Wounded Warning

Photo by Perchek Industrie on Pexels.com

Wounded Warning

I don’t retreat. I eat. So write it down.
Or scratch that! Do something sometimes not feed
Or nourish? Yup, you can call that defeat
Or success. Guess it just depends
On when we meet. Oh, how sweet,
I was not trying to get a compliment.
I was just openly telling you what you get
When you open me up, and it might seem
like that sounds like I shut down, but
if you haven’t had a buck shot in the aorta, honestly,
I’d put your fucking guns down. In case,
you missed what I just said. I don’t
retreat and/or know how to properly give myself
success. I’ll fight you til I’m fat enough
to sit on your petty self, or until I’m just a ghost, and then,
I’ll haunt you so bad, you’ll feel what starving feels like
when it starts to get into the marrow of your very bones.
I might be a mess, you’re right, but
mess’ are complicated places to get what you need.
So a word… stay where you are, ask nice,
And I’ll bring it to you. Enter without knocking,
and that’s your own doom.

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