After harmlessly crossing your border
          you take our friendship hostage
guarding your perimeter with sandbags of arbitrary etiquette
a no man's land of manners separates us
   you snipe from your defensive position
              so I retreat and start strategizing.
Consulting my generals to discuss your tactics
  they advise me to start stockpiling weapons
                and to start looking for weaknesses.

There is a counteroffensive to your intentions.
            While you were destroying my satcoms
a successful infiltration of your command center was accomplished.
Once your defenses were understood
           your flanks appeared vulnerable.
                      Blind spots were revealed.

You only sign a treaty once your resources start depleting
then you ignore the rules I'm reading to give me a beating.
          So I'm building up my arsenal and
enriching my uranium in this centrifuge
                             where we spin in circles.
My nuclear option is prepared and capable.
                  Pacifism is more appealing than violence
     but when you try to erase who I am I must take a stand.

Armed with an ability to attack
I get a warhead on my shoulders
               found from old schematics
you shared with me while I fought your enemies.
               They were never thrown away
now they're dusted off and revisited
to make your walls crumble
and incinerate you flag.

Your nation starts hiding from what they were once confiding
                              after my nukes obliterate your infrastructure.
Rebels and runners fill fallout shelters and basement bunkers
                                         hiding from the radioactivity in the air.

Everyone's death equals success proving I'm best
        so I develop a permanent wartime economy
                                      and fire missiles mercilessly.
There's no difference between fighters and civilians
             because some insurgents are chameleons
                                      so I **** them by the millions.
                        The more weapons I get
                        the more needless death
                        until the only nations left standing
are those that have stockpiled weapons of their own.

When I was young I was told to shoot for the stars
but once I got older I was told to climb a ladder
a tumultuous ladder
with rungs of compromise and concession
some of them just pointless lessons.
Ascenders climb to reach happiness
or escape misery
but I climb to climb
to occupy my time.

I spend all my energy climbing
while jet packs and rocket ships blast by me
their exhaust is blinding and suffocating.
I see bodies fall just as fast in the other direction
reachers who lost their grip
now fall to the bottom
reminding me of the gravity of my situation.

It's hard to say if I'll survive
when some people survive a fall from the top
while others die slipping two feet off the ground.
The fragility and resilience of life
seems arbitrary and random
but everyone ends up in the ground eventually.

Those above me constantly add to the ladder
so I make no progress.
Those below me constantly dig beneath it
so I keep sinking.
Climbing and going nowhere
suspended in air
at a certain point progress
becomes not falling off
and maintaining my grip
through extreme turbulence.

My hands are calloused and ******
the further up I go
the more intense the turbulence
until fear shakes my body
harder than the wind ever could.
The ladder starts splintering into my hand
until I don't know how much more I can withstand
so I devise a plan
to utilize my fellow climbers.

I find companions for assistance
I call them helpers
they're the top shelfers
I want to surround myself with.
They help me up the ladder
lifting me with encouragement
or their arms when words aren't enough
just to help me up.
Whenever I'm knocked down a few pegs
they give me back my legs
and hold my ladder steady
making life on the ladder livable
but they don't hang around forever
because this ladder I climb is mine
and everyone has their own ladder to climb.

I didn't ask for this vertical trajectory
but when my options are die or climb
I choose the ladder.

I open my eyes to close them
I close my eyes to open them
to see identity.
The mirror distorts appearance
I see what I see—not what I am,
an amnesiac that remembers everything,
yet knows nothing. Light fades into the shadows
evidence of invisible particles suspended in air.
The white lines on the black road
leave black lines on my white face.

Tales from the black addendum
demons live, God sends them
we're their descendants.
Dented faces provide rented places for descendant stasis.
Nature finds the cracks—erosion does the rest
mountains crumble—cliffs form
the mountainside dissolves into the ocean
adding mud to the ocean floor—insulation for the Earth's core.

One strike from the air should be considered one airstrike
yet here in America we conflate air raids with airstrikes.

We say one plane dropping one bomb is an airstrike
but five planes dropping twenty bombs is also an airstrike
obfuscating the definition of the term
to lessen its rhetorical effect
and the statistics of our shady war efforts.

In terms of airstrikes we should count every explosive munition
because on the ground people are dealing with individual impacts
but our imperial aerial view makes it look like just one big explosion.

Don’t mistake my kindness for strength
or my treaties for tanks
or my beatings for banks
I’ll bleed just from blanks
then I’ll flee to the flank
to get free from their spanks.

All the mistakes
my mind makes
are mind snakes
of blind faith
that finds fate
in grind grates.

You must be mistaken
when you say I’m misshapen
and there’s no way I’m this craven
I just look for a bliss haven
where I can kiss mavens.

You must have me mistaken for someone who cares
I’m someone who cares too much
I make too many mistakes to bear
and lose your touch.

You say you have no ***** to give
because it ***** to live
without bucks to bid
on the luck to win
so you shuffle spin
off my ruffled ridge
for muscled sin.

It was a mistake talking to you
mistaking the color red for blue
mistaking what you said as true
that you had a bed for two
until I read the news
you had the best to choose
so I bled and bruised
mistaking your clues.

Yemen is a floating failed state spinning in the maelstrom
of flu, COVID, diphtheria, and cholera on one side
and the US backed Saudi coalition on the other.

They float there
like an abandoned oil tanker
floating off the coast in the Red Sea
threatening to spill 1,000,000 barrels of crude oil
until entirety turns black—
a sticky substance that’s hard to clean off.

It floats there as a deterrent—a ***** bomb
Houthis hold hostage future generations
with an IED that will injure all of our children—
why have Houthis weaponized the destruction of our planet?
Could it be that we’ve taken their world from them?

The people drop
like a bomb from the sky
in the Shada area of the Saada province.

The country explodes
like a car of 13 Houthis—4 children—
sending shrapnel to every corner of the Earth.

How many children is a terrorist’s life worth?
Keep in mind terrorists could hurt children
or those children could grow up to be terrorists
or a defense contractor could go out of business
so what’s the price of a child relative to those scenarios?

21,000 airstrikes in 5 years
5 years to do the math
every time we try to solve the equation
the answer comes out negative.

Living in a space station
the bottom faces Earth
life is lonely
hovering in the abyss.
Mentality heavy
feet get heavier as the mind sinks
until dying star feet become too heavy.

Every step taken
pushes the station towards Earth
intense fear                    sinking feeling.
Stay still                      don’t move
nothing stops the momentum of heavy feet
the station continues careening.

Panic                     panic
running around searching for answers
severe spinning starts
corkscrew bullet shot at Earth
no solutions                      pure terror
lead eyelids shield vertigo eyes.

Plummeting in an aerospace submarine
burning in the hellfire of the atmosphere
I keep falling until there’s nothing left.