FalseTruth101

 There is a new and upcoming drug for teenagers. It has them on their knees, begging for more, or screaming in exaltation. They riot in the streets, break glass with their cries, and disturb the public order. Many parents approve; many parents nod their heads and say, "As long as she's reading." This new drug is the Twilight saga, an unusually popular series for its lack of creativity, writing style, or complex characters.         The appeal? I'm glad you asked. It may be the featureless, spineless heroine who lacks a spark of personality; Stephenie Meyer, the author of the series, makes Bella's shoes

The dead are on display Stillbirths and unfinished pregnancies They sit like disfigured china dolls Within their glass case Misshapen and warped, Their frames twisted Like rotting wood Notice the liver, Crowded with growths Swollen and abnormal Colorless collapsed lungs Slice their innards, Only science projects Pink bodies, mangled, intestines tangling Their flesh torn, muscles exposed And spread Their miniature corpses cracked open Like clams ready to be devoured And sucked dry of their meat Cannibal carnage, the grease and gore Satisfies the tongue They are christened Cadavers When their names are forgotten

Your knobby knees are bent And your wishbone fingers Clutch at each other Sharp, teethy fingernails dig in But your face, impassive Is blank In the night we kneel together Bent to the hardwood We kiss the kitchen floor and Again I see your fingers Interlaced in a silent prayer This time it is your face That makes me turn away