Crimson

The crime scene is always different,
but the amount of blood stays the same.
Shades of crimson anger under my nails,
sounds of echoed pain in my head.
Shattered glass against the skin,
 and I'm the one digging deep,
instructed by all the standards I didn’t meet this time.
Again.
Because all the mirrors show the world that takes my life away.
Its walls of insecurity that shift to currencies of nations,
to the ground of ideals through which my heavy troubled thoughts always falls.
Again.
My nails scream crimson despair.
For all the bodies that fall like tears every second that goes by.
For the power that is never shared equally,
for the hope of something better that never lasts.
For the place I am given determined from what I have between my legs.
For all the things I wish I could change, but I know I can't.
So I fall through the cracks of an invented system, through the broken mirrors that I smash- the portrait of the truth I can't accept.
Again.
I keep wearing broken dreams as smiles,
walking through fractured mirrors building castles.
On which I'm safe from everybody else, but myself.