Fresh Water

They say the water is fresh but it tastes like lava.
Like an orange flame in the sky, torture souls in the ground.
It is a water fountain at the edge of the road, cars and people going by and no one saying hi.
It cries intoxicatingly, bleeding profusely for a clean bed, a beautiful skirt, a clean underwear but no one cares.
Stinky feet marching through like soldiers in the battlefield, livid daylight testimonials piercing through book pages like a salad on the menu, rocks giving it a purpose to live.
Shut up they utter, anguish dribbling in her face we see, dry tears dripping through yesterday’s scars for today’s newspaper is heard on the loud speaker.
It bleeds still, I see it, you see it, they see it but no one seems to care.
I know, I can’t seem to stop the train from rolling through the water fountain but He can

©️ Angela Aguiar

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