Every day breathes coal ash November dusk.
Faltering rays limping through grey smoke.
Dripping bright red down a black, secondhand suit jacket,
Ranting in pools on the disdainful linoleum floor.
Only splash of real colour
In hospital wastelands of fuzzy screens
& Blurry prison schoolyards.
Beautiful crimson hues
Paint grim portraits of human pain
Hidden twenty layers of concrete, asphalt, & psychiatric medication down,
Under ugly masks of swelling cityscapes & receipts.
I became an industrial smokestack
Strangling bright blue jays,
Choking sad & lovely Robins,
Felling them from the sky
With dark, drug poisoned danger & fear that
My cruel throat spews with random shifts of destructive mood.
I told you of the toxic
Thoughts they pumped in.
Now is it any surprise
That I’m a killer disguised
With a soul of stained steel & tin?
Called me a flower,
I sprouted a jungle of weeds.
Creepers coating shopping carts,
Vines shattering windows,
Sneaking into houses through thin veils & vents,
Wrapping their tight green fingers
Around the fat throats of bankers, cops, judges,
Those well dressed thieves,
& Squeeze, squeeze, squeezing,
Until they admit they lie the same way they believe.
The thin flesh I won back
Has been burned off in the breeze.
The singeing signals, scorching ideas,
& Sad attempts seared off strip by bloody strip.
I am the Sertraline Skeleton again
With war songs to sing.