As it calls for my name
I decline the opportunity.
Thoughts filled with hesitation
Feelings of guilt weigh heavy with temptation,

What am I to do when I crave attention
My body could only hold out for so long…

It calls for my name,
But I decline the opportunity
Thoughts filled with possibility
But guilt weighs heavier than any boulder
With feelings.

The weight of it all has me hunched over
The burning sensation of body heat under the scorching sun
Recreates the fire of Notre-Dame.

As it calls for my name, for one final time
I finally accept the opportunity
As the burning flames unfortunately take over
And I succumb to the fire.

1 ;Officer Brian Sicknick – Capitol Police officer, injured during the riot; died the next day. He was crushed. ( this is on video)

2 Officer Howard Liebengood – Capitol Police officer; died days later, connected to stress from the riot. He descended into madness and couldn't cope.

3 ' Kevin Greeson – Got so worked up chanting "**** Mike Pence " and building  gallows that he suffered a heart attack during the riot and none of the other goons stopped to help.. ( clear video of him chanting)

4 ; Rosanne Boyland – bedazzled mom , crushed in a crowd surge.

5 ;Benjamin Philips – got stuck in a mob  and overheated died of a stroke  participating in the riot.

6 ; Ashli Babbitt – shot by Capitol Police after threatening them while attempting to climb through a barricaded door.

Now ask yourself , if you had so much blood on your tiny little hands would they let you walk for inciting a deadly insurrection. ?

THESE PEOPLE DIED !   and their  blood IS  on Donald J Trumps spoiled, never worked , New York  Country Club,   ****,  Epstein Island V.I.P.,  1583 missing children in cages,   Veteran and cancer kid  scamming,   incapable  hands.

No matter what some whitewashed report says, those people died because of January 6,       full stop.               They didn’t die at home on the couch,                                      they didn’t die in their beds. They died because a sitting president whipped them into a violent mob and told them to      “fight like hell.”     They died because he  lit the match       posted the tweets    demanded the loyal act   created the frenzy , and then

tried to blame the fire on the woodpile !

This...
The shaking of a reed
The movement of the water
The flicking of a flame.

This...
The crying of a child
The weariness of the labourer
The burning skin from the sun.

This...
The racking pain of guilt
The salty tears of loneliness
The swan song of past glories.

This...
The masks of complacency
The contracts of acceptance
The closing of the mind.

This...
The continuing saga
The words that fill the pages
The lot in life we all share.

Why do you waste precious time on diamonds that don’t shine?
Which girl are you going to come back to that gives light when you cry
These lies man, it’s getting to you
You want acceptance when you can’t even preach
No microphone or rhythm on your street
Only electric on your avenue is the 2 minute satisfaction
You’re a waste of time man,
Calling yourself a man when you couldn’t give a ****
On the other hand, you could move to a new experience
Environments follow you forever, remember this
Regardless of your credit or situation
Can’t beat it, can’t save it? Deal with it
You could’ve had it all
The doors were open but you threw the lock away, the prize away, the ones away
Say, do you feel better about yourself now?
I hope you do,
Allow it on yourself

being sober feels like living in a shell
that doesn’t show who I am.

when I drink, I feel like a true human being,
like I am alive.

Suddenly, emotions flood me, and they feel real,
my heart beats in a rhythm beyond words.
It is an addictive warmth that spreads
in my body,

you could say it is like a disease,
but to me it feels like salvation.

love feels closest to my soul,
I feel like someone who belongs.
Not when I am sober.
sober, I am caged,
a cage I cannot escape.

a sickening guilt gnaws at me,
because I am my father’s daughter,
an alcoholic, not to his extent.
yet still I drink,
alone, without friends,
without sense.

I live in solitude, the only way it feels right.
the preacher at church
told me when I was eleven:
I wear my father’s sins like a veil,
as if I was born with it.

so maybe I don’t just look like him.
maybe I will become
what he regrets the most.

In the darkness of midnight, the moon turns away its face
I settle down behind my desk and write down my fate

I’ll form my sorrow in the shapes of lyrics and lines
Ones that won’t make sense in the bright morning light

The pen that bleeds ink made from my hatred and guilt
Words like stones that bring down the walls I have built

I’m the midnight poet, my safety the silence before dawn
So, at first light, all these thoughts will be gone.

I see where David Berkowitz got Jesus in prison
like they always do.
Now he runs a ministry, adept as he always was
at delivering
succinct
sermonettes
delivering people to God.

He was a postal clerk, always involved
with the Message.
Such converts have a carnival of explanations--
the devil
the neighbor's dog
and other invented booshwah.

Susan Atkins got Jesus in prison too
and wrote a memoir
about her redemption, her will turned over
from Charlie
to Christ
but it could have been Moonies or Ekankar.

There is a rat who lives in my garage.
He hasn't heard the Good News
but he never
hurts anyone.
He has published no book, leads no prayers.

He likes to hang out behind the shovel
that has never dug a grave.

The authorities let Leslie Van Houton, Caril Ann Fugate,
and Nathan Leopold out.
Karla Homolka changed her name and might be anywhere,
at services maybe,
holding a bible and smiling.
___

Hate swirls deep within my gut.
Hands covered in blood.
Muffled shouts—
I can't decipher
over the raging whirlpool
that is my mind.
I wipe the blood away,
but it comes back.
I don’t know how to hide it.
Everyone is looking now—
a thousand sets of beady eyes,
loudly judging in silence.
Murderer.
Traitor.
I hear their screeching now.
My ears bleed.
Guilty, GUILTY!
NO - I swallow the glass shards
with an unearthly growl
It hurts so much so
I run, far away.
Deep into the woods.
My lungs burn red too.
black smoke emerges from my ribcage
A trail I must follow
A one-track mind
follows the one-track path.
I run and I run—
faster, more desperate.
Footsteps thunder behind me
Are they His or mine?
I can see it now:
salvation.
I walk
to the glittering door
in the sky
straight off the edge
of a cliff.