The Fight

On the days my socks are soft

And I write about the smell of coffee

I miss the days I walk barefoot

On the warpath of my rage.

I cannot wish for madness

All the time

But I do.

I want the blood in my veins to be hot

The saliva in my mouth to be foam

The coffee to burn my tongue

And my socks to feel itchy.

I like the scars that battle leaves me with

A little too much.

I count the bullet holes

Trace my stab wounds with my fingernails

So they crack open.

I fall in love with the devil

A million times

So he can hold my soul captive

Because I like the way it hurts.

The way to self sabotage

Is polluted with black smoke

And I smile when it makes my lungs burn

So I can gasp for air.

I do not want to win wars.

I want to fight them

And forever stay a warrior.