Trill
In sick dreams bullets cut-through
tire tough truth like raw meat;
stringy and dripping with blood.
Teeth ripping through organs,
heart, kidneys, liver, making
sausage of our small intestines.
There is no valid temperature
for proclamations of redemption,
no trembling for forgiveness,
announcements of new leaves.
Baptism is spent gun shells, as
the chorus trills to the slaughter.
Everywhere we're allowed to go
little eyes stare like Big Brother
hungry to purify secrets.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
