There's No Need To Kill You In My Mind

It all came undone in the course of
a few minutes; the peace of mind I had been
striving for completely blown away with the
sound of her voice on the telephone, that
grating, harping scrape of a voice that's
been poisoning my system for years, the
voice that brings up all the childhood shit
I've written countless poems about, poems I
dove into and tried to hide behind, pieces of
me she couldn't control; the truth bleeding
onto the page while I screamed out my hatred
and frustration towards her, trying so hard to
get out from under that psychotic thumb of hers,
taking my first drag off a cigarette when I was
ten, petting stray cats and running the risk of
a needle in the gut, sleeping with men I didn't
know, balling all that up into a fist I continue
to vehemently shake at her, trying so hard to be
my own person, to keep riding risks in order to
break the mold and feel fucking alive and this is
what I cannot make her understand; that by shutting
herself away in her house and trying to control
me and live her life through me she is already

An Alternative To Murder

It's not the end of the world--
the words will come when they are ready

getting it all out on paper
is the only truth I've got;
how else can I embody this uncontrollable,
destructive urge roiling inside me?

This time-bomb frustration formed from years
of psychological turmoil that only a
maladjusted child could possibly harbor,
nurture and eventually project?

I was simply a silent, innocent sponge
taking it all in;
biding my time
just waiting
to wring myself

I'm 38, having written poetry for the past 17 years.
Currently back in the publishing world after having
taken a 2 year hiatus due to creative apathy and
temporary insanity--which, actually may have enhanced
my writing. It has certainly enhanced my weirdness.

I currently have a book available, "Piss On Your
Parade," up for grabs at a mere $5.00. Contact me at

2008 Underground Voices