The Fighter

Combatant. Fights without fear or delay.

Always engaged, ready to break the peace.

A struggle without fighting, not worth it.

Release the anger, you will feel relieved.

Cause matters not when there are expressions.

No handcuffs for rage, leave the guilt aside.

Smacks and booms and cackles of mad laughter.

Your descriptive ear hears the destruction.

I want it all, I want it now. Be done.

The silent hush is the boiling pressure.

No indicators, no prior warning.

Quicker than a whistle, you will see truth.

HOPE Columbine Memorial Library

By then it’s too late, he cares no longer.

Consequences, obstacles to feelings.

Love me not, forget me not. The Omen.

You were all warned. He was born a fighter.

You tied his hands, and thought he could be saved.

Ignorant fools. You know nothing of war.

A shock to the system that never leaves.

The circuits have been rewired at cost.

There is a worn path he rushes along.

Too quick to save the inferno he flashed.

At least the path within matches. Empty.

There was no alternative, wasn’t choice.

A collection of circumstances. Dead.


The Monster

angry mob

She looks at him, looks away. Disgusted.

That feeds the monster. Makes him grow angry.

Look him in the eyes. Maybe there is more.

Window overlooking the horizon.

She will never know. Not even one chance.

The monster grows weary. Tired of games.

Look down, fake a smile, but don’t dismiss.

No student from class. This is punishment.

The monster gets no relief from his home.

The people, the comfort others offer.

The monster broods because he cannot breed.

There are no others like him that still live.

So the townspeople chase him with their eyes.

Solitude is confinement. Let him out.

Explore the world and not be chased away.

Too late for that. His heart shrinks every time.

Overwhelms the monster with his small brain.

Face turns to fire. The torture remains.

Like a scar that doesn’t leave, but festers.

The fire consumes, destroys his nothing.

Flames fill his vision, smoke inhaled. Choking.

Searing lungs just wanting to be released.

To cry for help, but there is nobody.

The sea comes to wash away destruction.

The waves crush him. He is drowning and dies.


Far too long since you pushed them in the mud.

Now they will push back and spit in your face.

Your precious currency that means nothing.

Will be all that you have left to consume.

Far too long you have kept them far below.

Packrats, hoarders, keep it all to yourself.

It is time the people speak louder words.

Scream until your eardrums acknowledge them.

No protection for your dying kingdom.

They will steal the keys and gouge your eyes out.

A place where men won’t have to fight instinct.

Chains of minorities keeping them behind.

It is time to grow and reach potential.

Rid ourselves of privilege and circumstance.

When bellies are fed and humans can grow.

None shall suffer while others rule the world.

Consume like a vacuum with blackened hearts.

Slice you to spill your guts and feed the world.

bloody handprints

Spread like the plague your sickness of mind.

Govern like the sun, reaching every stone.

There is no wrong that corruption creates.

Only misunderstood, to be replaced.

As we move forward, capable as yet.

We encounter no boundaries. All is set.

“The People” all deserve a right to vote.

Unless they are wicked, dumb or untrue.

We’ve agreed upon the time, not the place.

It is your world they will eradicate.

Culture and arts shall not be for profit.

They represent feeling you cannot find.

To regain the balance, no compromise.

They will crush your world, shattered shards of globe.

Lapping water from a dish like your dogs.

Shove your face in shit to see if you care.

Nothing to drink and no warmth to be found.

This world will be empty if you aren’t stopped.

We’ve spread, populated all that we can.

Suffocate underneath the swarming mass.

Your values are broken, so time for change.

The People have spoken. Executed.