Weapon of Choice

her body is metal.
as tough as steel, and
built to last.

made to build up or take down,
leaving happiness or destruction
in her wake.
provoking reactions is what she does,
no matter on land, by air or by sea–
she does not give a fuck.

holding her heart between my thumb
and middle finger.
she is my love and my hate,
my blessing and my curse.
yet, when she is with me
i feel infinite.

she prompts me to engage,
giving me the ability to raise my fist.
she helps me to rage against the establishment,
the machine
or tear open my heart when it breaks.

with blistering pace, she makes me bleed.
pressing her heart
she begins to suffocate
when at my most volatile.

her beauty comes from the inside
where friends and foes least expect it.
spewing a flood of black
and grotesqueness
that in turn turns into such powerful

keeping me from complete madness,
she helps me fight the everyday fight
by holding her heart next to mine
until the moment i lay beside her
six feet deep.

my pen.