Riots and Liars.

On scorched tongues

The thorns smile
And I, a child
Of this tired century
I cry for these tongues.
These lost cities.

Parched and trembling
My lips, chewed
To the bone
Pray pray pray
Until no one comes home
Beg for ivy green comfort
And talents.

I despise them.
Exterior backs
Spewing egos and tales,
Forever hiding their tails
Clutching alterior motives
Close at hand.

It is a hideous mirror.

You see, there
A glint of your hateful faces
Already thinking of something else.
There,

A hint of a word

My wounded bird sobs.

What a wicked predicament.
Dominos, scolding
Hurts.
Bullets would be quicker.
But no,

Draw it out
Their blood crawls and they wait
In hollow cells.