America, Part 2

Hello, America. 
It's been a while.
I guess things have cooled down
a little? You seem to be
doing better; have your
wounds healed?
Wait.
Forget I said that.
Your wounds aren't
healing; new ones pop up
all the time. I guess that
your previous ones have 
cleaned up a bit —bring on the antiseptic and cotton balls!— but your wounds aren't
like a child's skinned knee where
antiseptic and
comfort can calm you. I can't
read you a bedtime story,
can't give you some soup,
can't help you in any form;
even if I could,
would I want to? You know,
I've finished watching the TV show
Lost In Space,
and you remind me of the
Robot. There are some scenes
where the robot is just a 
broken figure, powerless. Then
there are other scenes where he is
alive, powerful. Ready to 
destroy anything that 
contradicts his opinions on
what lives and 
what dies.

I think you are like that,
and now I am staring
at your broken form, hoping that
you are never revived
to the terror of a nation
that you are.

You have a chance
to grow up and mature
right now. To be better. 

Go ahead and take it.