Sunday, March 30, 2014

the sigh of collapsing walls
as death's hands
clap shut a paper bag
tilt acid in a cup

stop, crouch, reload
peek around the corner
plaster exploding all around you
well-equipped for chaos
a certain sangfroid for gunplay

shell casings leave a trail of breadcrumbs
leading back to Yamamoto
it's nothing personal, this hit

they never are

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