Poem-A-Day: Day 256

Life vs. Death

Brass knuckle punch
square in the jaw.

Life can be a prick sometimes.

So I look Life in the eye,
and I say,
“Stay out of my way,
or I’ll fucking kill you.”

Life, condescending as always,
smirks, and gets in my face.

I do the most logical thing,
and I knock Life to the ground
and start punching.
I punch until there’s nothing left,
no flesh,
no bone,
no blood,
only the memory of a shrouded figure,
some piece of shit
dressed in all black
like a debonair mystery of the night.

I beat on the memory until I saw nothing,
nothing but my own hands clapping.

The brass knuckles were my own,
and I’ve been punching at cement for years,
just bloodying my own hands
and breaking my wrists.

Life isn’t the problem.

It has just been an excuse
and a metaphor for death.