Bolt Gun

...The rising heat of a blistering cell, pulsating. Brass teeth that gnaw and grind. A collared neck that is raw. A woman alone holding a child, Playing unharmed and sweet. Fungus that evolves into the next type of species. Radiation silence. Aging man in a chair. Violence. Mourning. Courage. Resistance. Rupture the lungs. Bolt gun to the temple. Endless sips from my glass of water. I lay there again, Drops of sweat slowly sliding from my hairline. --- Bolt Gun - Cloud Rat