fuck the title, I’m winging this shit.

the words are supposed to hit, to hit, to hit
like a goddamn fucking ton of bricks to your
skull,

but cheap tricks like repetition and expletives 
don’t bury the blade in the gray matter of your skull,

they don’t inject lethal poison to the wasted spaceship
of your skull,

they don’t burn away the outer core, shrivel the inner doors, and spew all-consuming acid
on the pores in every orifice of your skull,

your skull, your skull is still intact
your skull is still strange and there
your skull exists today the same way it did yesterday,

my artillery is fired in vain, in vain
in fucking goddamn vain,

why are the fucking veins of your
skull and brain still intact?

why is the musket fire devoid of impact?
why does every ounce of conjured anger and emotion
fail to fatally redact the back of your neck and burst through the front of
that giggly throat of yours?

why is there no fatal blast, goddammit?
why is that fucking skull of yours still intact?

i’m smearing this page with the wild
abandon of reckless syntax
but it sizzles and fades

why doesn’t it stay? why doesn’t it stay? why doesn’t the anger and desperation and pain pour over you like rain?
like apocalypse?
like noah’s flood?

i’ll deprive the world of timber
to stop your ark from sailing,

and maybe that does make me a psychopath
maybe that does make me insane,

but jesus christ,
why? why? why? why?
why is your skull still intact?

i’ll break every bone in my back,
lose every cell in my brain
trying to argue with this brick wall
and drop it dead
with imperfect, useless, worthless, dogshit, horseshit, 
stupid
stupid
stupid
fucking
words.

Willie Watt
3.3.15

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