fishing line

how do you kill a man
who is ready to die
when the sun of his life
is a shadow in the twilight skies

when the fishing line of life
is a thread through open lips
cinching them close, tight
closer than storm fucked ships

and the call of a wild heart
is but a whimper in a dark room
how do you kill a man
who is welcoming his doom

with open arms and open eyes
lips sealed with fishing line of lies
humming to the tunes of the oncoming fire
how do you kill a man who is burned by desire

--
I wanted to take this poem in a different direction. It's not as good as I'd like it to be. Maybe I will come back this for a revision. But for now, it stays like this.

warhead

far above a cursed earth

a lonely satellite looms

signals processing, data meshing

waiting for the doom

deep below in belly of earth

a girl sits in a bunker

the men with guns search for her

but they still can't punk her

the satellite floats in magnetic waves

its belly filled with fire

it's been waiting for a hundred years

for a signal from her

her finger hovers on the button

a button marked as doom

she takes a breath and slams the button

as men with guns enter her room

before the bullets pierce her skin

the room begins to blur

where there was a living girl

now there's no sign of her

inside the floating satellite

the fiddles with the keys

the wires wrap around her

the software whispers please

slowly becoming one with the machine

she says a prayer for the dead

to rid the earth of all its sins

she lets go the biggest warhead

a scorched planet below her

circuitry in her heart

she pulls the satellite deeper in space

to find a place to restart 

--

I've been slacking writing poems here, because life isn't fair and you even when you get what you want, it's not what you wanted. 

Stay hydrated out there.