Hypergolic.

Things have gotten so mixed up that I forget who it is I can and cannot josh, who I once could josh but no longer can, and who I'd never before dare to josh but can now with reckless abandon. It's short memory that has left me embarrassingly unendeared to others, has left me embarrassed as I embarrass the very last person I'd want to embarrass. And when you've seen someone's bare ass, there're a whole lot of ways to go wrong.

I know a lot that I probably shouldn't know, an entire armory at the ready and an itchy trigger finger to boot. The one emotion I feel overwhelmingly these days is defensiveness, and defense is totally an emotion to the emotionally stunted so don't tell me otherwise or I might just open fire, grab my gun and aim for the heart, hope beyond hope that I can split it right in half. If my aim is true that's half for me and half for you, and I'll take my half and bury it in the desert until it mummifies, dig it up and keep it with me always, hung from a string around my neck and tucked against the pieces of my own broken heart so that perhaps I'll feel whole again, this hole that was left that I can't seem to refill.

Perhaps that's been my problem all along. I look at this face in renewed awe and wonder, remove the glasses and stare into these big round eyes, wonder aloud what would happen if I just jumped, swam through wet pools and curled up into the cerebrum, occupied your mind until I was good and ready to swim back out again. But we all know I can't swim, landlocked and left high and dry. So maybe I'll strike a match instead, light the wick, and start my offensive with a bang.