you are a bullet, pushing through everything & everyone
in your path only to achieve your happiness. somehow,
i always find myself behind the barrel of the gun. i cannot
conceal the self-inflicted bullet wounds like empty holes
with snakes sneaking out of the orifices. trying to suppress
the infection with outside sources is like treating a wound
with salt: it only gets worse each day. the recoil of the gun
is only becoming more common. thankfully, the sharp
pain has turned into a short resounding moan that wishes
itself to sleep and wistfully shoving the vague memories
back down into the ninety percent of my mind i do not use.
this is no fairytale ending. this is obliteration; this is a fallout.
this is the reality of a rapture, this is the third world war the
bible never warned us about, this is speaking in complete
silence. this is worse than complete loathing. this is what you
are not warned about. i understand now that i am the victim
of the many crimes you’ve committed and i still want everything
and more to do with my culprit. this is a colossal curse.

- kra