November 3, 2012
A Vesuvian tirade of bitterness
Ravaging my shackled hands,
Leaving me chained to the rocks
As the vultures tore my eyes out.

An outdated past tense of “macabre”
That knows no censorship and
Bleeds his abominable existence
Over my feeble O-type marrow.

The king on his throne of lies who
Signs a contract of authority without
Checking the fine print and the
Word “holocaust” between the lines.

The giant ocean pulsing over my
Limp body that forces its weight over
My lungs and will not let me breathe
But will not let me drown either.

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ChrisJ This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Nov. 5, 2012 at 3:55 pm
I love this, I write almost he exact same way sometimes! I think that you should read some of my pieces like 'The Watcher' and 'Abused'. This is really good!
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