you are a big black monster that is
the color of a black hole and loud
as hell standing behind everyone in
some sort of transcendental fashion
but our ears are dulled to the point
to where your incessant sucking no
longer piques our interests.

but you, you are hiding everywhere
and your energy makes everything
work.

it makes the engines turn with
heat your energy flows through
the veins of us all packaged in
pretty bows. but in all of those
pretty bows also is your loud
screaming and your lack-of-color.

and you, since you do all of these
things people will say that, when
confronted with your existence,
that this is reason enough for you
to still be alive.

sucking and poking and prodding and
demanding and taking and ripping up
the earth like slurping noodles or
pulling the fabric off of the top of
the table but all of the things on
top of it falling down. all of the
trees and buildings and things just
falling down and making the loudest
sound only comparable to the one
you make at all times that we,
as a people, under god, indivisible,
have decided to ignore with our
utmost and purely sincere American
dreams.

you, nameless, horrible wretched
demon of the conscious or subconscious.
you are on the face of everyone at
all times, you are on the cusp of
every feeling, the tip of every tongue,
the parenthesis to every sentence,
you ooze and seep through cracks like
smoke or the oily-creature-thing from
the animated film fern gully.

you, it is not possible to kill you.