Slay

You think you got me this time, don’t you?

Sadistic, sketchy, smooth son of a bitch.

Pushing me from behind

Bashing my face into boundaries I set in stone.

Pile it on.

Pound my head for the millionth time.

You think that will stop me?

Pain is my middle name.

You forgot about the mountains I’ve moved.

And cemented in front of you.

Remember I wield an axe in one hand.

White-knuckle grip on a scythe with the other.

I don’t care if my mascara is smeared.

Or rage induced cringe causes wrinkles.

Impertinent side effects of daily rampage.

You are in my way.

Status update – slay