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 

desolation.

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 

magnolias. 

The human

inside of the monster.

The cliche 

inside of the psyche.

It is the common property 

of us all.


-Haley