Internal Politics

My right hand wants to punch,
My left hand wants to cut.
Whichever goes first
In the end, matters not.
I complain either way
For pain just exchanged.
I broadcast my cross
And downplay my loss.
The person across me
Should shut with my call.
I’ll hold some of theirs
And graft a new arm.
It’s quite an advance
But they call it death’s stance.
I plug in a shot
But some parts still rot.
“He, I’ve no need”
Was what I believed.
Yet a cross harrows on
And follows throughout.

Advertisements

Feel free to say something!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s