It’s described as imitation, 

Mimicking, rather, 

Repetition through waves of uneasiness, 

Subsided with 

Towers of sparkling Brandy, 

Sitting on the kitchen counter. 

I watch from behind foggy glass, 

Reciting surrender from the comfort 

Of a red-striped flag, 

Children giggle, brandishing plastic pistols  

Hot-pink handcuffs delude liberty 

But don’t ask 

Or doubt 

For happiness isn’t found 

In skepticism. 

Drown yourself in a bottle 

Of French White, and watch  

Anchors of ambivalence 

Trench beneath 

Murky waters, polluting 

Life stained in 

Fluorescent onyx. 

Remember to wear lust on your cheek, 

Bury cynicism beneath pounds of concealer, 

And bandage your blisters 

With the petals that fluttered into your palms 

When the sky fell down. 

Maybe you and I share the same blisters, 

Always waiting for the day when 

The flowers would regain their petals 

And the auburn paint splattered onto the sky 

Would be washed away 

With the blood  

That God weeps 

From his tainted eyes.