we always were just antiswastic

teen disorders strewn randomly

across the chettah print shag carpeting,

dreaming of a demented dream world

with dead babies hanging from the trees,

ghost kids playing on the swingsets

and rivers of blood from

all the suicidal teens.

the ground is

shards of broken glass

and eggshells.

and we cried when we

read about all the

unborn baabies can actually

feel pain, and how

every some odd seconds

a child becomes and orphan

because of AIDS.

and we laughed at

how childish our own problems were.