just have a hunch who you are, and lay on our tragedies?

What is morality?
When we are bathed in brutality?
Laugh it off like we don't know,
While people are screaming below
and someone has to pay and die
and all people say is "I'm sorry, I can't, goodbye."

This is humanity.
We all try to ignore the insanity.
and someone's on the floor crying for someone to be there
and others just seem to kick, scream and glare
but for their sisters and brothers they'd probably shed a tear
But for anyone else they say they can't be here

It's truly disgusting
Respect is forever rusting
Screaming "Equality!" yet fighting and burning homes in it's name, adding blood to the unnecessary sea of issues of gender and "race" and the others trivial differences we try to hold
Through actual frivolity of rewriting and turning around simple non-offensive words like its a game, yet somehow determining what you are by shape of your face, through privileged or how old
When we both share the same organs, the emotions, and planet
breathing the same air, through the grass and granite
and still we fight which status, and hands matter the most
Competing with our apparatus and plans, that catch the eye to bleed one of our fellow brothers as a host

What's the point if we stand on dead bodies to live?
To disjoint lives that are so much more meaningful and bite the hand that gives?

This must be the meaning of our lives
To bleed a poor soul and find the next one that arrives.

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Dead Meat

Folder: 
Thoughts

Dead meat,

Is what you eat.

Nothing alive,

It is not wise.

 

I don't know the reason,

But I know the cause.

It is rotten, it is corrupted,

And will drive a man mad.

 

Madness comes from eating brains,

I ain't no cannibal at late.

But eating meat I have to do,

Or certain things I can't see.

 

Blood is very good,

I have no Vampire mood.

But cruel some call,

What I describe at all.

 

My mind going ways,

With meat these days.

Demons, Ghoulies and the rest,

Outsiders are a real pest!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Some thoughts.

thrown under the bus

nowadays all she does is whine about her bodily pains,

but when you were left alone, 

she stayed drunk, prowling the bars

days on end, 

oblivious to the emotional wreckage left

on your chest, like a hot iron

melted through the tender heart of a 10 year old,

the open wound to the 

skin, 

cauterized shut

too soon,

without even leaving any open flesh

for the pain to be released,

seared closed with the shame, pain, and false pride of generations,

sealed in for years like a safety box of magnets,

pulling you towards anything and everything self-destructive

in a desperate search for some morsel of hope,

that the next christmas dinner might be more than 

knocking on the doors of neighbors, being lucky enough to be

asked in to share a holiday meal, 

and an attempt to be noticed for something other than the burden

you were to her deep and fervent longing for 

the escape, into smoke filled rooms,

that reeked with the heavy, putrid smell of week-old frying grease,

cigarettes, and hairspray, that became one of your main

reasons for going to live with your dad--

other than the day she up and left for california,

a 50 dollar bill to substitute her mac and cheese, dribbled with 

one and a half inches of ashes off a pall mall,

only to be less than reluctantly welcomed by him,

and a stepbrother who most always was 

notably more worthy of better dirtbikes, nicer clothes 

and a much more frequent pat on the back 

for a job well done, 

that most often wasn't.

 

a dollar for him and quarter for you, along with the bottom bunk,

that smelled like pee from all the years he wet the bed,

only ever good enough for sloppy seconds--

and then there was brownie,

poor broken down swayback, with skin infections,

baldspots and degenertive bone disease,

in light of your brother's black stallion stud,

as if the 6 inch scar on the back of your leg wasn't enough 

from your father's drunken rage with a 4 inch hunting knife,

and the glass from the window that left it's souvenir the night he threw you

across the room, all before the age of 14.

 

shit.

i may have shot that horse between the eyes too.

 

 

 

 

11:37 PM 6/26/2013

©

 

 

.........

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Just a poem about a kid.

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=

 

.....

the world that made me

Folder: 
tragedy

Told and told a thousand lies
Held a thousand hands
Trusted a thousand tricks
Suffered a thousand spites
Dug my heels in
Pleaded my cases
Held my tongue
And doled out graces
And for what and where I've been
And what and where I've seen
I am a product of my environment
A survivor by my imagination
The world that I was given to
Tore my soul apart
The world I'm going to
Won't change a thing
This one has left its marks on me.

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cheap wine ...

fuck the world?
fuck the pain?
fuck the sadness and lies this world creates?

nothing but cheap wine and stale cigarettes
to numb the pain this world generates

everything fair in love and war
what about the souls that get dabble with?
please explain to me were the fair is in ones' soul?

hate is a strong word
love is a strong word

yet we know nothing about love...in the end we give to feel a little bit satisfied
yet we hate all ...

oh petulant child don't sulk
in the end you always get your way...

fuck the world?
fuck the pain?
fuck the sadness and lies this world creates?

under the sycamore drinking cheap wine and dreaming of a world of no crime, death, or war...
dreaming of maybe one day becoming more than a cipher on a leaf...
smoking stale cigarettes dreaming of a tomorrow with no end

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The Beaten Dog

Folder: 
The Toad---Lol

They say a broken dog

can never be the same

when his faith has died,

so to does his name.

 

When pain and cruelty endured,

becomes an empty shell.

His tail will wag no more,

his eyes cry pain he cant tell.

 

He wants to please

He tries to wag his tail,

yet emotions go so deep

and his owner can only weep.

 

She holds him close

and strokes his face,

He feels happy, he purrs inside.

Yet fear is stronger than to too please,

and his bite is deep in another place.

 

In time the dog will learn to believe.

But the Demons never pass, they stay.

And blur his eyes with fear.

Warning you not to stand to near. c 

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