Old Fashioned Mickey Didn't Tell Me How to Shoot

A chain-linked fence adorns one side of the road,
the other lays an open field
for others to lie down
and grasp the stars.

Walking down,
the two sides crumble,
each a cove of crimson red
lighting the night with fire.

but
how does one know it?
the way it swells and sizzles inside;
the feeling worsens
when we leave those close behind.

Crackling, dying alone we beg and plead
until you decide to stay and bleed.
Then life will tell which way the sidewalk shuffles,
all to tear brains into pieces,
cut and butchered for the seller
as we wonder how to tell
if which is right?

but instead, we doubt
and tug the boat.