slaughter: a spectator sport

violent self-destruction
of one young man
brings forth senseless,
seemingly endless
tragedy for
many youthful ones..
too much life
yet to live,
sacrificed to
a blasphemous god,
unmerciful and
unforgiving
under yesterday's
harsh sun.

and after being numbed
by relentless
newscasters
creating panic-stricken
shockwaves
through the world
from dawn till dusk,
we return to
the carnage
that unfolded
before our eyes
by gossiping
about that tortured man
and his troubled past
as water cooler fodder
next to the boss' desk.

but for what?
to deal with
and process such
needless hate?
to accept
unjustified bloodshed
without so much
as a second look?
so sensational the stories,
so surreal the macabre
scenes of humans massacred,
so desensitized as a people
that we don't bother
to attempt to grasp
these events as travesty
without being
personally invested.

it's just another
"morally bankrupt soul
creating heinous crimes"
observed
by the self-righteous
peanut gallery
looking on--
but the spectators
aren't harmless
or innocent
with their apocalyptic phrases
and dramatic scandals,
destroying humanity
and desecrating the dead
with each and every
sacrilegious word.

- shay

wasted yesterdays

dazed, still stumbling
over old obstacles,
ripping scabs from
healing wounds,
reliving the searing burn
of a broken heart
for a second time.
but what was once anger
and revenge--
resentment for what was
and what should have been--
now a simple despondence,
a single wet tear
sliding gracefully down my cheek
to rest on my chin..

a longing look of love,
knowing i'll yearn forever more,
my hand slips from your grasp
and i turn away...
my tears my only goodbye.

you don't owe me those
wasted yesterdays,
you don't deserve to
revisit the horrors in
our memories..
my wounded heart won't bounce
back with your apologies
so don't try to relive
that yesterday for me.

my past relived by the
girl i was,
wondering where i went wrong,
struggling with nightmares and
pulled under by the weight
of my tragedy.
screaming for help,
no one hearing my cries,
just reach for my hand
and pull me into your life..

but your safety is false,
your eyes are devilish lies,
inviting me in just to
destroy me within
and my search for escape
is how you capture me
in your arms.

and i don't want to hear
about those wasted yesterdays,
i don't deserve to
revisit the horrors in
our memories..
my destroyed heart can't bounce
back with your simple apologies
so don't bother reliving
that yesterday for me.

my past left behind by
the woman i am,
knowing i went wrong with you,
the only nightmare following me
now is you with your tragedy.
so scream, i dare you...
shake the world with your cries,
reach out your hand
and hope that your escape
won't lead to the destruction
of both today and tomorrow...

and i won't hear
about those wasted yesterdays.
and i won't revisit our memories..
my healing heart needs to move on
so don't relive the pain for me.
with only tomorrows,
there's no more yesterdays for me.

- shay

emotional embalming

still as a corpse,
unable to move my fingers,
my head, my feet..

watching as the
devil slowly corrupts me,
tempts me with rebirth--
life anew--
and such temptation is succulent,
the taste of life so sweet.
but i'm persecuted
for mistakes,
for err in judgment,
for things i couldn't
yet accomplish in
26 years of being.

hearing the gavel
slamming down,
creating a wooden
ring so hollow,
my soul shatters
into shards of
bleeding glass,
piercing others
with the pain
that i've waded through
waist-deep
for all the years
that i've been me.

and the shadows
loom like the night so black--
hovering over me
like the stagnant stench
of death.
i fade back into the
corner where i've
been condemned--
a fate worse
than the hell
i expected.

breaking free of
my own transparency,
bringing myself
back from the brink,
refusing to allow
my existence to go on
without me.
being haunted
in this purgatory,
this soulless limbo--
where life passes me by--
i cannot simply
be that ghost anymore.

but the pain of
crawling out of my grave,
of feeling alive
and allowing the feelings
to rush back into me
floods my heart with
doubt and uncertainty.
if i allow myself
to truly live,
to give it my all,
the bottled agony
will escape the airtight seal
and rush through my body
as my heart pumps
and my hands throb
with every beat.

happiness will still
elude me
as i drown in my sorrows,
filling the bath tub
with nothing but tears.
leaking emotions,
and still,
simply performing the motions..

afraid to look inside--
worried that i AM
that paralyzed corpse,
and rotting inside.
terrified that my hell
is simply to lay
in my grave,
able to see, to think,
to see the stars above,
knowing that my fate
is sealed
and all i can do now
is cover my
sullied, rotten life
with lime
and decay the days away.

- shay

taxidermy and rotten tomatoes

i walk into her house,
always spotless, serene,
simply divine and sublimely clean.
the pantry screams
of an OCD dream,
red cans stacked
against the inside corner,
green vegetables
gathered along the
bottom shelf,
and a haphazardly
revered collection
of ruined, spoiled
non-perishables
that she just can't imagine
throwing away.
cans with bulging lids,
jars growing assorted molds-
and through disgusted awe,
i secretly, slowly
move them closer
to the trash--one by one.
a victim of her own psychoses,
she scolds me,
chides me as if she
were cooking those
soiled goods
at the very next meal.
every possible possession
with its own special
resting place,
even the cat that died
last fall still has a home-
her usual spot upon the warm VCR,
looking a little less lively
these days.
i shake my head;
i put it out of my mind.
trying to help
only does her harm-
she constantly repeats that
she's completely fine...
taxidermy and rotten tomatoes
to hide her lurid skeletons-
her otherwise perfect house
to conceal her messy life
that plays an endless game of
hide and seek inside.
clocks mounted in rows
in the front hall,
every one with a different chime,
a different time,
a different era to define.
antique pictures
of generations past,
families not of her own
lining the living room walls.
bought off of other people
for pennies on the dollar
at garage sales
exclaiming that everything goes.
so she claims that
family as new to her
and every day,
she stands there
staring into the
eyes of the dead,
creating fairy tales,
imagining the lives
they might have led.
touching every
portrait as she passes by,
she wonders what lies
good pictures can hide.
seeing beyond the faces
she finds the stories
and the secrets they confide
in the passage of time.
she loves her newspapers,
many decades old..
she knows them all by heart
because she memorized
every innuendo,
every white space,
every statement,
every black line--
she doesn't need to read them anymore
and yet she keeps them
as a celebration to what once was.
every holiday,
her rituals show
as she deftly unwraps gifts
to keep the ribbons and bows.
she uses her swiss knife
to cut the tape on packages
in order to fold and store
the sparkly wrapper
that once adorned
a trinket swiftly
and randomly thrown away.
she keeps telling me
she'll use it all again one day.
her packrat mentality
governs what goes and what stays.
but her needless hoarding
of unnecessary shiny things
keeps these materials
in their own little nook
rather than being consumed
as tinder in her old furnace
or being recycled into
that single-use coffee cup
she insists on using three times.
i just want to
show her that the cup leaks
just like the roof
by the back door.
but she doesn't listen
to anything i say--
she's unwilling to hear
what she consistently calls
my aural manure.
so i silently
attempt to clean
her once impeccable house,
wiping the cobwebs
from the ceiling,
sweeping the dust
up off the floor.
she sees me at work
and she chastizes me
and tells me
i'm not allowed
in her house anymore.
it's her stuffed cat,
it's her life
frozen in time.
they're her rotten
vegetables,
they're her visual
distractions from
all ties that bind--
a desperate way
to forget the heartache
of the day her soul died.
it's not for me to decide
what she should keep,
she says once more.
it's her house and
she's absolutely fine..
ghostly chimes toll the hour
and haunted portraits lure
you into her world obscured
by taxidermy and rotten tomatoes
to hide that
scarred and traumatized mind--
a constant cycle of jekyll and hyde--
concealed by that cluttered life..
and the hide and seek
of her forgotten memories
that is found deep inside.

- shay

backed into a corner

trapped,
backed into a corner
like a snake ready to strike.
afraid to speak, to yell,
to cry-
scared to draw blood
when i finally bite.
retreating one last time,
finding a place i can hide
away from anger and pain
resentment and contempt.
no other room
to house these bones,
a skeleton's shaking
leaving everyone quaking
when my teeth finally sink in.
guarding my shattered heart
and what's left of my mind,
a broken body
too weak and worn
to carry your burden
and your stress anymore.
closing the door to the closet
turning off the lights
so no one notices me
hiding inside.

- shay

indelible footprints

footsteps in a march of purpose

impressions left in plush carpet,
resounding thuds on a
hardwood floor,
rattle of a slamming glass door

puddle being trailed quickly
down the sidewalk and onto
the matted grass--
two thin paths--
through the front yard

and a silent good-bye
as those two feet
disappear from sight,

independently walking forward.

- shay

hues and shades

looking at
the painter's palate,
seeing black and white--
different as day and night--
to find only
grey in between,
too murky the waters,
not quite the
distinct dichotomy
it seemed.
because that night
and that day
spin viciously,
forever devouring
the end of the other.
but it will still be dark,
and it will still be light.
it's the complexity
of them encompassing
this same little world
that perplexes me.
it's the light in my eyes-
that twinkle, that shine-
when I see what's sublime
and truly great
before my eyes.
but i cannot cover the rage
boiling inside-
that relentlessly dark corner
where evil resides.
and it scares me
when i hear
that i simply can't hide.
and the darkness
will manage to consume
the light in all
its vulnerability.
and all i can think,
with complete disbelief,
is that i find all of this--
in me.
all of me, helping
the people i can touch before me.
and, all of me,
creating words of hypocrisy.
the lines of good, of evil-
this yin and that yang-
seem like easily drawn boundaries
but in reality,
are smudged and vague.
the colors in me,
they bleed.
like paint,
it runs over lines
to collect in divots
and puddle in the corners.
so how can someone
be good and humane,
when inside lurk
such anger and rage?
can it be that these
stereotypical names
for dark and light-
so bold and so bright-
are just as undefined?
and this two-sided insanity
that black and white create
is not quite the paradox
that it seems...
as the colors, again,
will bleed-
to form a striking,
quite beautiful hue of grey--
in me.

- shay

beauty lies in the broken

laying on a
dated ranch-themed couch
grasping the remote
as if with a purpose
that not even death could defy
or undermine

surfing the channels
catching a wave of fun
to be let down
by drowning in useless
reruns of tv shows
about golden girls and empty nests

tossing and turning
at my own pitiful demise
of being dumbed down,
losing iq points by the handful,
to become a peon
in a time soon to come

restlessly debating
a change in my life’s pace
only to be stopped
by a phone call
to wake me up,
jolting me into action

and i run for the door
forgetting jacket and shoes
sprinting down sidewalk
adrenaline racing through me,
blocking me once from pain—
reminding me i still have a life to lead.

i see the sky again for the first time,
feel the grass and the gravel
beneath my feet.
experiencing miracles one by one,
i’m among the living as proof
that beauty even lies in the broken.

- shay

morphine for the soul

cold alcohol
rubbed over warm skin,
searing already open wounds.

tapping, slapping
and pinching skin,
looking for a
fresh vein of
crimson red to mine.

breathe in,
breathe out-
talk to me,
tell me about your day.
calm down,
it doesn't hurt that bad.
take a deep breath,
it's just a little pinch.

digging with
sharp needles
in soft, delicate flesh
looking for that
prime real estate
that yields
scarlet ribbons
more precious than
oil itself.

that spot's been
tapped too many times-
let's just look at the
other arm.

and i grudgingly
and reluctantly
allow the torture to go on.

cold alcohol
scrubbed over worn skin,
pouring into freshly pierced holes.

flicking, squeezing
and caressing skin,
seeking just one
throbbing vein
to pop up and say hello.

breathe in,
breathe out-
talk to me,
tell me about your child.
calm down,
there's no need to cry.
it's just a little stick-
it won't hurt so bad this time.

sliding the
needle in,
look for that
heavenly burgundy wine.
yank the needle half-way out,
find that rare wine's vessel
and drive the surgical steel home.

finally a spot
that'll let someone in-
a club not quite as exlusive
like the rest of the city is.

feeling the rush of
cold water
running through my veins-
it's time for medicine,
and finally,
i praise.

watching solution
being drawn into
a syringe-
they tap and shake it
to get every last drop in.

the first needle of the day
that doesn't bring tears
to my eyes.
it will never touch my skin-
and, well-
i look forward
to what's inside.

for too long,
i've suffered-
and barely, i've survived.
now this is my moment-
i can finally feel alive.
it's a drugged moment, sure,
ecstasy in a muted, deluded form
but without agony
wracking my body,
this moment is pure and sublime.

watching the syringe's plumber
being pushed down
by hand-
medicine taking its course
before getting under my skin.

but they don't
warn you
that it might
ignite a fire inside-
telling me it could sting
isn't a warning-
it's a lie.

the fire slowly
moving through
my hand
and up my arm,
leaving a form of
burns behind-
eyes rolling back
into my head,
wondering why people
say pain makes you feel alive.

all that pain has ever done
is make me realize
how badly i want to die.

but then my head
starts floating,
heading for cloud nine.
a rush of giddiness
and laughter take over
and i know it's time.

time to relax and rest-
time to smile for a while
and forget about it all
as i get to enter
a temporary heaven
after all that hell
with a little
morphine for the soul.
- shay

a hostile takeover of my life

ambien dreams and
xanax nightmares-
some of the only things
left that make me
feel alive..

the pain rampaging
through my body,
the wracking of nerves
the writhing of a body-
my body-
simply wanting to reach sleep
one more time.

the coursing of blood
through my veins
brings sharp,
endless stabbing
with a knife
made only of the bitter cold air.
through my hips,
down my thighs,
under my kneecap
it begins to thrive.
my calf starting to
burn with fierce heat
of more pain
than one person can survive..
still not over,
my resolve crumbles
when it takes over
my ankles,
becoming a pulsing
beating heart of agony
in my feet.

my skin no longer glowing
with young age--
the effervescent pinks
and peaches of a
youthful face
being replaced by wrinkles,
the result of holding back
the tears
the screaming
the torture
of living a life in
unadulterated pain.
slowly turning yellow
with toxicity,
my liver rejecting
the help and relief
that my doctors
promise they can bring.
my kidneys slowly
going on strike,
holding up the signs,
marching on the picket lines
that though their job ain't done
they simply don't see
the worth in going on.

and of course this leaves my
mind and heart shattered..
and not because of loneliness
on this slow path to death,
but simply that my body,
my heart, my mind, my soul
have foregone the pleasantries
of support
or at least a polite good-bye
as they head for the hills
and the shell of my body
is all that's left
to take the brunt of a battle
brought on by myself.

each day i am closer
to simply living in the shadows
as i move into the darkness
of a death undignified,
leaving behind a life
without merit,
without accomplishment,
and without anything
for someone else to learn by.

i am now that ghost,
that incomplete life
that is leaving
a lot of unfinished
business behind.
i am not yet dead,
barely alive..
but the haunting
has begun--
the possibility
of what was and
what could have been
torturing my soul,
showing itself in
dark corners
and lightless alleys,
haunting myself
in the living
with the death of
the life i was supposed to lead.

- shay

sanctuary

small blue plush rug
on a vinyl laminate floor
becomes my haven
my sacrosanct heaven
with dirty pajamas
piled by the door
garbage can filling up
with empty toilet paper rolls
the faint smell of
an old urine and shampoo
concoction gone wrong.
the glare of vanity lights
making my skin appear
pale and yellow,
highlighting the bruises
of a nurse's bad aim.
fully knowing,
at the same time,
of my beauty and my pain.
expired makeup
and excessive amounts
of fragrant body lotion
that continue to go unused.
children's bath toys
scattered on the ceramic surface
of a tub that's long been dry.
only in this place
where both the dirty survive
and the clean flourish
can i find my peace,
my inner wars,
the torment inside my
mind becomes clear
when the bathroom
is the only place i can hide.

- shay

skewed view

i don't see
why he doesn't see
my point of view-
i try to show him
what i know
and everyday
remains the same-
pointing out such
unpolluted beauty,
untouched by dirty
hands that are always trying
to make him less than a man.
no matter how soft his touch
no matter how pure the sparkle
in his eyes
no matter how stunning, gorgeous,
graceful, and pleasing he may be,
he seems to fail to see exactly
what i see.
his view is skewed--
unjust and cruel to himself.
his mirror is incomplete
and off-colored, showing
him things that are not
really portrayed.
how do you make someone see
in themselves
what is standing before your eyes?
how do you show someone
what the world envisions
them to be?
i wish i could show
him my mirror
and let him take a peek,
let him stand there
so my view will completely soak in-
that he's not a commoner
belonging to third string...
instead that he is able to captivate me
with both his irresistible appearance
and his remarkable mind.
an intense being with a pure heart,
unadulterated by life and the anguish
that it brings.
all the beauty sans the beast.
forever incomparable to the watered-down
version of himself that he sees.
- shay

the madness always stays

find me in the bathroom,
the closet,
the corner where the light
doesn't quite shine.
and i'll be there.
smoky pages
in a dirty notebook
from too many nights
in dank bars
too many cigarettes lit
too many drinks sloshed
around like rain.
pens abound in a shoulder bag,
most running out of ink
quicker than i can possibly write.
perhaps i wield them as swords
and fight into that dark night.
i'm more than i could possibly be
in those dreams
where i'm more than me.
on paper,
i have substance,
i have facets,
i have a mind
a personality
a heart of gold
where feelings lie dormant
but still exposed.
but i am still that ghost,
haunted by my own transparency
and grounded by
the madness,
the nightmares,
the dreams..
the other realms
where feelings come alive
with a stroke of a pen,
where i'm more than
a shadow
watching the sundial fade,
where i have the chance
to be more than just me.

- shay

inspirational manifestation

scattered blueprints,
broken constellations,
a supernova's searing burn,
darkness of death fighting
the light of life.
images unraveling
like a thread
breaking free,
nothing short of a miracle--
seeing the unseen.
trying not to inhale
the stagnant stench of death--
fighting the chill of a ghost,
a shadow,
colliding with the light,
leaving just an image,
a heavenly glow
creeping through doorways
and into dark corners.
inspiration creating motivation,
something uttered in a subsonic tone
awakening the subconscious--
beginning dreams in a wake
and slumber
otherwise unknown.
- shay

restoring a broken canvas

a random smattering of paint
flinging a brush with abandon..
a collage of colorful ideas
creating an incomplete thought
fleshed out with a bounty of feelings,
given freely without restraint.

initially bright and wet,
light glistening from the canvas
like a prism or a pristine gem
the hues and shades running together,
bleeding from the cut,
a stroke of a wielded pen.

mottled, speckled
like a robin's egg,
perfect in its imperfections..
beautiful in its asymmetrical form--
seeking understanding and respect
for its deviance from the norm.

tough skin,
hardened by time
though soft when pressured.
too many burdens from life--
always looking for shelter
until completely ready to shine.

chip away the layers,
break down the wall of pleasure and pain
revealing older colors of a different day.
take care of it--protect it from harm.
constant care, trust and kindness collide
revealing the radiance of love without pride.
- shay

Learning to Fly

angel with broken wings
falling from heaven to the earth below
mending wounded hearts,
carrying the weak and worn,
assuming the burdens of a people
who just can't take the pain anymore.
angel with a blinded heart
helping everyone along the way,
lifting people up no matter what they might say.
always looking to make things brighter,
to shine light and love into the corners of
unhappiness, destruction, and hate.
angel who cannot take the pain,
having her wings broken--
feathers pulled out one by one.
the anger, hurt, hate all-consuming,
turning her into what she cannot be.
she's turning into me.
angel with a last request
before tempting fate one last time.
she mends her torn heart and carries on
to heal the injured, to ease the pain--
looking to fly once again--
this angel with broken wings.

- shay

a proverb of love

devoid of jealousy and arrogance,
always selfless, full of trust,
able to persevere without pride or lust.
protecting truth, faith and hope,
deprived of resentment and contempt
and all you have left is love.

- shay

masterpiece

an artist's masterpiece
phenomenal beauty
sun always shining on his face
a twinkle in his eye
a smile or grin
the slightest of dimples
indenting his chin
sweet, serene calm
asleep or awake
a complete work of art
all of nature's perfection
so rare to find
in one man today.

- shay

games

i think i’m over you-
it’s time to move on
to better times
better men
but you still take over
my soul at times
and tormenting me
seems to still be
your favorite game to play.

- shay

Politics of Saving a Life

i can't compute
the reasons why
she went under the knife
she didn't have to die
the resources are there
to save her
because of some other woman
who took a life
from her own womb.
nothing but sorrow
and hatred in men,
always looking for the
easiest way
the direction
that profits,
the road that
brings them out
ahead of the pack.
i don't understand
why i have to die
before my life is over
it's not my time;
i can be saved-
she could have been too-
by the woman
who paid for
her costly mistake
with the death of
her soul
and her child unborn.
politics rule,
a tyranny of words
ready to take out
someone's tongue
too liberal for them
with such a swift sword,
striking with laws
unnecessary for our time.
just wanting that buck
in their pocket
not mine-
declaring religion
their driving reason,
using it as an excuse
for their quick judgment
on men who should not be judged
by anyone but God Himself.
so let God save
and God condemn-
don't tell me that
you can't or that
you won't save me
because you don't have the money
and you don't have the time.

- shay

drowning in suburbia

a single decision can tip the scale-
like shopping at the local mall,
ready to purchase a polo shirt.
then you look for the
khaki chinos to match,
you climb into your sedan,
perfectly suited for
your average family of four.
driving through school zones,
waiting in car lines for
children to emerge,
the family expands
as you mind begins
the process of caving
in on itself,
far passing its peak.
sedan now too small,
you sashay onto the
showroom floor of
a Toyota dealership
in your Ralph Lauren sweater
and your Jimmy Choos.
leaving in a sanitized
silver minivan,
showing up to soccer practice,
coordinating the next
girl scout meeting,
joining a breakfast club,
sharing books with other
neighborhood moms.
packing in the kids,
on the highway in the
carpool lane,
getting lost
looking back to a younger age
where foolhardiness was sublime,
and rationality too inane
to actually succumb to.
but memories never linger long
with annoying kids
making demands
of more radio disney
and less broccoli at dinnertime.
now mentally taking note
of groceries needed buying.
selling your soul
for that little slice of
heaven that costs too
much from
month to month,
reaping not enough joy
from something
that taxes you too much-
and yet you call it
home sweet home.
rebuilding, renovating,
adding on rooms
till you can finally
settle on what will
never be your dream home-
and for what?,
to have the prettiest paint job
on an otherwise
ordinary brick façade,
fighting for the prize..
signs posted in your yard
bragging that,
for once and for all,
your landscaping is to die for.
commuting across town,
congested traffic
slowly making you allergic
to the city-
once beautiful in all
its king-sized glory,
now just box after oversized box,
street after endless street,
filling to the brim
with hateful people,
haughty women,
arrogant men,
bratty children-
more illegal activities
to satiate your every whim.
road rage
becoming an innocent's
demise,
just trying to get home
away from the city's lights.
and yet,
you fight, you struggle,
you get pulled under
by credit cards
and unnecessary bills
to keep up with the Joneses
and simply stay current
with the times.
you forget the fun
that lurks in your past
because you're too busy
slaving away your present
and your future,
behind a desk
in a cubicle
for a corporation
that will never remember your name.
you trudge home
to the house you settled for
in a subdivision
that's becoming too cramped,
filling up with larger houses,
pretending to be mansions,
so their owners can say
their abode is better than yours.
no room for a pool or a swing,
the yard disappearing
under the concrete foundation
of a new back porch,
all to accommodate that growing
family of four, gradually becoming more.
all the pain, so little gain.
no longer able to keep your head above water,
slowing going under,
drowning in suburbia.

- shay

Daddy Dearest

daddy says he'll take my hand,
lead me on the righteous path.
he'll keep me safe from the world's harm
and my purity from man's grasp.

daddy sees me come home one day
his arms outstretched wide-
his devilish eyes and his forked tongue
corrupting me with lies.

daddy reaches for me in a night's deep slumber
and grabs me, gropes me, pulls me under
for his one night of passion/pleasure-
claiming it was beyond his control.

daddy gives me nightmares
and my family thinks i lied-
every night after his disgraceful act,
i find new ways to die.

daddy isn't dead yet
but always has been in my eyes-
all i remember is being his little girl
and learning that daddies lie.

daddy swore to protect me
and keep other men at bay-
all he protected was his reputation
by calling me a drugged-out slut one day.

daddy really took my hand,
and my heart and soul that night
when he violated my body-
and stole all that was rightfully mine.

daddy, dearest, rot in hell,
since prison you survived-
you even stole my family's respect
and i sincerely hope you die.

daddy, when you meet your end,
you'll once again see my face-
i'll throw the dirt upon your grave
and hear every last breath you take.

- shay

Kerosene

the night is young; so are we.
let's drown ourselves in kerosene.
we'll strike a match, light a fire,
and we'll blow away our desire
to love, to hate, for lust and passion,
for wasting time and self-control.

it's getting late; it's dark outside.
can't we just go in and hide?-
from all the people, all the violence,
all the noise, all the silence.
just look at all the destruction we've caused
and damn it all to HELL.

there's no tomorrow--only today,
and we're wasting time away.
i just want to go and play
in the rain, in the fire,
in your head, in your desire.
there is no tomorrow.

look all around; we're getting dumb.
we're all confused; the world's a bomb.
the detonator's set, it's ready to blow,
but nobody here is ready to go.
they understand but cannot relate.
the end will come soon enough, but it's already too late.

you don't see, you don't understand.
i'm trying to tell you that we cannot be friends.
you hurt me before, and you'll do it again.
the problem is that you enjoyed it.
the time has come, the time to die...
our time together just passed us by.

in this place, in this world,
we'll solve the problems, and cure the disease.
we'll destroy the darkness; bring light by fire.
we'll destroy the violence which they desire.
we'll end the hate and create the peace
in this fire made with kerosene.

- shay

rage

rage-
from child to beast-
fire breathing from my soul
speeding,
slamming through the wall,
shouting to all and
creating hate among us-
seeing red through the Devil's eyes-
seizing her body rather than the day,
throwing her violently
against the already bloodied walls
of the small, padded room-
blindly struggling
against my own invisible constraints
of time, money, pleasure, and pain-
wanting to kill inner conflict,
personalities of my own-
rocking back and forth,
shaking,
chanting verses
in another tongue unknown-
trying to set myself free
of this trap,
this cage-
screaming myself to sleep-
sweet, docile, silent rage...

- shay

Window to Tomorrow

In a world full of windows,
No two are alike.
For out of every window,
You see a different sight.

There is a unique vision,
A discovery to be found.
And at each window,
There come many different sounds.

Some windows are steps to the present,
And some are links to the past,
While others become special journeys
To a world of tomorrow... open and vast.

Suddenly, it comes as revelation,
As clear as the stars in the night,
That you can look into tomorrow
And try to change wrong into right.

While trying to change everything,
You start failing.
Failing to the possible
Because you try to change the impossible.

You realize that fate has the grip-
Not only on your life, but your death.
Yet your ambitions are stronger than fate,
So you dare to plunge deep into your thoughts,
And what you discover
Is something you never expected to find.

It is love-
Love for the earth, for yourself, and for others.
This is what makes the world go'round,
And this small idea inside
Is not only the window to the past and present,
But the window to tomorrow.

- shay

Buried Alive

enjoy the day
death will seize you in the night
stars circling 'round the open grave
fresh dirt thrown in the air
creating a smokescreen
smelling of spring
pounding upon the casket
of your soul
brought forth
from giving in
letting others take control
of the life that belongs to you.
allowing others to rent your soul
only leaving an empty carcass
on a short leash,
mindless obedience
ready to auction
whatever's left
to the highest bidder,
a slave market where only
you are for sale,
instantly commanding
an audience with the devil.
go ahead,
placate yourself,
revel in the comfort of being a peon.
tell yourself that your gross inaction
won't cost you..
that following the leader
is still a step ahead.
come alive and
out of your inexcusable stupor.
deal with the grief
the madness
the anger
the sadness
the joy
the happiness
the ambivalence
of it all
instead of finding excuses
faking an illness
skipping out on the game,
piling dirt on your own
godforsaken grave.

- shay