When I stared at the reflection of
my darkened depiction in front
of the stained mirror, I could see
vivid images of a brown-skinned
world of bleeding torpedoes, blackened
eyes wounded across various battlefields,
raw dragged cheeks split where the flesh
sizzled in high surfacing screams,
hard collapsing thoughts cracking in
the horizon, as memories of a young
country boy sifted inside my mind.  
The exploding rhythm rolling upon
his heart.  The enflamed waves
crashing inside his veins.  
The black hole of swelling depths
intensifying in upturned shadows
within his kingdom.  And I could
feel the damaging beats blazing
his chest, scarlet scars aching
and confused in the moonlight,
suicidal thoughts beyond repair,
mugshot crimes enraged and
bladed, a cold thickened death
approaching without reason.