It’s a healthy alternative when ingested internally.
It’s not a wayward strike against another hull.
I’m calling the shots to aim the shots and down the shots.
The pain’s a construct I prop up on sinew’s brick and mortar,
eroding into tsunami waves that rise without the grace of prediction.
Weather calls for whether or not it wants to witness violence.
I maim the desired target on the desired time.
It’s a healthy alternative when I keep my hands to myself.
Self-made timeout corner session,
making notes on the new scar messages.
It’s fine enough when you’re not peaking.
Keep those eyes off of my prize.
This tumble is going to cover a lot of ground.
They’ll fail to see so long as they forget to see.
Turn and let the tragedy write itself out of gas,
and the smoke can dissipate as the whispers of remembrance.