You have bastardized me, <br /> compelled me to stick pins and needles <br /> into my veins. <br />Shining globes of tears that fall <br /> from closed eyes. <br />They pretend to be significant, <br /> but in fact, <br /> they holler their pettiness. <br />Men with names that do not rhyme <br /> who sit behind computer screens <br /> mangling the English language. <br /> Using the internet codes that <br /> destroy communication. <br />Have we all become symbols of <br /> people without souls? <br />As we march around our staples with <br /> guns pointed at our feet. <br /> <br />You have ridiculed every milkshake I <br /> have guzzled. <br />Mopped away every green leaf <br /> I have held in my hands. <br />I smoke my cigarette and <br /> scratch my balls. <br />I eat a sandwich and <br /> terrorize the cat. <br /> <br />Every foot will walk the <br /> way it was meant to, <br /> and so, <br />the only possible reality <br /> is that which <br /> drinks itself <br /> to death. <br /> <br />Forget the paper. <br /> Throw away your pens. <br /> <br />Make up a brand new plate of exclusionary <br /> triangular ducks. <br />Roast them in your oven-like hearts. <br /> <br />I begin to move away from <br /> metaphoric prison cells <br /> that have <br /> brought <br />solace to a hungry brain. <br /> <br />'Good night', I say to the <br /> computer screen. <br />You have turned me into a paper cut <br /> that becomes infected and <br /> finally, allows the soul to die.<br /><br />Chris G. Vaillancourt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/triangular-duck/
