I saw the red and blue sparkle of crime.
I felt my lungs overflow.

Spilling,
words,
blood of too-much,
thoughts of too full.  
Tears constructed of *****.

Bleeding
cold,
freely,
dragging out the strength to emerge from admittance -
to find comfort
in a home built for destruction.

As the blood boiled over, spilling from my mouth,
spattering murmurs of naive hope before drowning out the cities’ cries,
I clawed through a sea of red,
light falling through fingers -
I let go.

Years of blue striped tablets
comfort in the church parking lot
bites you for getting to close.

Idolizing a sadness of sick children,
crusading on acid
Nicotine, aspiration,
the tongues of others -
who find a place in a world of unrequited love for existence.

This blur is the final fracture of bones worn thin from chosen malnutrition,
malnourishment of the skin.
Pigment.

So the reaper knocks on the back of your skull,
not to punish you
Not for
subjection to chemical poison,
but to remind you:
dreaming of her body on yours is cyanide.