Glee and the Worried Few

Feeling a little pistol whipped but liking the hot afterglow of the wound..one must look to the bright side of every senseless act and contusion, am I right? besides I like scars.

I'm actually quite well and feeling partial to a surge of glee forming somewhere behind my left eye but I like the drama so I say, "Start with your wound and work your way up to the glee." Always go from the ache of disembowelment right into that gathering swell of hot yellow happiness waiting right under the scab and stitch.

Oh but I feel the cynical stretch of that daddy hand reaching out to bitch slap the bright right out of my eyes. I'm like a low and dark thing that sits under the bed sucking on scary wandering thoughts, making my heart flutter, boiling me wide and far from sleep at night. I perch, stoney and grimaced like a gargoyle eating the fuss and tussle, drinking lingering night sweats.

And like the cyclical nature of a moon the color of a sun, I will rebirth, reboot, press my bruises just to make sure they hurt and roll my severed head across a dusty floor to the door that always opens to a happy, hot yellow glow of glee.