bitter sunrise (5:51 a.m.)

 The sky is bruised a deep magenta
solemnly in the west
a frozen azure
melting in the east
every hazy cloud over head
caressing the stars
has a broken ligament

too chaotic for a connection

there's not a birds lullaby around 
infuriating the silence
nor a wondering bystander
to break the mornings calm,
only stagnant trails of smoke
delicately mocking ballerinas
gliding from the embers
of a half lit cigarette

The trees are wheezing,
holding themselves
with waif branches
and deteriorating amidst the wind,
silhouetted and lonely
just like a vapid painting
airbrushed gray
and deluded

The grass never dewwed,
some acrid disease
abducted the greenery
and replaced it with vomit stains
in spite of mother nature,
I'm watching her get raped
mercilessly
discarded in a back alley
to mourn in whore language

It's not as gentle here,
where the trash is god
whispering inside cracked skulls
that ignorance is not such a fickle thing
for the desolate few
too coward to give away
our suffering
slightly delayed in five second
photographic captures

I wish I could kiss the sky
to steal away all that glory
in a way the unworthy have,
blanketed in solitude,
cradled in darkness,
when the world sleeps soundly
never watching the bitter sunrise
as I have