Wild West

When I look upon my chest,
all I see is a jungle
full of unruly stowaways
A lot of drunkenness
has vomited upon my epidermis
 
Each hosting cell
a stubborn mule
Like a ship's captain
illumined by the lighthouse
but steering headlong
into the jagged cliffs
regardless
 
And so I despise my body
that feigns be my slave,
yet far too often
hijacks the control room
 
I don't know if I ought
defeat it with the sword
or with the pen
 
Perhaps this has simply been
a misunderstanding,
and God was merely standing
in the way of man's self-destruction