Fake Blood

Bleed into yesterday. A scene in retrograde. Fake apologies will never clean the mess you made. Weathered down and spent. You trace around the dents. Scratch a message in the side to not resuscitate. Sullen eyes, your skies are empty, there's no saving you. Life and death between your breath and barely breaking through. So precariously teetering between while in the waiting room, praying for relief to break the skin and suffocate the pain. The second stretches into days. Fake blood is flowing through your veins. You want a second chance. Extend an olive branch. Holding grudges like the gun that's in your other hand. Leave you in the past. The point of where you're at is one-dimensional and left up to circumstance. Trust is fraying at the ends, it's nothing new to me. Start to pick apart the husk of who you used to be. Rose-colored glasses reading off a teleprompter like a eulogy, collected and fluently. Debased and faceless. Fade and corrode. Sway back and forth, forget that you're broken.