That Feeling Inside

That feeling inside,
deep in the pit,
the one to make me nauseous,
that makes me physically sick,
the brush-by move,
the perversion of circumstance,
the cowardly protection
of the self-destructive romance,
the wooing on an inner
illness to come outward
to further perpetuate
the attention-screaming coward,
the tumor grows further,
the cancer spreading quicker
with a shield to protect it
that gets continually thicker.
The death sentence calls,
the time for execution now,
never knowing what hit me,
the death toll clear and loud.

Streets

Love, let the love
go with the drum beat,
take your head to bang above
and to move your feet
as your body will follow
and do what it does
to rise above the noise, to go
over the insufferable fuzz.
The voices in the back
that go and go and go,
that repeats on the track
that never gets slow,
the problems they face
may be the same as ours
but it's a different place
that seems awfully far
with the streets going loud
and the pain even louder,
with the violence proud
and only getting prouder,
they tell you to check
and to check it out
before you go down in the wreck
and are left to scream and shout.
The go-getter gets you
and leaves you for the fishes
no matter what you do
as you're left in the ditches,
the battle that surrounds
now is that which consumes
as death and blood abounds
with only the pain that blooms.

Time's Erasers

Candy cane falls
from the sky
to kill all
the dreams that die.

Like a harsh choking
from all an octopus's arms,
there is no joking
in all that harms.

Death continually rising
until all a false pretense,
no goodwill hunting surprising
the life-support common sense.

Clocks all slipping
away from all chasers,
there's no use for gripping
while fighting time's erasers.