Five dozen shouting.

All mouths open vocalizing hatred for hate –

some to be cool, others to get it out –

shouting loud,

looking left and right for the movement.

Where’s it going?

Never looking from where it came;

The people in my world are all for free speech

so long as it’s not mine.

Stemmed from a mind of national concern,

it hardly counts as an emergency

when I try to dig my nails into the glass

separating me from the world

words

like amorphous chunks of metal

they rest on a shelf in my brain

and beg to be molded

I long to hold them in the

fire of my skull

till they are soft and malleable

Dear Mr. Uber-Goth,

I don’t pretend to understand the intricacies within the mind of any literary genius, but I’ve got to let it out...your endless pessimism is bringing me down.