I guess you could call this poetry...

No evil

The monkeys are wise;

They run and hide.

I want to be like them;

I want to be senseless.

Solder my creased eyelids together,

So I cannot see them beaten.

Pour concrete into my chasmal ears,

So I cannot hear their cries.

Stitch up my sepulchral mouth,

So I cannot speak;

So the power to save them

Lingers against my threaded lips -

Cannot burn my throat with sweet vacancy.

Ice to numb my conscience,

To anesthetise the guilt away.

It’s not really there,

If you can’t feel the pain.

The world is perfect,

The world is pure,

But only when it’s

Not there any more.