Blood View {Me and You}

6/2/22

Am I the loud-mouth in the desk-halls?
Or the short-sabered trauma,
locked onto the sofa?
Am I just a performer,
abused without pay.
Giving out shows
every single day.

Does the morning mirror reflect the same at night?
Or do eyes infiltrate the filters between the sun’s cycle
until the only perspective:
what’s not right.

Do toe-teps feel grass-tips?
Or just mower-remnants
of argued leg-stands
between mommy and daddy
mommy and daddy
mommy and daddy
mommy and daddy
until all that’s left is
baby’s innocent blood.