Punching a Bruise

My fingers press on blue batterings for the craft of lavishing all the things that mattered not a week ago. I try to hate you like a sticker on my puckered mouth to take the light from my eyes to make you rage and lash crashing your jaw to think that I don't love you To incite you to be an animal to make you wrong to diguise my guilt like beating my own hands and making a messy red confusing the culprit and victim If I am blue, there's not pain I can escape if I fall where I stand by your hand, my bruises won't ache these stinging scrapes know the red shape of your fist, my comfort, my peace rolling in sticker bushes held hard to your young face only happy, like a radio song hands planted in wealth my soft heart, my eden pulling me out like a flower toppling my knees like towers tracing circles on my skin How can I not win?