THE LOOSE CANNON !

❝           powder   ,          stop     .              please     .          ❞                 (          what   use   is   your   strength   ,          warrior     ?              what   has   it   brought   you   but   ruination     ?              you   have   built   nothing          /          you   have   destroyed   everything          )     .               a   hand   catches   sister’s   arm   ,          holds   but   does   not   grip              ———              remembering   all   too   well   a   jaw   in   her   palm   ;          a   cheek   against   her   knuckles     .                  ❝           you   are   what   matters   to   me     .          ❞

❛          when   are   you   going   to   learn?          ❜          brumal   athanasy   sounds   sweet   on   your   tongue     (   a   solemn   sorrow   inhumed   inside   of   your   bones   )     the   touch          ──          burns     /     ignited     /     alive ,     you   raise   a   finger   and   it   drums ,     drums ,     drums   'gainst   your   sister   traitor's   temple .