He sits alone
atop a stool
bolted to the etheric floor
of a barbed wire room
Stares at his haunted reflection
A particular and demonstrable gloom
bounces off a soul cracked mirror
into eyes not recognized by those eyes
sunk into and renting space on his
roadmap cracked face
Song on the radio howls and growls
“Blood on the rise, it’s following me”
peace frog dances deep cut gems
Blood flows out pockets
Bullet to brain innuendo
Hidden shadows fight
in darkened corners
calling for rockets on sight
For everyone to delight in