the color, swirling

“… the mass-produced hysteria of violence …”

the color, swirling: chaos as an infant –
the mass-produced hysteria of violence —
abaft the swarth of what’s gone in an instant,
we stand astride – aside? – and keep our silence

as fairylands go dark, or grow more distant.
we give ourselves, in joy, as cannon fodder:
the color, swirling, more blood in the water

Trigger Warning

The last thing.

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Trigger Warning

The loud noise
The last thing
A flash of fire
A flesh ripped up
Where no one will go
Where no one can speak
Your own guard turns on you
Your own town lain to waste
Burn down the whole thing
Burn up the last shred
Voice of a man
Voice no more heard

So much death

So much hate

Depressing Street

Depressing Street

He played out on Depressing street
When he was just a boy;
The life that he was born to
Had a minimum of joy

Their hope had been abandoned
For a laboratory friend;
And every day, in violence
Someone’s stay came to an end

He lived in squalor, shabbily
And found that, as a teen
He’d lost his young ability
To flee by means of dream

He hung out on Depressing Street
With others of his fate;
And made the choices that he made
Until it was too late