No one listens. Until the bang grabs attention. It's the driving of my fist through a cinder block. White knuckles turn red. Blood tastes like wine. Drunk is my eyesight. Piercing is my energy. It's the energy...it swells and radiates a soft glow and lifts high into the air. Lofty is it's perch and blue is it's color. Fills the sky, and white wisps carve it up and pour down below the residue, washing everything anew, and regenerating emotive all the while. After turbulent waters, rivers are calmed and serene. Fertile valleys profit from havoc and disarray.
At peace...like how the other pillow smells like her well after she's left in the morning...or the come down after sweating out the toxins in a muscle-fiber rage...or pain killers camouflaged and hiding in my spine...or the drunk that makes the laughs harder...or when my mother calls on a lazy Sunday afternoon...or the cool air rolling through the truck with the full moon shining through the windshield, turning everything silver, Harvest Moon escaping from the speakers.
Walk to the shoreline, down the beach, into the water. Frenzied and hurried, but at peace...alive and surprised at my lucidity. My fist submerges, attracting the streamlined torpedos. Voracity on it's way. Dark, shadowy rogues encircle, swirling the water, face to face. Stalking the seduction of red blood cells. They bleed resonance. They bleed red. Teeth shine and water foams. Energy is reborn again.
And I'll end my life the way I lived it. Inside the mouth of a bull shark.
My youth is a weapon.
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