Drilling your fingers
in and under my skin,
you use me as a suit
to claim what is mine.

And I am under the impression
that love is patient,
and love is kind,
that your touch is pure
and your methods defined.

But you convince me otherwise,
dragging your hands through mine
So it is my finger being pointed.

Drilling your fingers
in and under my skin,
you use me as a suit
to claim what is mine.

Flowing through my veins
is your presence,
a warming reminder of
your intentions

and I'm left helpless,
a suit to be worn and torn,
used to mask a wolf
hunting his next  meal

Drilling your fingers
in and under my skin,
you use me as a suit
to claim what is mine.

With time staring me in the face
I scan my surroundings for
a brief and subtle moment,
making it a point
not to let my presence be known
but I notice I am too late,
as you gaze at me
from across this fluttered room.
You ask me,
"would you like a drink?"
to which I provide no answer.
I sit up as if this action were my last,
drinking the fresh air
like a depressed drunk
with the same motive of escaping my situation.
I need to think
think man, think
Silence is painted across the room,
then slashed away.
"You know why you're here,
right?"
You glared at me,
red beams shooting from your eyes
and connecting with me.
I began to pace around my head
gathering any and all words that
didn't involve pleading for mercy and I said
"Yes."

"Then you know why I am doing this."

I stared down the barrel of this loaded gun,
and sent an open invitation to Time
like a lonely grandmother
clinging on to the comfort of
a family gathering,
but, like the lonely grandmother,
I am left alone.
I can feel his fingers tremble
on the trigger
as if begging me to give him a reason
to push it down.

I thought of my wife.
I thought of my wife alone,
being accompanied only by Time
trying to comfort her by
holding her hand,
while she cries
wishing she had more
to spend with me,
and I shed a tear.
Think man, think

"I'm sorry I have to do this,"
you said,
the gun lightly kissing my forehead.
I could feel the animosity of the moment
and I could hear it screaming in my face
MOVE
MOVE YOU IDIOT
MOVE

"I'm sorry."

MOVE YOU IDIOT
MOVE

**.   .   .

After a long day of
worrying
and a long night of
contemplating,
a long week of
depressing
and a long year of
repressing
I'm over it.

The water is racing towards the drain
like a horse chasing the path to victory
as the foam is getting shoved off my face.

The razor, a warrior, sets up his shield
as he prepares for war, a begins to yield.

The cities on my face stay at ease
Why the calmness in fear's place?
It must be satisfying, knowing you'll be replaced.

So the blade kissed the side of my head
ruins and rubble, ever so smooth.
As if Caesar returned to avenge himself
from a dastardly betrayal, many hairs remain
for I am feeling generous, as I stroke my mane.