Day 1

I vow at the beginning of each week
That I'm not going to let the world get to me,
I'm centred and free.

Day 2

I feel my blood begin to simmer.
My finger is on the trigger.
I just know someone will piss me off, soon.
 
Day 3

Calmness is my middle name,
but underneath the trigger is half cocked,
and my finger is getting itchy.
 
Day 4 

My prediction becomes reality
 the tossers of this world unite,
and make my blood boil.
 I discharge an angry bullet

cold-blooded killer

life is a cold-blooded killer
from moment you're born
it stalks you --

eventually snuffs you out
with rest of humanity
not to mention, birds, weasels,
pigs, grandmothers, fleas, sweethearts,
mice, hawks, polar bears, salmon,
grocers, presidents, carpenters,
butchers, bakers, and candlestick makers
and other conglomerates of single cells
that managed an ambulatory form --

The barren waste land
Of a planet which has moved into its lunar calendar
Exposing the nakedness of its surface.
The land covered in the dry death of the season

Every contour is read
Like the lines on a palm by a fortune teller
The long trial of growth craving tales
That stretch beyond the imagination

Can anyone speak its truth
Or are they the opinions of babbling brooks
That sound like scholarly old ladies and gentlemen
Sitting in the twilight of their years making sense of it.

A veil of sadness
conceals her eyes
she averts his gaze,
integrity doesn't lie.

Retreating into silence
she hopes to hide.
He exaggerates his charms -
attempts to restore lost pride.

Ended engagements
are harder for one
someone stays behind
the other, chooses to run.

Someday they return
perchance to see,
if the grieving partner -
awaits a new entreaty.

Most grevious of all
is their intentional forray
to seduce the lover yet again,
only to stage another get-way.