Now, Lie In It.

Broken sockets in both of his eyes
While you undoubtedly stood right by
Beaten to bits with his own Maglite
How do you live with such oversight?
The last standing of your Champions
The only one left to allow you back in
And this is your reward to him
While his eyes may never see again.
And the last things they saw were certainly
Your friends taking off with his phone and money
As you had the nerve to play your victimology
He laid alone, bleeding out in the street
I can honestly and openly say
That I didn’t raise you to turn out this way
Your drama comes through like a tidal wave
And hurts the ones whose blood is the same
I will stand up with my heels both dug in
Stand the ground that surrounds my closest kin
There’s no way in Hell or in Heaven
That you’ll get a chance to hurt him again
Say what you will to shift the blame
I can see only your complete lack of shame
and it spits the fuel at my furious flame
an X shines through the mark of your name
But, I now also see the truth behind so many things
I can no longer give any excuse, force-fed your identity
a hideous and inexcusable, vicious non-human being
the monster survives and thrives in my own offspring

Thinking and Speaking.

In a small circle broken only by,
the tiny space by which hopefully, I,
will make an escape at the end of my –
musings made public in the blink of an eye;
I lift my sword and point now,
to you: hazel eyes, six-foot-two,
you know exactly what it will be,
that I naturally recall about you…
the way that your shimmering eyes –
were a mask covering so many lies –
and how those lies eventually outweighed any truth;

Now, on to the one right next to the first:
top lip’s so tight his mouth might burst,
your body language says that your brain works fine,
the stance of your stature doesn’t look so self-assured,
you have kept your ignorance segregated, indeed –
by everyone – especially women – quite successfully –
that crap works great in the military, so why not go, soldier?

And on to the next obliviously smiling wise guy,
born and bred from the blood of some godly divine,
I’ve known of dead animals with better morals than you,
sporting tattoos that belong only in the skin of dead swine,
your very breath reeks of poisonous hatred –
a desire to destroy what any other finds as sacred –
wretched: your kiss is of Sulfur and your touch is of brine.


It doesn’t become you, dear…
the façade behind which,
you run your operation;
the way you slither about in the grass,
drawing in the vulnerable as you pass,
to wound the wounded –
is your only obligation;
it’s the pitiful display of need,
that infuses each implanted seed –
passed around like bread,
throughout the broken nation;
think of those who you’ve duped –
the fools who blindly follow you,
you’ve built a congregation,
haven’t you?
An army on beaten up hearts –
many men in cuffs and shackles,
defeated by your empty promises,
ready to fight for your salvation;
but weakened to the core,
unable to stand up anymore –
what kind of army refuses,
to leave the feet of the Queen,
that they fight for?
I will tell you –
an army of drones,
dark, abandoned homes,
a legion of poor bastards –
who’ve been blinded by you,
by the lies that you tell,
the ‘save me’ song and dance,
you play so perfectly well –
the meshing and molding,
the bending and folding,
it’s all so obvious as Hell;

Jealousy’s Dead King.

I know who my friends are,
and also who they aren’t;
I see those who take the heed,
and I see the ones that won’t;
I feel the people who try to steal,
away what isn’t theirs’ to take;
I hear the ones who never mean,
a single promise that they make;
I touch the hands of many,
both the wicked and the good;
I taste the wishes and secret desires,
of the least expectant that I would;
I sense the misrepresentations,
belonging to faces of those I’ve believed;
I’ve held the lies and deceit in my palm,
while the mouth tried to find them to speak;
I am not blind to the inner-workings of envy,
and the ways that its evil unfolds;
I was marked by Jealousy’s Dead King,
back in my own days of old;
Do not think that my big heart is a target,
because its dark surfaces hold bright red within;
do not think you will come up on my weakness,
of still managing to live like a decent human;
For all of your troubles and scheming,
will land you long and far from me;
my great, big heart holds no room inside,
for the many wanna-be’s of true humanity.