Tonight's Headlines

Having lost my tortured poet's soul
I am no longer seeking solace ---
only to strike with a poison-fanged
Pen.
Wryfaced and smiling I stand to break
Down your walls of infantile kneejerks
and poetic plaintive whinges.
You who have suffered none
While I watched my brethren dive
headlong into the river Styx
And laid myself on eggshell carpet
artists soul seeping out my eyes
my heart and my precious lungs
Unable to lift the hand to hold the
pen to tell the tale of my fallen
downward woes in a schizophrenic
haze.
It may have been all in my head but
for better than a year my head
was all I had.
Black souls birthing in my every breath,
Staves swords cups stars circling
fingers toes, an omen in every blade
of grass my charges prematurely plucked
So don't talk to me about cruelty,
or what you are capable of.
I know better than you
how you got here
and where it was you got lost.