Killing Me

A brutal stab to the chest, piercing flesh, parting bone.
Seeking a heart to spill blood.
Fierce instinctual urges to survive and go on are met with the languid quality of surrender.
Moving, gritting teeth, while I empty.
Lying down to accept the nothingness.
Full of the End.
And the killing continues.
If the time was another, then I could see.
But in the present state it is fuzzy.
There are a lot of hearts perforated by intensity.
The bad is really so good.
How do you walk around and still believe?
How do you see and still care?
I’d say it is a matter of opinion.
We all have our double cross to bear.
Let’s just make sure the goals are our own.
Nothing worse than slaving for another’s fix.
Nothing better than being it yourself.
Nothing wrong with a good little Kill.