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I'm alive but barely, just hanging on-

asleep with the maggots.

Alive in the dark and struggling-

against your narrow thinking mind.



I was born with a smile on my face-

grinning as I saw new things,

grinning as I saw my mom-

and life embraced me.

Till I turned the age of six-

and you kidnapped me.



Dragging me out of my home like a dog,

grinning at my falling tears,

you took my smile-

and you added it to your collection.



Throwing me into a prison,

pending torture-

where you belittle who I am,

breaking my self identity-

and my love of life.



I toil and slave for you,

numbing my heart to constant pain.

I can only dream of home-

as your torture leaves me broken and insane.



The inmates are atrocious,

I never measure up-

as they humiliate and beat me,

isolate and taunt me-

then leave me all alone to rot.

I'm a living corpse already,

Rigormortis is my want.



I never wish to go back to prison,

I never wish to feel alone,

I never wish to see your face,

or theirs,

I don't know who I hate more;

but I hate you all of course.

you took away my happiness,

you took away my smile,

you took away my love of life,

leaving me an empty shell.





It's why I stole my father's pistol and I shoved it in my mouth,

now I wait for the dream of maggots-

where I run from the constant nightmares,

where your face haunts me no more.





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Author Note: I wrote this for a contest...



This voice is imaginary...but I imagine the real voices of despair that kill themselves rather then step foot into an educational prison environment would write their manifesto on a bed of maggots.



...For their classmates and teachers to choke on of course.



- I apologize if this is deeply disturbing or excessively angry but it is the school system and the social system itself that needs fixing not the kids.



You can't run a school like a business and you can't shove one size fits all education on school kids. It's just causes casualties.

There is a fountain pen leaking ink into a reservoir near an ink road.



It continues to leak until the reservoir is full and the water in the reservoir becomes as black as coal, matching the stained dirt of beaches and the fountain pen gone dry shall write it's truths no more.

I see a lonely cloud in the sky,

the only cloud I see in the humid heat;

-burning.



Before my eyes it shrinks,

evaporating into the nothingness,

becoming less then vapor;

-what is less then vapor?

A puff?



I melt in the heat and so does the cloud,

we are brothers in need,

fading away; into the wind-

becoming one with a subatomic universe;

-we cannot see.

Is it too much for me,

to ask to eat? To wrap my gums around a wrapper,

sucking juices off it's leaf.



I just want to eat.



Is it too much for you,

to keep the garbage open and leftovers clean?

Of dirt and grime, of germs and viruses, of lock and key?



I just want to eat.



Is it too much for me to ask you,

not to overcharge for a pickle? So I can save my change,

to savor the taste of a tomato one day.



I just want to eat.



I just want to eat and drink.



I don't need no booze nor rooms,

no charity donations, just some food.

Some water to keep my lips from splitting,

an umbrella to keep me dry, I'm not choosy-

about the life I'm getting, so long as it is life, I'm fine.



I just want to eat.

Twilight, oh beautiful twilight,

the foreboding before the dawn;

that such beauty can exist in such ill air-

is beyond me to understand,

as the first rays of light caress the darkness,

I cannot help but feel ashamed-

that I can't appreciate it.



I'm ashamed that I'm awake at this ungodly hour,

staring at the yonder sky when I ache for warm mattress cushions-

and a fluffy pillow comforting me;(maybe even a warm glass of milk)-

it all feels so far away, all I can do is gaze at the twilight.



I have to sit on a bench instead of a chair, hoping that someone will notice-

that I'm sitting here, that I'm not invisible, forsaken by the clouds above;

all I have is twilight now.

I see dawn approaching, I sat here all night; what else can I do but sit? I don't want to sleep here-

and be judged. I don't sleep in the cold, I'm not an animal!

And I hope I never have to eat like one either.



Every day is getting colder, and the looks I get are especially frigid;(get out of my sight! Disappear! We don't want you here!) they ignore my tears.

I don't want to sit here, I don't want to be invisible anymore!

I want to be a human being again.



I don't want to huddle for warmth-

on a bench, risking some authority will arrest me for loitering or beat me!

The world is not made for human beings or animals, it's made for possessions and wealth-

and somehow having neither is a crime and I sit in my first hours of despair wondering how long my humanity will hold out, before I go feral?

So here I am enjoying the beautiful twilight and the incoming dawn,

never stayed up late enough or awoken early enough to see it before,

I see the sun's orange face emerge from the mask of shadows and-

begin to color the book's blank pages red, creating colors like no others-

I'd ever seen.



I weep with golden tears, having seen a painting that no museum could ever hold.

I try to renew my hope in what could be and what should be, trying not to think about what I- no longer have as my stomach ache returns and the threat of hunger is too much for me to hold, I retreat into my mind, imagining a warm room in which I tell a close personal friend about a bright, glistening twilight.

Every person holds within their a chest, a drum-

and it beats; the sound that keeps you up at night, the sound of your life throbbing,

pounding, thumping and pulsing as it creates beautiful music at all times of day.



You don't have to be a musician to hear it's rhythm, to appreciate it's flow as it

throbs your very soul, it is your fire's coal; it drives you to wherever you go,

your followed by a drum role.



Then why do you ignore it? The song that's played within us all? You hear the happy- melodies and forsake the tragic songs. The songs of pain, the song the drum re-verbs-

when tears fall in plurals, is the song not as beautiful? Does it's crescendo appall?

Every person holds within their chest, a song with meaningful lyrics as it's played,

a fountain of a cavalcade, it becomes your very being; don't deny these tragic tales,

for their meaning still pails compared to that which links us all.



Just a gigantic six string orchestra and every soul's a part...every musical role is filled-

and every section's filled with hearts.



How can we pick one song over the other? How is it that easy to choose?

Every life is a story and a song held true, do not close your heart to my sad song-

fore it still beats for you.

I just came face to face with a helpless, homeless woman in a wheel chair-

near the entrance to office depot, begging for food.

I, the useless lump with pockets dry could do nothing to better or prevent the unhappy end in which I left.



I can only ever wonder, how we justify the waste of money,

How I was the only one to notice, who's heart went limp with pain and anguish-

while people past her by. Why was I the one? Why could I not(like magic) teleport-

a politician or C.E.O for them to explain to her, (to look into her eyes)-

why she can't have a home and a hot meal to eat in front of her.



If you bought a new tv, if you bought a new pc, if you wasted more then a dollar,

picture her starving face.



If you bought yourself a plane, your a greedy monster, think of her face.

If you feel nothing, you have my hate- following you and following you into your grave.



I spit in your direction, watch the saliva dribble down.

I want you to taste my hatred for your greed then bury you in the ground.



So people like that woman can have a home at last...

instead of begging for what we all should have.



Justify it please, say it to my face

my fist aching, it wants to see you misstep

it wants kiss your chin.



Justify your consumerism, your pointless economy,

your corporate fascism, justify it....

I want to hear your lies before I bust you down!



I want to carry the heads of wall street into a room full of homeless

and watch them celebrate at your demise.

For conscience of humanity has dissipated into a financial wreck that must be stopped

before all is lost.



That woman is probably still sitting outside that store;..... begging.

COMMENTS

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lovebites
21:31 Jul 10 2010

and the question that everyone is asking is has anyone done anything about it?- when have we seen people united for a good cause that is not just based on what people think of them, but of the gooddness of one's heart? i see this everyday and ponder what i can do but if the people do not bother to at least put what they can or help in whatever way they can even if one thinks that it won't help, little things matter, one by one . . .

yet it will continue to be this way . . .

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POST COMMENT

It must be free speech season, for they mean to hunt us all.

burying one comrade and the next,

Our picket signs in their face.



A stab wound so deep, it seeps and rots

becoming maggots, then it clots (corrupting).

the wounded class of poor;

the wounded sick with plague,

they barricade, they block and they strangle,

then they hold a parade.



Every July 4th, it's free speech killing time,

they pray for our graves so they won't pay for their crimes.



Machine guns fire, bayonets held so high,

but all us others are unarmed; just chicken fodder to the lie.



But we plant acorns of our truth, we nurture it with a kiss of justice;

we water it with the juice of hope, so they will grow and spread anew.

We grow our trees of freedom and we protect our leaves from pain,

every free idea killed, grows anew and becomes our hope another day.



So our deaths were not in vain.



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Author notes:



This is yet another contest entry...



The Contest rules required me to write a poem based on a heavy metal song.



So the poem was based on the song Tree Of Freedom by Heaven Shall Burn.



Though...I'm really scared I butchered it.