Hell broke the back
Of the beast I’m fighting
But I can still see
The savage is biting
So if I have to curl a hand
And strike it in a spree
I’ll beat it with my fists
‘Till it’s dead and not dying
Tag: fight
Superhot
You must ignore
Instinct
And be ready to
Think about what’s
Next to do
Can’t snap
So we wait
And think
Where we’re going
We need a moment
Of peace
A respite
In any fight
To look around
And think
About what’s right
How to live
Bullets fired
Punches through
Knives cutting
Air to you
But you must think
What’s best?
What move can
Let us continue
A collective of
Atoms working
Biding time
Superhot
Until we find
The answer
Which exit?
This exit
To end thought
Shto36u3
Hot shot
Shiny new
Centurion
Upon the
Battlefield
Pristine gleaming
Gladius and mask
Frozen forever in
Dismay As
He looks with
Contempt At
Me and my
Older ways
He will kick
And punch with
Steel glove
Stabbing
With sword
To quickly
Kill me
I
Evade and
Block
And laugh
The same as
When any blade
Strikes my
Armor plate
“Come
on!”
I say
To intimidate
And urge him to
Swing
So that
I may
Parry
“Ad mortem
Inimicus!” As
He stumbles back
Not expecting to
Be
Now under
Attack
And
With a mighty
Pole axe
I rear over
Head And
Smash his
Helmet
He’s dazed
I hit and
Push forward
I shove and
Manhandle
Ax blade
And
Spike handle
With strength
I
Command
And
Now
I
Demand
Respect
While he
Bleeds
Frightened
And winded
I hope
Now
That he
Sees
It is
The
Law that
I bring
As
I
Impale him
And he rises
And writhes
Now he will
Recognize
As I
Yell
In reprise
“I am
The
Lawbringer”
And the once
Cocksure
Centurion
Has been disposed
Of
And
lands
Hard on
Scuffed ground
Swathed
With his life
Having
Gambled his life
And having
Been shut
Down
Now he
Knows
My moniker
For I
Am
The
Lawbringer
Another Round
Go Away
K
It’s anything you want
Don’t talk to me like that
(Even then I do it to you)
And be here after I tell you
We should take the day off
Because I’ll get mad if you’re not
You need to ask me what’s wrong
When I’m upset
‘Cause I won’t tell you
I’ll do things that are bad for us
But it’ll help me feel much better
Please apologize
For everything you did wrong
But don’t at all worry
About the things I won’t say sorry
For
Does it matter much to you
How much these things
I have thought through?
Because it doesn’t matter
Where it started
This fight’s gonna snowball
‘Till I’m martyred
And the cracks in my skin
Sink like deep gorges
Into the baths
And bathos
Of neverending conflict
Where the buds shed blood
And humanity is torn
From the soldiers on the field
We’re beasts of emotion
Mmk
Whatever
Your logic means nothing to me
But when you turn emotional
I’ll start being sensible
And want to fix this
I’m only sending you a “K”
Because you wouldn’t like it
If I said “Fuck you”
When you ask what’s wrong
I’ll tell you it’s stuff
Or nothing
Stop trying to be positive
I’m gonna call you anything
I can just to make myself feel better
Go away
But don’t go away
Stop taking things literally
Apologize in the face of my
Fucking threats
Or I’m not coming back
I’d love to say fuck you so much
So instead I’ll say “K” again
It’s a trap
Ignore what I said and instead
You should do the opposite
I don’t believe in compromise
Apologize unconditionally
You’re going to have to
Write about it
And not tell me what you’re feeling
Because if you do it’ll offend me
But when I say something mean to you
You better shut your mouth
And don’t talk back
War
Doesn’t matter
Sardonicism
Make every move cold
And calculated
To the last number
We’re gathering strength
In the opposition
We’re defying expectations
With our
Master strategy
Or so it would seem
Where we might find
The vulnerabilities
Troops on every border
We’ve withdrawn
Our ambassadors
And diplomats
Put up all our sanctions
And declared war
Without a congress
Every action has
A thousand and three
Contingencies
And we have operations
Plans
Contracts with blackwater
Mercenaries
And we’ve taxed our citizens
To death
For certain
As every ounce of anything
Will be needed to prepare
For the reckoning
We’ve declared war
But we won’t be sure
What that means until
We’re halfway through
When our factories are at
Max capacity
And our economy is
Back to booming
Bonds, bucks, bullets
A trinity of what we need
To sustain the fuel
For infantry
We’re at war
What that might mean
We aren’t yet sure
Spoon Fed
Spoon Fed
Get coddled
Take a bite
Grip my wrist
As tight
As you can
While I pry
Your mouth open
And plunge it in
Filled with nurture
Against nature
No resisistance
Strong enough
To resist the pull
On your closed maw
Or push away the wrist
And disobey
Woo me
Don’t lose me
Keep resisting anyway
Because the spoon’s coming
Feel the cold silver
Wrack your teeth
Let the cold feed
Slide down your tongue
Choo choo
Here comes the train
End of line
Don’t disobey
Sport
Sport
Little white plastic ball bearings
Hurt when they impact skin
After fired from spring or CO2
That’s why we wear vests
And masks and helmets over
Jumpsuits and thick pants
That’s why we fear the pellets
They cause pain and decide
Whether or not you “live”
In a dusty and deep trench
I pull back the bolt to
Prime a powerful spring
Through a visor, not much
Can’t be seen without a
Haze of chaos and heat
Barely a figure with a red
Armband can be detected
On the opposite field side
Plastic clinks against metal
To aim down the sights
And fire at that team
How many painful pellets
Shoot from airsoft guns
On a plastic battlefield
“At Last, Some…”
“At Last, Some…”
“… discord!” Cooed a part of me,
who reveled in languish. “Play
a trick, try a bit!” It hissed.
“Pull one over, try and fool
her!” It laughed and jeered.
“Today is dead!” It said.
“Go on and ignore her!”
It cried with glee, tears
in its eyes from laughter.
Go straight to hell,
little voice. Pick
your own fights.
I’ll never yell
for you.
For this, there is
one antidote.
Penny Tanker
Penny Tanker
An oil tanker
Full of pennies
Ran aground
On a reef
In a gulf
It ripped and
Roared over banks
And settled on
Sand and stood
As salvage
With a hull
Full of copper
And a fuselage
Full of oil
Ceasing to boil
How small a coin
Can do so much
Harm
Adrenaline
Adrenaline
From might or fury
What fury might
Prevail in haste
When holds are not
Barred.
Fire or frying pan
What cast iron
Will sting and
Impale blunt will
Force.
Furious skull or
Scrap of steel
What arms may be
Taken in ferocity
Or fear.
For fight and flight,
For fluid spilled,
What tempered vein
Or tapped artery
Flows
Fraught with fright
At the prospect
Of finding a
Frail fence to hide
Behind.
Fervor, when hydraulics
Pump in the tubes,
Pressure building in
Pipes. Primal pasts
Exhumed.
So what arms would
Be taken? A skull?
An iron skillet? Or
Perhaps a frail
Sword?
Fool, there’d be
No time to take,
No time to think,
But when pressure
Mounts,
Primal instincts
Possess. What
Might or fury
Might power
Fury.
Only a metallic,
Copper taste left
On the roof of a
Parched
Mouth.
