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sometimes, i’ve
been known to sit
and stare at the ashtray
as it stares back
at me, like we’re waging
our own silent war.

i feel bold and patriotic,
staring at the smug, self-satisfied
nazi bastard as it stares back at me,
coughing, ejaculating black ash
whenever the wind hikes up it’s
teasing skirt and bares its gustly fruit.
i swear to you, the couch, the front porch,
even the goddamn balcony becomes stalingrad
when this happens.
the lines are dyed in red paint and we touch
our toes on the other side
with machineguns in hand, maybe a few granades;
chomping on cigarettes, swallowing the nicotine
like gin, always staring each other down
with that menecing, hate filled
stare. it knows too much
and i have been ordered to kill it,
for the good of the fucking world, i need to end it,
make it bleed in eternity,
make it fear me for all the times i have been told to fear it.

the war is fought, bullets are spread,
the war is mine,
but it shot me in the leg,
looked me deep in the eyes
and punctured my lung with no remorse, laughing.

no, cackling.
it fucking cackled madly before it perished
into nothingness.

– r.o.a

Listening to: Cave In – Big Riff [Album: Jupiter]


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