my rapid fire pistol is broken

my emotions are frozen

the past is irrelevant

with no forward motion

the war continues to go on

and we sit home

apathetic hypocrites

in a nation of thieves

preaching to the censored

and desensitized

it’s insanity

everything outside my door

are mole hills waiting to become mountains

I am waiting for the knock on my door

so I can invite the anonymous stranger in

from its far travels

offer it a place to rest

and murder it in it’s sleep

and I will wait

for more knocks

wondering where

I will hide the evidence

and evade governments

till the resistance

rises above

and I will watch

the re-runs