I know that in some other dimension
—perhaps beneath a crease in the warp of time
They like to rip flesh off bits of bones
of lovers and friends
dress it up in spices and sauces for feasts—
And their kings do it, and they do
Children are taught, and
house-wives prepare them for special guests
Humans, wrapped in sacks, are sold
in markets— or traded like rice

I know some take pride in the love-kisses
their whips leave on flushed skins
And tallest of corpses are chopped like logs
—carried like crops; cleaned and
beautified— like porcelain; somewhere,
screams are sung on weddings and
Lyre strings talk about mothers’ pleas
Where gatherings of men and women and wealth
are served with their own roasted limbs

Where molestations await invitations
which are not scarce—
I know some like to beautify battlefields
and scattered fingers and ribs and feet and—
I know that tulips are planted in blasted skulls
And children leave paper-boats in warm, rosy puddles
— stars are extinguished for their
unbearable lights and moons are
exploded on festival nights—

I know you look at me and wonder
if I admire canvases gigantic
with stories loud and heroes bewildering
I know you ask of my role on this street,
at this moon, with you of all planets
—and plants, but I only
know of the canvases they burn

—and canvases they tear and
canvases used as shrouds and— canvases
that wipe away clogged ruby tears
I only know of the flowers I painted—
Colours I yelled at
for they were not bright
And the painting I buried under coats of white
for it was not pretty—
The memory I killed over and over and over and over and—
Watched the cadaver walk right through
its death

I know I was not called, nor welcomed
And I know there are worse wars to be ceased
but I only see the bruises on
this child’s dusty face, and bones—
bones and how they push at his ragged flesh
I know not of the demon that lurks within his shadow
Or what tales you carry under your glamorous suit
or what told him to try running with your coins—

And I know there are worse wars to be ceased
—I know there are worse wars to be ceased
and I know— but please for the sake
of dawn’s first ray, of sea’s first breath
don’t hurt him—

chew the shards of glass
between your overcast teeth
and promise me this time—

promise me you wouldn’t lie.

doesn’t feel too good with
blood overflowing in your
mouth, does it? did it turn
the ashes into putrid mud,
as well, and pour out from
every orifice in a thick, dull
sludge, confessing the crimes

tucked quietly behind those
calculating, glimmerless eyes…

does the crunching of glass
sound like the bones i broke
trying to convince myself that
your gaping lips are meant for
more than blatant fabrications—

does the crunching of glass
sound like sweet music to you,

the way it does to me right now?

I have no mercy
For you
Any longer.

I wish I did.

I won't surrender
No.
I can't.

I've come too far
On my own journey,
Yes. I'm not a heartless villain
Like Disney.

I can feel it destroying me
I am a child of anger
Until the battle is done.

I can feel it
Burning in my veins
The rage
In my blood

You stepped too far
You pushed too far
You thought you were safe.

You thought you were
Untouchable.

But people talk
And talk
And talk
And now I'm done.

You don't seem to understand
That you need to run

Because I know more than he does
And you're naive
If you think I won't tell him.

You can sleep for today
But tomorrow we fight.

product of butchered philosophy
men must suffer at the hands of those distracted
by their thirst for their self interest  
punishment is dealt at the request of politics
radical voices
which are silenced by the liberty bred into the rebel
who too fought against crimes
seeking refuge in a new land
but would not allow refuge to those
who suffered at the hands of their destruction

A rope swings gently in the wind
hanging from an elevated stage
an audience mills below the steps

From a gleaming metal bared window
a young women in plain clothes watches
she sits proper and straight before her fate

They come at dawn clacking with her chains
she holds her head high down the hall
as tears stream down her petite face

The steps are high as they hoist her up
ringing the rope around her fragile neck
the roughness is a promise of darkness

In the crowd she sees her children mourning
Not yet dead she smile at them sadly
and mouths “I’ll always love you”

There is an ominous thump from below
and she struggles in the air hands grasping
too light for the rope to snap her neck

Hours and hours later the crowd gone
she breathes her last breath alone
hanging for something she didn’t do