Bleeding in America

There is an innocence in your childish skin,
where the planets seem to grow
in your eyes.
Playing with stamps
under the cover of darkness
until lamps shine on the birth of maturity.

Sleeping under the stars,
under the teardrops of your
grotesque beauty,
I am at odds with my heart.

The responsibility I feel
is hidden behind a blindfold
that silences my mouth,
covers my ears and eyes.
I feel fear.

But, I will tell the truth,
even if I face consequences.
Against your wishes,
my blood will drain out
onto the plains
leaving my skin white.
The cold I feel
is as radiant as the burning sun,
where others are set ablaze by your debauchery.
Your loose lips act like a two dollar whore
who can never come clean,
yet, is so inviting.

I see behind your facade
where my pricked heart,
comes gushing out of my machine gun,
spilling all over your scolding skin
from the rawness of my beautiful pain.

Even if I have to start a fire
before jumping off the deep end,
a light will be found the morning after.

* Published in Having A Whiskey Coke With You Issue 5, May 2014


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