The Fight.

I want to see red, red, red,
I want to be mean, to tear flesh
from bone- electricity from the root,
I want to move chemicals into such
a disarray all they want is to run.

I want to be the violence in their
eyes, I want to bite and claw at those
who speak of evil with blood on their hands,
I want to set the air on fire, see
mistakes burning to ashes on the ground.

I want to pin bodies to their spot,
only one stare to ignite something else
in someone's soul, either escape or come
along, I want to speak with unapologetic
lungs, flames for vocal chords.

I want to move ahead and never glance
behind, never cleaning the stains on
my body, never caring if they scare
or intrigue, I want to take the hate
that follows and feed it to the crows.

I want to be the darkness that frightens,
I want to be free in their ignorance,
I want to tie down tongues sharp with
judgement for the odd, the weak, the lonesome
majority that sits holding a gun to their mouths.

I want to crawl inside their brains,
pull from their nerves, hold their dreams
captive and slowly see them falter in
their steps, see what it is to control
the mighty, to beat the beast within.

I want to be a hurricane, taking over
everything on its path, I want to clean
the silence choking down lungs, I want
to crush the power that pushes them down,
only to help them up, up, up.

I want to keep their hands away from me,
let the wounds wash in the rain, drink
the water and become the storm again,
I want to make them itch in their own
skin, turning tables while they curse me.

Laugh at me, scold me now, rip apart the
thoughts of keep and stay, of I want to be
and I'd like to think, I know between my
demons and reality I don't stand a chance,
in the end I always win the fight.