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.

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.