My red phone's flashing,
It must be you calling.
What's it this time?
A dull knife?
Russian roulette?
Cat claws out yet?
A verbal blackjack to the back of my brain?
You seem to always miss the front;
That's the seat of reason.
Escalate.
Take your time.
I'll sit here in my silo,
My key in the lock,
Your head on the block;
But you don't know it.
I'd love to use my words;
What a pity,
They'd miss that pretty
Head of yours,
Flying high over it.
So ready your missiles,
I'll ready mine.
Steady…
No game?
What a shame.
I was hoping for
Mutually Assured Destruction.
~Darkling Plain, Sept. 12, 2006
No comments:
Post a Comment