You are feeling weak today, wrought with need,
to feed on my blood, as you hunger in loss over,
what you swear, in vulgar terms, I stole from you.

Arrows direct hit, sticking bull's eye to my spine,
as if my backbone can be perforated, obliterated,
all my strength and knowledge of self destroyed.

Nails enter my chest cavity, heart flipping,
flopping in response, murmuring, rubbing,
as if bruised, but beating regular rhythms.

Push pins invade my skull, my head aching,
in your vain attempt to scar what remains to be,
the truth, the knowledge, the memories banked.

Do I open fire in return, crippling you with spears,
piercing your breast bone for a voilent blood let,
forcing your brain to make my kind of sense?

No, I wait, knowing pain and anger will subside,
arrows falling, nail gun empty, pins saved back
to reassemble the pieces that are your true life.