Bullseye

When we've frustrated 

like smokestacks on foggy days~ breath clouded over clouds.

Our insides pour over 

feverishly aiming

             but never hitting target. 

Our eyesight is poor.

It was shame to reach for what had already rot and ran

and a demise to have forgotten to check.

Blessed were we on the day of our birth,

Cursed were we the day we first spoke

       for that very day

manipulation became a possibility

and weakness inevitable.