Scorn of a patriot
I've witnessed you mutilate skeletons,
which is why I carry the skulls of the dead,
They rattle in my pocket like spare change,
to the rhythm of the pulse in my head.
I'm pained by the fact that one day
I won't have funds to buy gauze when I'm bled.
But I'll die before you find me in uniform,
saluting a cross with the Red.
I've had it with your deadly discord,
and the cries your dissonance.
Fed up with a mind controlled by the militant,
trying to manipulate the fragile life of our chrysalis.
And it's a vicarious duty for me to count the seconds
until the White of your missiles hit.
I'm sorry to say, but-
I snorted that line you drew in the sand.
In accordance,
you put the few on the stand.
unaware that your rhetoric
would put the coup in demand.
And give me reason
to paint a bomb threat
with the Blue in my hand.