The color of Vegas
Is the gradient of a fading sunset

The color of Vegas
Is neon signs and crackling smiles

The color of Vegas
Is grey smoke and three golden sevens

The color of Vegas
Is overpriced steak and wet sand

Today
The color of Vegas
Is broken teeth
And
Grasping at a lover’s sleeve
And
Tears stained red
And
Flashes of blinding sound
And
Terror and screams

Today
The color of Vegas
Is splashing in the streets

The color of Vegas
Is the color of you and me

Eagles made of stars shower distant cities,
Like acid rain, without reprieve.
Drenching skin, and hair, and bone.
Ripping flesh from soul, from spirit.

Bodies swaying, but never rising.
Mothers crying and never healing.
Fathers falling and never praising.
Children calling, but never answered.

Shards of glass, and stone, and bones.
Pools of blood, and tears, and hearts.
Heaven so distant, and hell so near.
Angels of destruction; angels of hate.

Bodies are charred, and black, and spent.
Covered in soot; bathed in the lives of others.
Born into death, teeth are breaking.
Mouths hang open; smiles abating.

All doors have been shut.
All avenues are cut.
Locked in a box with stars.
All for what?

Enclosed in his,

She mistook the bliss

For days of Summer

When the Sun was higher

And brighter, yet calmer.


Beside the One

Who gave it all up

When no one else would.

She took the pain

But with him remains.


Tell me,

Should Love ever go one way?

Because the current

Never washed my way.

The waves were my own,

And the perils, I braved alone.


She took the risk

Where there was none.

She jumped into

The Future not knowing,

The Past hadn’t received its due.

We ring Liberty’s silver bell.
They sink deeper into Hell.

Freedom’s here in overdose,
While their blood is ink for forgotten prose.

Our lives are paraded, celebrated.
Their deaths are coldly stated, faded.

We pray for this; we pray for that.
They die in pain; they die in vain.

“For freedom!” we cry.
“We’re forsaken!” they die.

I’m but a fragment of your fiction,
A ballad without verse.

My melody may be stilted,
But yours is noteless.

You’re an arrow with no direction.
Why do I keep running after you?

What’s the point of a sign
If you won’t read it?

If tears didn’t show,
Would you still know my hurt?

Clouds cover,
Like makeup on scars.
What should shine through
Is only forgotten.
What keeps me going
Is lost on you.

I've tried binge-watching you,

But the script is inconsistent.

Something about the characters

Is forced.

Each episode is too long,

Overly dramatic.

You think you’re a comedy;

You’re horror.

The production values are stellar,

But they’re wasted on you.

At 155 episodes and 7 seasons,

You should have ended after the first arc.

Your ratings are high.

So what?

Enjoy the attention.

I’m not coming back.