you began a man in your uniform
uniformly lined in manhood
but unmanned in your last line of defense
the soldier, bleeding in his solidarity.

his head held down by the weight of his thoughts
and his heart held high by his idealism
in this century, he bleeds for your sins
and you, bleeding for the sinners.

bleeding for the sinners.

bleeding from the cinders; burning holes in your flesh from the fire you'd put out in a last-ditch effort to save the "smokey the bear" imagery from your childhood.

didn't you know it'd burn down too
as you dreamt of being an adult
in this distant, futuristic adulthood
where you'd be bleeding out again.

not forming in singular lines
not forming anything but time
in the singular exsanguination of a generation;
they're bleeding for your singing.

bled out and torn about, they die.

dreaded and thrown about in the last ditch efforts of life, they cry out again to the demi-gods and goddesses they believed in for your sins.

they bleed.

Purely.