Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋

Master Of The Flies

Master Of Flies
no innocence spared

I know who or what I’ll hunt when humanity devolves.
I do not wait.
I choose not to idle, to be struck first.
The time to wonder is before a world on fire.
Sticks sharp, traps ready will set.

Blood they’ll thirst. I’ll not crave.
Mind nightly maps each coming conflict
and possible outcomes.
Glass will be dull,
deep shoved in cavernous heads.
None will mount sticks.
Flies will not feast where I flourish,
but on red streets of my victims.

They die by my hand.
I’m undead, killed by them lifelong.
I spared breath for muscle.
Sinew strong,
I’ll flex and strike again
and again. No graves for them.
They left me in rubble.
I hide in ruby.
Will rise from boulder crushed to pebble
and dust. Life grinds,
even now.

The end could be near. Sharpen your sticks.
You think you have just cause to fight,
to the teeth? To your death?
I have no use for you as you for a master
after I was dead.


2.6.23

A Grindhouse Joint

Revisiting “Lord Of The Flies” day after tormenting day and making my mind up about something.