the bullet ballet

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👇🏿 ain’t got no time for that? press play for the radical radio recording ✨


the finger print of the bullet etches itself into the soft mound of skin on the roof of my mouth, spinning with a hungry force. piercing through and beyond, there is an eardrum shattering crack as the hot .22 shell rapes and presses through my palette. next my amygdala, then my hippocampus: innocent bystanders in its wake.

the bullet shatters my skull. it is not skilled enough to get through the other side. it quakes and wakes in the fury of the moment, now released from its leash, it crescendos through tight plies and quick-ball-steps, remastering the infinite masterpiece that is my brain.

unhappy in its assault, the bullet scribbles and sketches on the walls of my skull: poetry, prose, limericks and lyrics. stung with the innocence of boy, stuck with the arrogance of man, stifled with the curiosity of teen.

the walls are totally tall, rounded at the top, front, back, slimmed in the sides. over and over and over it writes. over and over and over it’s sliced. over and over and over i pulse, twitch and shake.

the tall walls are covered: thick and bloodied. in one take, the masterpiece completed.

one take. it’s all it took.

one take.

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