M for Mature

[one] (https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/3l259l/the_outsiders/)
[two] (https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/3kyr9z/mantra/)

Caught my reflection in derelict glass, with lips dripping down my chin, in grim observation- a mouse, a pest. So hungry, in hiding-

An unwilling guest to the Spectacular Opera of Vicarious Descent.

I wear the brand of the American flag, they burned it to my thigh when I was just a calf. Singing Goober Peas and De Colores, picking up pine cones in the forest. A little voice rang with pure water and a dream of purple mountains majesty: where the President looks out for you, and especially, for me.

Joke's on me, or is it on grief? Ho ho ho, oh He he he!

It's no wonder the shivering youth love gore- they want a pornographic rendering of open veins, they want to wait in the illusion of safe (sixty minutes of someone else's pain).

Holding hands in a room where the ambient temperature is constantly maintained. 73 degrees. The clock blinks 3:53. The exact moment when our starlet was maimed (better you than me).

And our eyes will never see slaughter the same way. What's that you say? A hundred kids killed in a day?

The silence is louder than an RPG.

Placated by cushioned chairs with cup holders, back lit doors, concessions-

The illusion of abundance.

Munching on popcorn in the dark, a salty handful all at once (like a sock gag). Peckish as pigeons with glossy eyes, watching through blinders to see what remains once the violence has run its course.

I'm very interested in any honest criticism, I hope to read this at a slam once it's refined so don't hold back!