He hurls his vaporous roars

through the dank atmosphere

of his airless room,

tearing out fearful trails of

glistening viscera in 

the fevered landscape

of his imaginary battlefield.

He triumphs inexorably

over foes who will never know

of his humorous, impotent

existence, and the red-hot

explosions of his stammering

Two Minute Hates

stir the detritus

from the bottom of his

cup of ranting misery.

He murders his enemies

in hellishly creative ways,

celebrating his paper-doll

savagery

from the safety of a life

grown rusted

from lack of use.