You say it makes no difference who I am

and how I choose to express it.

You’ll say this through clenched teeth.

You’ll say this and you’ll tell yourself

It’s better that I take my time -now-

better that I get it out of my system.

 I’ve taken this road

 So many times

 Seen these things

 Over and again

 I’m getting tired

 Of singing the same old lines

 And getting to the fork in the path

Bullets flew through zombies like needles through cloth, and doing as much damage. The four soldiers were the last of their platoon; the rest had long since fallen to the swarms of the undead.

 I get hit in the face... a lot. Dodge balls, basketballs, volleyballs, tennis balls, doors, walls, bird crap, baseball bats, rogue hands, flying sand, and just about anything else you can think of. Everything just seems to have an affinity for my face.