I hate the food in this place.
I'll go on a hunger strike.
I'll leave my death on your hands.
Someday, I will take my revenge.
I will break every bone
In that puny body of yours.
No doubt you will increase my meds.
I know from experience.
I'm learning to despise you.
I'm tired of being in this place.
My night time voice
Is my least favorite.
It is the voice
Of the damned.
It leaves its imprint
Of destruction
Where your advice
Feels like a foot
Upon my heart,
My heart which is
Pushed right out my ass.
It had no sex.
It was from another world.
It had brilliant eyes.
In the darkness they were red.
In the darkness it wailed for light.
In the day its eyes were blue.
By sundown they changed colors.
Still, there was something
You could not trust about it.
The way it would stare.
The way it would wail.
Though it would never
Make an aggressive move
One felt that it
Had a mean streak.
It was from another world.
Now and then
With its two brilliant blue eyes
It made one feel tiny.
There was always the possibility
Of slaughter.
Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal, 39, was born in Cuernavaca, Morelos (Mexico), and has lived in Los Angeles County since age 7. He works in the mental health field. His poems in English and Spanish have appeared in The American Dissident, The Blue Collar Review, Pemmican Press, and Struggle Magazine. His first book of poems, Raw Materials, is from Pygmy Forest Press.