The Destroyer

Cold and still, motionless unless you caress its rapid fire. Swaddled in an old fleece jacket stained with pellets of sweat; suppressed in darkness, weeping some say. Restricted freedom and tears bonded together barely by passionate rage. A caged door open to a bird not willing to fly without being coached into the sun. A lifetime failing to rise above tortured circumstances; concealed and loaded with enough artillery to blast through mountainous rocks holding dreams captive while listening to elevator music. Anticipating the chance to advance and prove to the world its worth and power; secretly feeling small and empty, surrounded by a pulse and heartbeat and a world of knowledge and sadness. Standing in a long line of trigger happy masters eager to kill with words.