The light is not a threat
it's a dare,
and every second you're behind the yellow line
the more there is at stake.

It's like wearing a seat belt
and closing your eyes
allowing tire to connect to yellow line
that leads to the sky,
if you're lucky.

Taking a cat nap in a coffin,
unconcerned yellow eyes of your past life
opening to the sight of
your own exorcism.

Changing stop lights
manipulate the colors
behind your stained glass pseudo christ,
highlighting the features every yellow-belly loves best.

Girls standing on street corners
******* themselves out for their yellow haired congressmen,
only to satisfy their oral fixation
on the more handsome opponent.

Passing the **** to the next contestant,
sadistically watching
as they choke,
mimicking the yellow glow of the sun.

The manila folder
that stores your secrets.
Yellow nails dig into skin
knowing you will never be forgiven.