Hurt so Good

D e i m o s

Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass

Jigano must’ve known better than to continue prying into past distinctions, the archaic grounds clenching over his jaw and sewing his mouth shut; no more bleeding, no more presiding, in its wake for longer than necessary. There were plenty of things to be proud of in its unrelenting force, and so much more to be ashamed of, drowning in the revolutionary spread of bones and mantles, of broken, chipped victories and hollowed defeats. The notion of the wrecked targets, now salvaged once more, seemed to skim over his sentiments though, lend him back to the present, to the here and now. Maybe Jigano had uttered the magic words: the havoc within the fiend alive and well again, just by the mere semblance and possible rendering of upheaval. Immediately irreverent, as if a boyish, juvenile mechanism slid right over his nonchalance and chiseled it straight into mischief and melee, he turned to Jigano with a Cheshire grin and a devilish enterprise. “I made a catapult.” It was with a strict foundation of pride and insurrection, wayward acclaim of weaponry and munitions that might have made his vehement heart bleed with a warrior’s version of amusements. He maneuvered over to the corner where it’d been tucked away, removing the sheet covering its existence, placing the fabric off to the side, and pulling it by its handles so that it appeared before the range of targets all over again. If only the goals and bullseyes might have been sentient, he would’ve liked to have seem them shudder in the wake of its disastrous calamity again. He patted the wooden bombardments as if it were an old friend, maneuvering the arm, rendering it ready for anything they yearned to place in its basket. The Sword had re-piled the rocks days ago, thinking to utilize them for something else, but now they were doomed to be cannon fodder for a little while longer. An arch to his brow, and still the grin in place; a look of impending disaster for someone or something. “Want to try?” For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate