Wednesday, September 16, 2009


by WahhBAM

I am from the pencils that yell out the ugliness
This place is degrading, a stink
It’s no good, no use
There is no oxygen, just fear that cloud in the atmosphere
Our homes are our turtle shell
The man holding the gun is possessed by evil spirits
I am from the bullets that are the ghosts that tease us with death
I am from the footsteps of these murderers that walk through the icy night
I am from the music that quake the Earth’s soul, the flashy cars that zoom down the block
I am room the rocking chair that whines and aches on the hardwood floors for so many generations of old people have sat on it
I am from the books that itch from someone to flip their pages.
They invade the human’s mind and create wonderful illusions
The books are just like cigarettes
The words are the nicotine
You’re Lifeless, Empty, Lost without them


Sara said...

Wow, this is a really amazing poem. You're a talented writer.

Anonymous said...