I can't help but think of the scores of demons dying halfway across the planet
in my backyard
In my house
People filling their bellies with opinions on things they know nothing of

But this doesn't do as much damage as the real work
there are those killing taking action taking lives
in real time
trying their hardest to beat the tally
to beat the board
in this bored *** life
I almost respect them for wanting to make a dent of their own
Cataclysmic,
wiping dinosaurs clean
whipping amoebas and monkeys into shape

Doing something is better than drowning in möbius waves of linens and comforters

My rabbit hole hand looking dried and thirsty while cupping the brook side run off
Tongue lapping ****** sores on the outskirts of my only remaining power source

I stay silent and let loose control of the scores
Like justice, unbiased
And of course I am still looking forward to a slick hair back And focus time.