Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Here there be titles.

And let
your boiling blood 
run over the bumps and bruises
to heal your tainted skin
to unnatural perfection.
Not feeling
anything but desperation
and anger
with a tinge of fear.

Voices that you
choked with poison
down to their 
swelling pores 
that scream in protest
muted by your leafy 

A blossoming death
wrapping it’s green and violet
vines around the thick neck
of imagination.

It’s freedom and it’s mass murder.
It’s insanity and it’s creation.

Attacked and beaten,
rising from the ashes 
to crash onto the shore
of eagle and sapphire 

The human
inside of the monster.
The cliche 
inside of the psyche.

It is the common property 
of us all.


1 comment:

  1. I adore this! I like the parallels at the end of the poem, and the crazy awesome imagery :)

    Super duper cool beans!