Revolution 7

Cola spilling on the carpeted floor,
Angels airing lives, their wives
Weeping at their graves,
Still fluttering dove souls of suicides
Martyr themselves against glass;
The empty barring love, like hate
Baits, waits for the marble doors, but the sky,
Sunburnt pink tonight, 
Sits in the hours between midnight and dawn, 
As rosy cheeks and peeling nose 
And cloudy freckles yawn
While hatchets wreck relationships:
Rocks on windows and roller-coasters
Killed by the chilled charms of body–
Someone had to say no.

The End

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