Shrapnel and carnations
Torrential holocaust from above.
Night scathes the daylight,
Much like a blade carving a ripe tomato.
The notion of a rose with a rifle,
A moose with a target sign,
A hooker with a bargain discount,
Twenty seconds 'til deadline
Never enough time to live . . .
Breath, sleep, eat, screw . . .
Is that all we have to live for?
I wonder . . . Sometimes, if ever.
I care about nothing.
Seems like a reality check if nothing more.
Love--a fool's notion at loneliness.
My idiocy of that emotion died long ago.
I live for nothing more than to be.
In the moment.
With Mrs Right . . .Now.
Mrs Right will never happen,
For someone who doesn't believe in love, at least.
