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Scream, scream, screaming:

Help those drowning 

all around

and they look to their coffers,

and the piles fill into the coffins--

The tide is coming in and the flood

is just getting worse:

there's a rage building in the dead,

and we'll speak for them. 

Wretched bodies flung into a funeral pyre,

and the silence is deafening upon the pile,

and we see our love burned to ashes,

and we see their hands deep in pockets.

Cold hard cash for the winners and 

death sentences for everyone else. 

There's a cold rage building in the dead

and we'll speak for them. 

The march of the dead is coming and 

pitchforks are on our side this time.

Too big to fail too big to fall to big to take on

too big for their own good too big so

let's build ourselves and let them know

we're too big to ignore.

There's a cold rage building in the dead and

it just keeps growing and

we'll speak for them. 

If we're face down, six feet under, it doesn't matter

if their cash piles grow and grow

in the face of God they pray, bow, and pretend

it's fine as long as they say sorry

and it won't be. 

A cold rage is building in the dead,

am ember burning

threatening to blow it apart

and it just keeps growing

and

we'll speak for the dead. 

Long ago man started a fire,

it was small, tiny, on the brink,

but it kept burning, smoldering,

until it found new sources to grow.

It grew slowly, consuming more,

exponentially larger, grander,

man marveled at its creation,

that could destroy so much. 

It begins to consume man,

and man begins to fight it,

Frantically, full of panic, 

piling water onto it.

But so many men love the fire,

they deny its hand in consuming others,

that it is a myth so others will smother out

their greatest invention that gives them so much

power.

For those who can direct the fire care not,

whether it consumes an ant or an aunt,

because it gives them control over all,

those who fight it are condemned.

The condemned have outgrown the not,

but fire is a mighty foe that has grown vast,

it unlocks now for itself more raw material,

the extinction of many species trivialized. 

Mass extinction by fire. 

Will the new stewards halt the progress?

Or is too much consumed that now

the smoke and soot will bury them?

Slowly, the condemned become the saviors. 

The inner maelstrom

By jfarrell

My exterior:

Calm, relaxed; my eyes dart around everywhere,

But only a certain type of person looks for that;

Recognises what it is;

Most people miss it; and the slight tremor;

They just see calm, relaxed.

My interior:

Jumping to giddying heights,

Plummeting to treacherous self-pity;

Burning; freezing;

Wanting to cut your throat,

But wanting hide all feeling, thought of cutting your throat;

Battering your body;

Soaking you in petrol and dropping the match;

Bad jim, can’t feel that

Where’s the knife, the sharp one

Gotta cut, gotta pay, bad thought, gotta pay for that

No, don’t cut you, cut them, they the ones make you hurt

No, no, hide, cut me, I’m here, it’s my fault

I was bad

Hate this fear, this hate, this self pity this never ending

My exterior:

Calm, relaxed;

My smile breaks as I ask

“do you want fries with that, sir?”

I hope I don’t work at your favourite burger bar;

You’ll never know what’s going on behind that smile.

Impotent Rage

By jfarrell

What am I going to do?

This thug, twice my height, twice my width;

Says “One more word, and I gonna knock your teeth out!”

And I haven’t said anything.

When they stopped my ESA and housing benefit,

I jumped through all the hoops they told me to;

Went to college, quickly got paid employment

I know I still need more hours.

When they stopped my benefit I was £30 in rent arrears;

Now they say it’s all sorted out anew, I’m £777 in arrears;

Yes, I had a breakdown,

Yes, I was on benefits.

I didn’t actually let a kid break his ankles, when I was last working;

Because it nearly happened, coz I was ill;

I got the hell out.

I left my job, lost my home, was ill!

What am I going to do?

Shafted, how else would you see it?

Torn between murderous rage and cut my own wrists depression;

I hate impotent rage - and they tell me, that’s a choice too.

The doing nothing about it part;

Give in to your rage and righteous anger.

I wish meditation works

By JFarrell

Trust me,

Today I so wish mindfulness meditation actually works;

Let my thoughts come and go

Without judgement

Without holding on,

Without clinging to them.

Every thought, every breath screams

“Need alcohol!”

Waking to my cats vomiting;

Four days waiting on a so-called friend,

To get in touch with me,

After spending time I haven’t got

Doing him a favour.

Just wish,

I could close my eyes,

Take a deep breath

And let it out.

Especially the anger,

The nuclear rage I am feeling.

I’ve tried,

But, every thought, every breath

Just feeds the nuclear reaction.

And I know there is more to mindfulness,

But thinking, without judgement is central

To how it works,

And I can’t achieve that.

If it wasn’t for my love’s smile,

Engraved upon my heart, my mind,

I would be totally lost at sea.

She is my anchor,

My salvation.

You know who you are,

I love you, absolutely.

Twilight town
A black gown
Gray eyes with a blue sky but a slight frown
Brown hair. Greasy as if colored by a crayon

The crown fell down. It can’t be found.
A loss of hope
A tree with a rope
But you can’t cope with the hate.

Feelings have been raped. You’re without a mate
In your own zone like a closed gate.
This is fate.
April 17th. That’s the date

Woke up to a new reality.
Embracing my own mortality
Entirely broken. A fatality
Feeling like a monstrosity

Two halves. A duality
Walking away so elegantly
Hurt critically spiritually
An anal personality

Asshole.
Teaching myself individuality
Originality without formality.
Totally alone. Abnormality

Theoretically evil cause I don’t show hospitality
I treat everyone compassionately
But I despise them. Want to beat them constantly
Brutality. Fuck it.. I can’t stop my profanity

I don’t have a functional family.
I have a screwed up mentality
Skinny. Get thrown down by authority
Barbarity. Act like I’m a misanthropist.

I hardly get any rest. Too skinny that I can’t use my fist.
Instead I sit in my nest. But I need to fly to beat the rest.
Hit or miss. I never had a first kiss. Instead I was hit and dissed.
Cause I’m pissed. My life is shrouded by a thick mist.

I don’t know what lies in front of me
But as far as I can see. I control my own destiny
Nothing ever seemed to work out for me
I have so much insecurity.

But I’m going to be what I set out to be
I’m going to be the best I can be

The coating underneath

Eats away at surface cracks

You peel layers of me

As if I'm scabby flesh 

We work on me

Like we're dissecting the abnormal

Pushing and pulling 

Vulnerability grows

Haunting trails of voices

Linger in the open world

Soon growing hands

Upon my neck to grasp

Eyes too tired to be vibrant 

You've given me a sorrowful glow

Dark truths, a halo for my head

Misery flaunts an awful tone

Faint at first the drums beat, then louder. 
I have been unchained, unleashed. 
My cell has been opened. 
  
I feel the rhythm beating within my chamber. 
The furnace glows red and blood like steel boils. 
Burning veins from within . 
  
Outside vultures. 
Circling, dancing in the sky on tattered wings. 
Spitting venom. 
Their shadows block out the Sun. 
   
In darkness I stand alone. 
The drums beat their monotone    
  
The flame burns violently. 
Fed by pain, my inferno. 
It’s heat burns the darkness away. 
Pain retreats. 
  
 I surrender myself. 
With hatred engulfed I roam, 
Incinerating the beasts, ripping out their tongues. 
  
And when the fires subside, 
I look back at glowing cinders and ash. 
  
I flee, from myself, I return bound to Tartarus, 
Alone . 
  
Until the drums beat their monotone.