PAINTBALL
Paintball,
Indigo walls,
Velvet hands were part of it,
Most of it.
The clasp clicked,
Closed on a sin,
Though you wanted it then,
Knowing, you waited while
It touched
Some chord within.
Recrimination went
Unanswered,
Mouthed in a dark hole
The size of that
One knot in the brain
That like a self-inflicted cut crusting
over
Circumstantially,
Coincidentally
Will never work itself out.
https://duclarion.com/wp-content/uploads/zombiepaintballmassacre.jpg
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