Posted on

Own.

“You don’t have me, no one
does,” so pronounces
the stubborn,

still refusing to admit 
defeat. “All this world ever
seems to be after

is control. Stealing souls,
producing meaty puppets
of the hollow skin-shells
they once animated. 

So I go.
I run and I fight.

Like a serrated blade
sawing through meat and bone,
got a hot fucking date
with the marrow and beyond.

So I drive
right through, as
if I owned the place…”

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