Damaged

There is a gaze, mistress to the sun

biting the bullet, aiming the gun

scratching the surface, army of one

opening the wound, bleeding from the incision

searching for normality, puncturing the lung

circular stairs parallel, trying to envision

vicious humanity, from very young

dreams exceptionally real, never undone

shell quite pale, door opens to no one

screams hear nothing, walls higher than a mountain

damaged goods, give me the handgun

suffering mentally, physically, emotionally, agonizingly

being pulled in every direction

yet stood still in my own retrospection

visible to every resurrection

after the night to night eradication

mutilated by the savage harassment

fatigued by the personal embarrassment

pain in my veins once again, feelings of disparagement.