Untitled

by Jennifer, age 17, from US

The words never seem to formulate
to coagulate
to thicken
into a crusty mess
to be such glamourous poets
idolized by the ignorant masses
rat traps surrounding the growth
of a idyll humanity
to be taken in
by the seducing glare of violence and hitmen
we are all so bewildered
yet enchanted by magical, musical, soft creamy words
to die a soft death
would be ideal
in the mind of a blank poet
who values the grace of dying
to the torture of living
when both words so meaningless
and meaningfull
present such harsh circumstances to a child's eyes
ask not for whom the bell tolls
ask why it tolls at all?