Spasms of Catastrophe
Those great ruiners of Earth,
who brake the grass. Spasms of
sound and catastrophe.
Craters of brain matter, they
come in and stab everywhere.
Evil is out there, watch faces.
They will come and tear
everything to bits, everything.
I'm re-reading Dean Koontz's The Taking and it deals with gonzo aliens in coming to Earth and bustin' everything up hardcore. Meanwhile my friends are trippin' balls and playing Guitar Hero, so we're passing the laptop around. This is why this poem exists.
The poem is alright, considering I wasn't quite feeling the writing vibe but I like certain parts. Oh yeah, I realize I typo'd, it's suppose to be 'break' but I like spelling it 'brake' so much better ;)