They told me not to, but I inquire.
Why the rivers run red with blood-
But no one sees.
Smoke and mirrors.
Is what you see what is truly there to be seen?
The black shadow, did you see it?
They told me not to; I'm not supposed to.
Truth becomes water you hold in cupped hands
Trickling down quickly, even as you try to hold on
As a dream that fades too fast
As soon as you wake up.
Or a dirty cigarette
Dropped from scarlet lips and ground into the earth;
Hidden in dirt.
Dirt that matches your mind, your conscience-
You are unclean.
The blood is smeared on the mirror
As the rest is on your fingers
As you see only your reflection-
And only a piece, if that.
Perhaps a mask?
The walls flow red with blood
Against sultry black ignorance
But don't tell,
For I'm not supposed to know.
So I don't.