Hands leaving passionate marks
for a crying nun
that has sinned her life away.
Let her pray instead of running away.
Let her cry warm wasteful tears.
***** fingernails explore
the filthy nuns surface.
Tracing bruises
and spreading pain
from the spanking received
for being too needy.
Forming nuances of red
on the prime target.
Sweet syrup fingers
dripping down the arms
of a freshly dead man.
Defeat for the nun
who now is done.

I used to be a Glock 40,
my aim impeccable.
I made the decision,
I pulled the trigger,
I hit my target.
Lately, I've been a musket shot;
unpredictable,
and somehow even more dangerous than usual.
I miss the center and wind up somewhere in the corner of the paper.
Dust flies from the shrapnel
where I used to have a single trail of smoke indicating the bullet, crumpled but whole,
placing a hole where I wanted it to,
and one unbroken shell, slightly charred,
dropping near my feet.
But here I am watching people take cover
as my pieces go flying, destroyed by my own chaos,
tearing anything and everything apart in its path.
I used to be deadly but precise.
Now I'm not sure what I am.
I'm certainly causing damage,
but more to myself than anyone else...
I confuse and startle people more than strike fear in them,
and that's insufficient...
I want to be better,
but I keep going off without warning,
and people avoid me to avoid getting hit,
but they're not scared,
they're simply learning,
and I don't know how I feel about that,
maybe I'm not a gun anymore,
maybe I'm the target,
I certainly feel like a piece of paper,
flimsy and vulnerable against the onslaught of lead,
blown to bits and drifting off in the cloud of dust...
maybe I don't want to be a gun anymore.
I certainly don't want to be a target.
Maybe I don't want to be a pistol
or a musket
or a bow or a knife or a clenched fist,
maybe I want to be a person.

no wonder they said you fire words at people
its the same mechanism as a gun
you aim at the target
   the person
you pull the trigger
   you start yelling at someone
you feel the kick of the gun
   the instant questioning if you should have started this
the bullet hits the person
   the words hit deep and they feel the pain

and both these wounds can effect someone minorly and severely and can even be fatal to the person receiving your words or bullet

All the zigzag routes come toward You
So the right path is the destination of all twisting ways!
As the center point of a circle is One!
O! my Lord!
-----------

You called my heart a target
when I said your words were arrows
you wouldn’t slow
your shouting
you mocked me
made me part of your clichéd love song
poor you with bad girl gone wrong
you wronged by me somehow
could you not see that I was cowering
before this anger I didn’t understand
your demands
for a woman who’s x and not y
I tried
but could never succeed
Your rap sheet for me
was a 6 foot hole in the ground
getting deeper down
each rule I broke symptoms of sickness
cured by submission
you said to this pit you made
in a life
as your wife
with your name behind Mrs.
keeping you kind with my kisses
while losing my mind
I would have died your slave
so I’m climbing out of my grave
no need to shout as I go
your words are arrows
my heart is the target you’re missing.