Pushed and shoved by blank faces,
lost amidst these idiotic words,
i stop and stare and soak it in,
every part of your sickly sin.

Every injury is perceived,
with clarity as my flesh is cleaved,
my bones break under strain,
and yet i still know refrain.

Stood here in my spot,
i listen to my blood clot,
waiting for that promised day,
when it all will wash away.

In the blood and humiliation,
of those unregarding people,
this is my conciliation,
this is my holy steeple.

Listen to my violent mantra,
spitting blood and flailing fist,
a naked soul is unclothed,
vengeance on those i loathe.

You will know my name,
you will know why i stood,
your pity will shine out,
but still i am misunderstood

In this place today I make my stand,
Chattering masses all around,
I know freedom and how to soar,
With my dying breath I will roar.

Flesh torn, a corpse for ravens,
consume my flesh and make anew,
the folly that i once knew.

My God!

How did these poems come about? I felt possessed by your poems. I loved your use of references to the human body and despair and how you brought life and action to such despair especially in this poem in the line “Listen to my violent mantra, spitting blood and flailing fist.”

In my head, I felt cold complete energizing darkness-I loved it!

It’s nice to know you like them.
It’s also interesting to know that these expressions of my feelings do succesfully evoke a response.

You ask how they came about, well, I’ve written poetry as an expression of my feelings for years. This last batch were all written since about a month or so ago, which has been a pretty rough period for me, for various reasons. For example, Not The Same is very much about a recent run in with the law. When i say “I throw myself at the door, crying out for more.” it’s pretty biographical. I ended up with my wrist in a splint for a while, and quite a few nasty bruises and scars.