I wish I would not have to be rushed.

blood rush to the head:

gun shots,
        blood pulse,
                  now someone else is dead.

my eyes feel crazed,
      bulging, in outright anger.


I feel this violence will never end.

blood rush to the head:

scabbed,
   scarred,
       bruised-

the blood I will never dread.

I,
   they,
           we,

        have bled enough not to fear
for ourselves anymore-

        only to fear for the innocent
that this government has killed.


blood rush to the head:

if you stop,
  if they stop,
    if it all will just STOP!


there will be nothing to be said.

The Image the Haunts My Mind

The inner skeletal system
breaks the skin,
not with ease,
yet with a ripping, hateful force;
tearing the muscle and epidermis
with anguish,
although none can be felt.
black masses of bloody goo
pour lavishly around the peeled layers,
decorating what is left of the body
with an ephemeral glow.
the sight of destruction
brings on thoughts of freedom.
No longer held down by the binds of this human shell,
the system is set free,
able to roam and go
above the bounds of earthly existence.