Softening the Blow

Andy Livingston
Andy Livingston


It’s just one of those scenes. There isn’t anything to connect all of these people, but for one reason or another they all found themselves there that night. A lone guitarist on stage. Call girls. Christians protesting outside. Everyone pointing a finger of blame at the other. None would have ever believed that an angry gunman would make fellow humans of them all.

They weren’t bullets, but words. Just as effective at cutting us down.

“I can’t save the world with your opinion.”


What will you do if this comes back to you?
A good, but an irrelevant question
paint me by numbers
you don’t have the right
to save me when you yourself need saving
you’re softening the blow
boys play guitars in profound hotel bars,
their eyes steeped with artistic contemplation
point to the east while they crucify the west
how could you do this to my tribe
you’re softening the blow
stiletto heels go with political sleeves
and the glitter girls weave baskets for the bake sale
your generosity of opinion is sweet,
but I can’t save the world with your opinion
you’re softening the blow

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