I have a foot that is tangled steel,

bloody,

crashing into shattered concrete.

Cry out!

Cry out!

Cry out against the unnecessity of your industrial

death smoke machine existence.

Cry out against your soon to be raisin

of a promised life,

your preprogrammed happy robot gestures,

your malignant moans

over a throbbing toe.

Cry out against your cookie cutter,

factory assembled,

prefabricated children.

Cry out against your poisoned blood,

sawed off liver,

coal black lungs,

ever degenerating mind,

rotting genitalia

being eaten from the inside

by worms, leeches, and bugs,

cavernous pus filled sores

waiting to erode through the corpse blue flesh.

Cry out against being unable to tell

the difference between last night’s dream

and last month’s sitcom.

Cry out against the late night shakes

pouring out of air exposed nerves,

generated by underground coils,

fueled by your own anxiety

over your darkness and your death.

Cry out against a life

which makes you pray for its end.

Just fucking cry out

until your lungs bleed,

your vocal cords snap,

your tongue goes limp and dies.

Cry out

until God decides to listen.