Genocide is a Fun Pastime

"Sudan's government says the scale of the violence and suffering has been exaggerated by the west for political reasons.
It denies charges that it organised the Arab Janjaweed militias, accused of widespread atrocities against Darfur's black African population."
- BBC News

The scale of the killing is exaggerated? There should be not killing period. So, the government blames the west for the exaggeration of the killing, causing their charges for mass murder?
The International Criminals Court can have any of it's charges waved by presidents like the President of Sudan Omar al-Bashir, a man who is immune to being prosecuted for his part in the genocide in Darfur. This sure sends a great message. International should no longer be a part of ICC. More like ASFCC. A Select Few Criminals Court. It's fitting I think. What's the point of a criminals court that cannot charge people of high power for their crimes? I guess mass murder isn't a major crime.

Pictures of Loved Ones

They are looking me in the eye.
This pain wells up inside of me.
This pain when loved ones die.

There are pictures of them, up there.
Their bodies are rotten,
how come I still care?

They are long gone,
but forever loved by flesh and blood.
They had rested before they were withdrawn,
from that warm place under the lawn.

To be placed forever in my beating heart.
Never to part.

You were nothing to some,
But, pictures of loved ones still hag forever on these walls.
Some are blind to these pictures of what they had become.
Except one.

I'm Tired but, I'm Not Going to Bed

I stay up all night. After awhile I convince myself that waking up will refresh me. It never does. I just go back to doing nothing. Ya ya ya, I know that in a few years when I will have to be doing something all the time, I'll look back and wish for this. Right now I'd rather be in a hole in the ground, away from this constant nagging in my head. Is it me or is it a piece of my mother poking my brain and making me jittery? That's what this is. I'm so full of pent-up energy that I could actually go outside for once. I haven't been eating correctly. My day is full of snacks. I babysit and come home and all I do is read, blog, play video games and suffocate myself with this nagging in my head. O, and eat more snacks. I think that all I need to do is vomit the contents of my stomach and I'll feel better. Not that I will though. I did it once when I wanted to get out of going to soccer practice and my throat stung all day. I'm watching south park right now. Well, it's a rerun but, it's something to watch other than go to bed. Tomorrow my mom is taking me to Milton to find the newspaper that I might be published in. I was excited awhile ago but the excitement wore off a little while back, My birthday is in 7 days. I haven't been counting. Someone told me. I don't want anything for my sixteenth. Well, to be honest I don't want to think about anything at the moment. My brain is mush. I don't want jewelery for my birthday cause I'll never wear it. I did ask that my mom help pay for the laptop that I plan to buy at the end of summer. She hasn't agreed yet, I hope she will. I need a computer to write on when I'm anywhere. No more scraps for me. I feel tired, but I don't want to sleep. I think I might go to my sister's empty room to sleep, it's colder and I wont step on any crap that seems to litter my room. I can't hardy type anymore, maybe I should go to bed.

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What Does if Feel Like to Feel?

Have you ever thought about the origin of your feelings?

What if I only know what love is because I feed off of others?

Or if I only think that when something dies I have to cry? That it is normal.

If I never truly missed anything?

Just felt that it was what was demanded of me.

I'm really fucked.

What if I only swear because it sounds cool and gets a reaction... not because I'm angry.

I'm a product of your imagination.

You created me.

I feed from you.

You are my mother.

I am your child...

If you learn to hate me. You are just hating yourself.

I'm writing because I'll implode if I don't. Not explode. I'll never explode.

You will never have a piece of me.

I'm a figment of your imagination and you'll never prove my existence.

Like a UFO or an alien.

But back to this.

What are you feeling.

What am I feeling.

We can't put words to it.

Because these feelings are not ours.

They don't belong to us.

And the people that came before us don't know either.

God will tells us won't he?

Won't he?

In time they say, but

time is running out of gas.

We are all running on empty.

But, as long as we are full of feelings we will keep running on the gas of those who taught us to feel. Until. We stop.

The feelings stop.

Feel what?

I have no idea.

I guess confusion.

There is always confusion.

Feelings kill us... and diseases.

Diseases are fun.

We are running on opium not gas.

Talking to animals and forgetting where we are going.

Only to find ourselves where we least wanted to be.

Back to the questions and finding that we passed all the answers.

We are all going somewhere.

Where. We will never know.

Not even when we reach that somewhere.

Do we have souls?

Maybe a long time ago.

But we lost them trying to find a point.

They got bored and flew away.

Will we ever find an origin to these feelings?

I know I wont, but at the same time... I've wasted too long searching.

Two Cold Little Bodies Became Food One Day

A cardboard coffin found with a hole.
The hole leads nowhere now,
but it did before.

It was a warm place,
where their end was final.
A resting place.
But they rest no more.
They are gone now.
In more ways than one.

Two cold little bodies
became food one day.
Their warmth had been replaced.
In more than one way.

Picking flowers to beautify her home,
the girl stopped and stared
an image was burning her eyes.
While standing frozen, petrified, surprised.

Face of stone.
Heart beating fast.
Stood in her room alone.
Letting go, hiding no more.
Tears fell, but could not warm
the cold in that cardboard coffin found with a hole.

She had tried and tried with all her core.
But, they would always be food, nothing less.
Nothing more.