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-
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.