When I look up and my eyes are burnt

by a brightness that rubs it in,

What might shine like silver to them

Melts my covers turning out the layers,

That I cannot give an ounce to anyone

No smiling expression of submission

To mold me into ammunition

Shooting me through their happiness

Made of gun powder revision.

Categories: Art, Blogging, Creative Writing, Drawing, Editing, Musings, Nonfiction, Photography, Poem, Poetry, WritingTags: , , , , , , , , ,

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