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patch work crucifix
This time i am blind folded.
Surly and smoking .
I pay closer attention to the courtyard pigeons, intercepting the message through they’re scuttle and flaps,
“ you are still free,
till captain says three ”
I quit tugging at my given holds,
take a half step and smother the brick.
A strong faith in impossible escapes and rescues developes in me as I’m praying to a gospel inspired by steel link assaulting skin.
“ you are still free,
till captain yells three ”
I embrace the spectators, indulging every ill word and wish of demise like sultry lines of the purest poetry lovingly destined for my ears.
I began to believe the stones thrown at my chest are roses and bulbs of the most vivid colors and hue.
No fear,
i understand this path now.
Nothing regretted,
I’ve smiled and roared through most of it.
Few pains,
ive all but conditioned the bruises.
The rifles click.
I am warm in eight spots.
Assured of the quintessence in this chaos i laugh and sputter a crimson freedom through my teeth.
The captain, can’t count past two.
Just an expression of ending a bad habit or process
but ending it on your terms.
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