Poetry · Writing

Thousand Oaks

The needle comes and my skin won’t jump

the axe takes a dozen head and we all blame Trump.

More shooters then Holidays

can’t take the day off, swimming in prayers.

They’re still here, still on the way, still in the mail

but there like last nights dinner, an expiration date on them.

The world is year around winter, so fucking cold

the states in chaos- baby everything out. of. control.

A man lost his son-

a man lost his son and it’s gone in the wind

gone in the news, ready for football tonight

another tragedy lost in the crowd

it’s just everyday life-

only matters

when it’s you answering that call.

The axe will continue to swing

and the orange man will pull the strings

prayers have gone bad

by the end of this poem.

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