Bloody Interpetation

This poem is made of iced coffee, this poem is made of caffeinated black; This poem is made of shredded soul, this poem is made of whatever’s left; This poem is made of garnets, this poem is made of rose quartz; This poem is made of a melody this poem is made of the forgotten; This poem is made of broken glass, this poem is made of what shattered; This poem is made of the damned, this poem is made of wanton desire; This poem is made of what’s retrograde, this poem is made of everything direct; This poem is made of awkward silence, this poem is made of mindless chatter; This poem is made of the first sunrise, this poem is made of the final sunset; This poem is made for bloody interpretation; Who cares what this poem is made out of?