Maybe it was during a group confrontational session.
Maybe it was during a rap.
Maybe it was during a seminar.
Maybe it was somewhere else.
An artist could describe this feeling.
A poet could.
I don't know words well enough to, but I have felt it before.
It never really goes away.
Ever?
Baby Blue
the wastbasket waits to recieve your emotions. Love anger hate sorrow, all your insane notions.
I'm wetted down with ink and have no words with which to blott it.
Stay away from me, before I turn on you.
My hatred has run free, my heart truned baby blue.
I rage this war against myself
and I'm not the only casualty.
No ones leaving this play alive
This play of mass tranquility.
Curtin call and I walk
Curtin drops, I stumble & fall.
Tripped by my material needs
Look out to the gawking creeds
Silent whisper becomes a roar
I pick myself up off the floor
AND I WAS FORCED TO BOW DOWN TO THE CROWD LAUGHING AT ME.
I rage this war aginst myself
And I'm not the only casualty
Take ten paces back and fire
See who falls first to their knees
Cera Ouish