Afternoons

Afternoons, yes, ages even
in an already dead city in a now dying country
and a contentious HQ
The flyers around me with straying eyes lie too me
and have lost control of their own sticks.

To them, I am bound.
And here we fly incestous fights
caught in Luftberry Circles wondering when one will break out

"There is no death in bugging out here, fellow wingman, consort, stable mate.
There is no shame in honesty. Just let go. I won't fire on you. I'll
just leave, my love, my partner in war."

The grey clouds lazily inbound
The cool breeze caressing
The fine mist, most pleasent
My resolve settled

So where is that potential that trembles the worlds foundation?
That rage beating in my chest?
That cold calculation behind my eyes?
Those heels that could crack the mantle?
I've shelved my rage for too long,
Investing my drive in diffuclty and uncertainty.
I'm tired of being tired.
I'm tired of being bound to unstable elements.
Tired of unilateral ministrations.