A prick of a rose like a dog taught to bite.
Blood trickles down your leg
smells like a nickel
the sight of it screaming.
Where does it end?
Abraham Lincoln in the back of the theater
The back of his head could tell you why
You're not bleeding yet.
Eyes sparking fiery red
You'd cry for years if you could be happy
That's the way the timepiece of
a sandy sea falls
Warm and welcoming amid the bite of January .
This is where you drown.
Kissing the bullet safe and sound
Wooden casket sings your name
A young woman dressed in white
bears fresh roses for the dead.