what am i grateful for when my thoughts lay awake in scorn , hate is a chore
elaborate on forces eluding a label or even a name to be worn
stomach’s a crate of torque , is it the medicine or rounds of anxious thorns
do you relate to soreness around tight jaws from foreboding intakes of war
wish i could apply my pacifist attributes , high-calibered ammo’s on tap
instead i drag up insurgents with strategies based in attrition, wield a pickaxe
master restriction , reminisce on flatter spikes , sleeping but minus the sighs
conscious deep-breathed fireflies only sometimes can quiet these invalid lice
hatching their larva , too advanced of a device to be cured by the bashful polite
– D K T
