You pulled out the silverware drawer for this one All knives and forks stabbing at me Words that pierced and screamed Wherever do you find them? Stored somewhere in the deepest recesses of your soul? Somewhere in a our collective DNA? Lost in the basement of our shared growing? Nature vs. nurture loses gravity or counter balance when it emanates personal. A blood-shot fury targeted specificity No feint jabs but a true bolo punch with me unaware deer in the headlights No master of Goshin Jutsu I hide in a corner unskilled at Kaeshi Waza Like Bulletstorm you move through the space anticipation of we finding my corners; finding my weaknesses Touché! Blood is drawn. Touché! The sabre is thrust. I wait with no rebuttal. I watch. Wounded.
Wanderings and Reflections