Violent Reflections

These jagged shards of broken glass
deeply stuck in the bleeding head,
each shard reflecting times that pass
in confrontation and bloodshed
from collisions of headlong wills
amidst the fog of war and wrath,
crashing together, the gas spills—
we emerge from the aftermath
like beasts born and baptized in spite,
seeing red yet, and soon to brawl,
scowling, growling, fists knotted tight
as broken glass embeds us all.

(I work Security and have to deal with entitled man-children every single day as the Coronavirus spreads throughout the Divided States of America. This is dedicated to them. The dumb fucks.)

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