I am the shaken Pepsi
not quite the dripping counter,
my bubblewrap not pierced by your hate
unable to decide between feelings of sanity and laughter.

Not conquered, as you believe,
high heavens from my pedestal I see
not taken by a spinning head or
dilated pupil, Jesus still stands by me.

Your reality is bleak
pixel perfect as the static clears,
white veil lifted, revealing satin lips,
the smallest attraction, uncovers your fears.

Don't fly your flag of purity quite yet
inconsistent of an angel,
feathers in your back
my own cuts bandaged by cello tape
and paint covers my cracks.

For there are too many wasted years with discarded binoculars,
discarded lovers, discarded lives.