Cotton balls

Launching cotton balls from catapults

The inner constitution of my retribution

Can not muster the fortitude to combat your assaults upon our castle

I can not slay that which is so a part of myself

As if the hydra heads of your explanations

Waft in spasms of spaghetti tree trunks of emotional wrecking balls

Flailing limp under logical inspection, yet busting voids in my visage

Expelling and extracting my internal compliment like a Jenga tower

That without you, the balancing act to my high school inadequacies

Were no longer counter-weighted and left thundering in a thud

Of psychological bombardment upon my id floor

To shatter and germinate seedlings like mogwai into gremlins

For me to combat in my quiet hours

In the solitude I find my sword, sharpened and steady in sheath

Thrust from the hilt of certainty

That I may never flail upon you with blood lust

But I will not let this garden to rot for the fungus and overture of reckless inattention

And so I strike my plowshare upon the dirt

To replant, uproot, and extinguish the scent of spoiled flesh

For a tendril of an orchid to entwine upon a sunrise

Grasping that which is greater than you