Untitled II

When I was in high school, and we were learning about writing techniques or some such, we were told that to write, we must first figure out what we want to say, or how we want the audience to feel at the end of it, so that we can write towards that goal. But sometimes, I find that the best pieces are written without method, or analytical piecing together of rhyme and syllable patterns. Sometimes all you need is a pen and paper and when you're done, you look back at it as though someone else had put it there for you. And you are amazed at what you find there:


...Hollow eyes and screaming from the
inside, banging on the walls of your own rib cage to force someone to stare
bewildered, unable to look away
unable to truly see,
but only able to gawk and
wonder what drove this madness
For of course it is madness, sheer
foolhardiness
No truth, no sound
Just Mr Crazy firing off another round
The shot resounds in the night air
and all you can do is stand.
and stare.
at the destruction.
Remains, the aftermath,
nothing but a memo of --
entailing what has passed.
A gentle reminder: 'passed away'
'passed on', 'gone to the next life'
are never any less painful.
FYI Mr Crazy died las night and nothing you do will make a damn of difference.

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