The sky is red

This morning,

Like strawberry

 

Colored razor burns.

There was

A two headed boy,

 

With eyes like burnt

Holes in a blanket.

Lost between

 

Vowels

And rhymes,

He is like a quarter,

 

Double-faced

And not worth

A great deal.

 

Nauseated by

The trivial personality,

There are more people

 

Allergic to him

Than pollen.

He has the kind

 

Of face that sheep

Must count at night

When they want to die.

 

He cuts the throats of solders

While they sleep.

He comes in the night like a thief.

 

He is better off

As fragmented glass

Buried deep blow the ground.