Surface Blood

Smoke blooms in this uncouth air.

This is your garden

Of dust, fire curling

Into make-up upon their faces–

you smoothen out their bones into the ground.

Holes web asinine across rust. 

This is your home

Littering the square, ashes aflurry

Smearing their shut eyes unfurl–

you scab for their bloody disuse.

Missiles are scrawled in celebrities’ names.

This is the drugged resent

Of Summer Ecstacy, Justified bells in curve 

Where bullets blind them for triumph–

you cry for them and they stare without you:

Soldiers Trample For Your Liberation;

Ministers Guillotine For The Greater Safety;

Pockets Burst For Our Profit;

And your mothers ladle is glass

And your siblings cradle is melted

And your friend’s fable is a sheared watermelon 

And You

A number A conspiracy A Nothing

And 

you

nothing, for now. for i must find solace in my suffering i must i must im should must capture beauty love me in the midst of the this 

Bloodshed.