There it is.
A bubble
red.
Buried in the metaphorical rubble.
Alive, yet dead.
target sighted
I'm still wrong, not yet righted.
Phasers locked, loaded, and ready to scritch
Entering the level of crazy...*****.
And scratch. Penalty shot.
And it's GOOD!
Though truthfully, I've been here a while. And it's bad.
I already lost.
Because I always come back to it.
Because it's a bug bite ya fools.

It's been quiet for quite some time.
Because I always come back to it.
Because it's actually not a bug bite ya fools.

Metaphors are dead
and now the smile wears my face like a simile.
Thoughts in my head
unravel faster than a sweater string all pily.