Turning Red

Honestly,

it was kind of ironically funny

to me that
I weep now

at the smallest of 

provocations.

Shepherds in their graveyards,

sheep jumping off cliffs,

one

by

one,

horror caught in the glint of an eye,

violence thrust out

upon me,

throwing wild punches,

I prayed with every

breath

to forgive you

and move on,

but the dragon just

rests and always

wakes up for fire breathing

and poisoned kisses.

I wept then once again,

and just because

you saw a glint

of me,

in your eye,

when standing

in front of your mirror,

doesn’t mean

you understood me.

So, fuck you for

your assumptions.

It would seem,

that you should know better.

And now,

even my dreams are weeping,

it struck me as

so fucking odd

to fear

through the night and the day,

death,

which is only

a new path to

some bright fascinating

truth.

And it causes me

to pause and wonder

if there’s another afterlife

after the afterlife.

Smoke and mirrors,

I cursed the ground and

almost let the devils

of medicine

decide my fate,

no fucking thank you.

Nothing owns me,

not even your

cancerous minds

that left me,

in an alleyway to nowhere,

to whore out my talents,

in the trenches,

of a war that

wasn’t mine,

separate your fears

from your

realities,

or else

they will win,

and in my experience,

many times the demons

end up

laughing

along with

the government, and

I wont fucking allow it.