Your name—
Screaming in violins.
The clock on the wall,
ticking in a rhythm—
A crooked dance.
Behind closed eyes,
I see your
million white eyes
staring down dark halls.
Red lights only glowing.
A green exit sign,
always there, taunting me.
Like a vivid dream
gone wrong—
My heart, my body,
your eyes—
locked in place.

I̶ ̸c̵A̸n̶'̵T̵ ̵M̸O̶V̶E̶

The red walls talk.
I used to know them,
whispering to my left—
Turning into screams
of the violin.
On the dead TV to my right,
an amber alert goes off…
A glitching static,
breathing heavy and low—

y̸O̶u̷ ̸B̸r̴O̵k̶E̵n̵ ̷m̶E̵.̴

The room hums louder
in violins and TV static.
The red walls—
breathing heavy and loud.
Pale eyes—
Watching close upon me,
tearing my chest open—
Burning, bleeding,
wounds open, hearts exposed.
A hand of a million poor souls
slammed the TV screen and walls—
Over and over
into a cursed rhythm,
My heartbeat—
Screaming—
Screaming—
s̴C̷r̵e̸A̷m̵I̷n̶G̸—
Until it shatters.
The clock stops ticking.

y̴O̴u̸"̷r̴E̸ ̷L̷o̸S̵t̴.̶.̷.̵
̸N̸e̷V̸e̸r̴ ̷f̶O̶u̶N̶D̸.̶.̴.̷
̴w̶H̵o̶ ̵h̵a̶V̵e̷ ̴y̷O̶u̴ ̸
b̶e̷E̵n̷/p̷R̵a̷y̸I̸N̴g̶ ̷t̷O̴
̵a̶L̸l̷ ̵t̸H̸i̴s̸ ̸t̶I̶m̵E̸?̶

Each corner I turn,
my heart hurts—
Burning in ashes,
beating, bleeding—
Lurking everywhere.
Scars on my arms,
barely healing—

I think about you
every once in a while,
standing out in
wild nightmares.
I hugged you in a dream,
whispered sorry for lost times.
I know you still hate me—

**** it.
I don’t want you,
running back,
coming and going—
Go burn
in paradise!

I remember yesterday,
walking down the street
with crooked trees dancing
and the sun burning down
from the heavenly
sky-blue and pink skies—

Crows and winds
screaming in laughter.
Surrounded by
a crowd of souls.

The one stood out.
Like a ghost
of nightmares,
he walked past
through me.

My heart skipped
an important beat—
And there,
my heart bleeds
in blood and cold tears
from memory.

hope is a butterfly
it dances in front of your face
until you try to catch it
then it flutters away like
its got other places to be
and if you do manage to catch it
you'll only damage it

there are broken pieces all around me
and the more I try to pick them up
the more I get cut
I stare at the blood
is it worth it?
to put myself back together
if it only hurts me worse?
I set down the pieces
I don't use them to stab the ones who broke me
I don't use them to fit back into the puzzle
I simply lay them down
and pretend like they don't exist

a hum in the head of the moon

a word in the wash of the stars

heard well above the din
brightly poured forth

red roaring light
in one last lunge

and done

a part           of yourself
apart            from yourself

dusted away
once upon a shelf

I met a woman
Who taught me
How to find someone
I used to be

Neighbors are arguing

I am uncomfortably

Smoking a cigarette

Trying not to listen to them

Trying instead to focus on this podcast

About militarized police

And how democracies end

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                           Let Us Celebrate No Tyrants Day


                           “We have no king but Caesar!”

               -A long-ago mob as written in St. John 19:15


Even the King of Kings is under the Law
And too, since Magna Carta, our earthly King -
From the people and their voices he can only draw
Such powers as their assemblies vote to bring

But may God protect us from a Common Man
Slithering to supremacy through serpentine speech
Emboldened by the power of cabal, club, and clan
Mobs chanting for their master, a soul-******* leech

God gives us His grace in a King and Queen
Republics give us the guillotine

I want someone to slap me
And chop off my head
I hope it's painful
And that it will continue to be painful for the few minutes before I am dead