In the back they are hidden

Behind 22, which lies abandoned.

Its walls tearing like wallpaper –

Flaking away like a Rorschach.

It is Colored in pinks and greens

And the knocker is stolen for luck.

No one is welcomed now.

And yet she stands, quite omnipotent

Surrounded by a mass grave

Where there is a marker that reads:

“For all who are buried here.”

In a corner beside a clearing

Where the geese stomp

And no one visits anymore –

There is only dead silence

And recognition is blurred.

Here class is leveled beneath

Six feet of ground,

Thriving on an overgrown plain

Between life and the afterlife.

so a poem finally. it is self-explanatory -

I’ve said it and gotten nowhere.

Miles of night beneath me,

Pavement dizzy by days

And what I’m running from

Chases me – invisibly.

And I’ve got nothing,

All these years, all I have to show

Is nothing.

I have no souvenir,

No Holocaust hallmark

To date the damage.

Can you look into my eyes

And see me rotting –

Rotting, then nothing.

Nothing, again.

I have nothing here,

Nothing I want.

I want out.

I have nothing to live for,

I am no aerialist –

I have nothing beneath me.

Parasites are eating me alive

Like an early death,

And all I have to live for –

Is nothing.

Nothing I want.

Ativan

Abilify

Ambien

Buspar

Celexa

Cogentin

Clozaril

Depakote

Effexor

Geodon

Haldol

Klonopin

Lamictal

Lexapro

Lithium

Navane

Neurontin

Paxil

Prozac

Remeron

Risperdal

Seroquel

Tegretol

Thorazine

Topamax

Trazodone

Trilafon

Trileptal

Wellbutrin

Zoloft