Sunday, November 6, 2011

The Gun

My words do my dirty work
droppin simile like napalm
and metaphorical carpet bombs
destroying empty streets
paved with bricks of doubt
enshrouding complacent city states of mind

and as I contemplate this piece I cease existing
in the conscious world
as words take over
moving through me

bringing you a message of divine inspiration
and sweet sadistic desperation

I become the gun
focusing an explosion in one direction

I sharpen syllables like shuriken
split my lip with a pencil
and spit this infection through your brain
while I grab the wind like a samurai sword

the last lost wandering ronin on a mission from God
to slay haters and masturbators
with more to prove than offer
and weave resurrection science
over hollow corpses
to bring them back and ask what they learned

droppin shit from so far over your head
you think it's chocolate rain
and turn baby bird mouths to the sky
to take a hit to your tongue
and trip with me until I'm done
dumb, undone and spun

and I'm gasping for breath
grasping for meaning
drunk on the word
and lost in plain sight

I reach into my darkest corner
rip the lid off a box of secrets
and dare you to look at my truth
I love and I bleed, I lie and I lead
I eat fear like an orphan gobbles chocolate
I FUCK like a demon possesed
and I fight like a dozen howling wolves
to live a life worth the price of admission

starving, snarling, stinking, and alone
naked and shaking
there is no room for death in me
there is no room for shame in me
one heart and one soul burning
with the passion of a thousand suns
I am the gun
and I do not fear the fire.

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