The Projectile

my interjection

was a question

of exclamatory rage

as I escaped the projectile

your words were the projectile

moving between my conscious and subconscious minds

they hung in the air of the psyche's realm

and drifted to the floor of my emotion

but never touched ground

until, gaining speed, they became the projectile

the case in point

because you knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt,

what would happen

do I detect a subtle amusement in your eyes?

am I just another fated victim?

you have taken it upon yourself to exterminate

those who still put faith in love

"What the fuck are you trying to do to me?!"

my interjection

I escaped the projectile

but I couldn't escape you

- March 27, 1984, A.D.