The mid noon sky bleeds out; it bruises in flames.
Arsonists hold their gassers to my face.
In their grisly field of vision, I am a delectable
vapor, born to flit away.
Regard not the orange cones, nor the caution tapes:
these gates hold little significance to them.
(Then the other 'a-word' comes to mind: anarchists)
Prior to this, they had presented themselves
as chess pieces to fall in love with—little do they know,
I've an animus for them. As stupid as I may appear,
I know it's a game!
Unzipping out of incognito mode, they have unleashed
their razor blade. They whizz their wings.
Here they come, coming for me.
Here I go again: counting sheep,
blinking for one whole eternity.
Oh doctor! I'm in dire need of your vampiric syringe.
Swill my peaking adrenaline— at this rate, I'll go mad.
I shall never recuperate.
Mollify my entirety.
Teach me to rollick like angels do. I beg you.
