I’m getting it, or it’s getting me.
Switch to def-con four
dodging red arrows shot from cherubs.
When the first “need to see” is told
and I resist thinking about,
my thoughts wander
to heartbeats and blood flows
bringing life back to the lifeless.
I’ve got it, or it’s gotten me.
Grabbed hold of strings tugged
and swat away at the fat babies
flying all around and stinging me
to fuck with creative juices
that flicker and threaten to wink out.
Another candle is lit for the young
stupid, childish, juvenile doings
and I’m thinking oops, cause it’s back
The last pine once forgotten, now lost,
but a new candle starts to burn,
and I try to blow it out.
I’ve got it bad, or it has possessed me.
Thoughts circle around one
during love songs on the radio.
My wandering mind
wonders upon nourishment
I am at def-con two
as meals are skipped.
My Jones goes into an outbreak
sensing her in the vicinity.
All juice is concentrated and frozen.
I see nothing but my habit.
I’ve got it real bad and the battle is lost
The little fat fucking cherubs
strike me down, an arrow in the chest.
Heart and head explode in a mushroom cloud
that my Jones happily snorts.
I reach def-con one as everything else stops
and she completes, all I see, in my world.