Clog-wearing Adonis

Shot two bullets
to flick a switch or
to be the surgeon cutting out
of our nights.
The personal terrorist
or at least it would seem
from the outside.
I'm terribly ungrateful  
and self-destructive
self-serving.

No one special
sees the blue that twists
like a shadow across the walls
of my eyes without words
spoken other than sour
tickling on the hour when
it carries every second
letter I speak with correction.
It's looming over my shoulder
shooting daggers
at my unfortunate mistakes
and pointing them out,
making me feel so pathetically nude
in comparison to you -
the one wearing the clogs
even without the facts.
Drop them at the fucking door
because I am dropping my hands
and losing my footing
with an overthinking brain
and a circling angel
sharing his sword
as I weakly decline all for your clogs.