To Mother

I'm a loose cannon. A woeful renegade of society's discontent. An ecstatic outlaw who's quick to the trigger. Blistering my trigger finger as the rain of hot lend is propelled from my only savior. The smell of gun powder rising from my jacket. The sands of the outskirts are my home, under the waxing and waning of midnight's glory surrounded by the vast fields of the light of our cosmos' past. Lights as mysterious as the massive ocean of dunes that surround an exile's heart from the truth I cry to my strings. The ballads that are sung hold the tune of my hidden desires, forever burning behind my battle bruised eyes.
She calls me a loose cannon, just as wild and relentless as a tornado. Spinning in utter confusion and dismay searching for a logical reason to the madness I am plagued with. Reckless as the winds that howl from the center of my rage and blow endlessly to surrounding loved ones. Careless as I am, never ending for a moment to see the destruction I have caused to the world around me. I smile and marveled at the beauty of chaos I have created.
She wants to help me remove the cancer of my defects of character. Such a surgeon as her I have pushed away. Away from the chaos I have become to simple continue to run from becoming humble. Admittance of such wrongs I have created and to apologize for the brutality of my actions. Behavior that has made my loved ones long abandon me from opportunities to grow closer as a family. To exile myself from a world I am better to be apart of and flourish in the love of family.
She calls me a loose cannon, just as closed off and unwilling to become better than what my range has created me to be in a world that long misses me.
She calls me a loose cannon, and she's right.