Hollow

So I was reading “The Hollow Men,” Eliot, and it broke on me, came to me, yes, it must be a hollow point bullet.  A hollow point expands on impact, expands and stretches and transfers its damage.  Expands.  Stretches.  Expands.  Transfers.  Expands.  Like a starburst.  Like fungus.  That’s the way to do it.  Expansion.  Death by a bullet’s real estate.  Amazing, really, the damage that a single caliber with a dipped tip causes.  It shrooms.  Mushrooms.  Like a mushroom cloud of death, oh, yeah, a mushroom cloud of death, like an Atomic bomb.  We’re all made of atoms anyway.  So a single hollow point will shroom away the mush in my atoms.  Fatal fungus.  I think about this.  Not suicide.  Fungalcide.  By a hollow point that mushroom on impact.  I’m thinking 9 mm will do the trick.  Work the magic.  Hey, folks see magic when they’re on shrooms.  How about that?  Hollow point to mushroom in a magical death and folks drinking shrooms to the point of a magical ride.  Won’t be no full metal jacket shot, no deep penetration.  Hollow points expand and stretch.  Shroom, baby, shroom.  Expand and stretch because death should absorb the whole body.  Wholesome death.  Hmmm.  Bullets are very intimate things.  They love that which they penetrate.  Bodies.  Organs.  And a shot doesn’t feel like a shot.  Feels like a HARD SMACK BLUNT WHACK.  Shot sounds swift and thin and hot.  But it feels like someone just whacked you with a 2x4, BAAAAAM!!! and the impact is so blunt, so targeted and blunt, explosive.  Being caught up in an explosion is like being shot at all angles.  Fragile as a mushroom.  Your breath thuds.  There is a climax.  A thudding climax.  Blunt and thudding and climactic.  And you start searching for your breath.  Where is it?  I need it to live.  I need the screaming to stop to live.  I need the chaos to settle live.  I need to stop fighting to live to live because the fighting is taking away all the strength to live.  Bide.  You have become fungus.  Hollow and fungal so shall I go.  When I go.  I hope so.  This is morbid.  Sorry.  Hmmmm.  Funny thing about being hollow:  you’re full of hollowness.  I like hollow point bullets.  I like the idea of expansion upon penetration.  Sex, right?  Penetrate, inseminate and expand your bloodline.  Unless some bitch aborts it.  Hollow.  Hello.  Ain’t word play fun?  It’s funner - did I just make up that word? - when you do it lounging shirtless.  Windows open.  .50 cal rain drops assaulting the tin roof of your home.  Fuck you, Florida.  Didn’t cough up a single hurricane this season, not a single one.  What’s your problem?  Don’t you know who you are?  I ain’t asking for a natural disaster but it pisses me off when I prepare for nothing.  It pisses me off when I’m pissed off for preparing for nothing.  Makes me feel hollow.  Hell low.  Hello.  Hollow.  So I was reading “The Hollow Men” . . .