He told me drinking

gunpowder, it was;

that it was a better

high than cocaine.

He mixed it with rum,

maybe a garnish,

maybe his soul, maybe his soul

just wasn't right yet.

He'd lick his teeth.

He'd flick it at me.

He told me I had it all wrong.

Blackbeard did it

The old pirate that

he'd drink half a satchel

before battles

(what was there?)

"Everything is intentional."

Me, I drank coffee, caffiene.

Unhealthy, I know.

We ate wings

plucked from chickens and buffaloes

so they'd fall from the sky.

We took only the ones that flew

closest to the sun;

the hottest we could find

before battle; what was there.

He smiled and licked

the gunpowder from his teeth.

He was smiling -

until stomach exploded.

The skin, left ragged,

dangling by his thighs.

His belly, the corroded remnants

of a mixture between gunpowder

and wings too high,

plucked from too high...

It's too damn hot.

I drink coffee.

I am unhealthy and I am alive.

Everything is intentional.

View strumbles06's Full Portfolio