In the upcoming war for beauty, I will paint my bullets pink and candy-stripe my gun. Calvin Klein camo and a nice new pair of glasses. Runway models with AKs and designers toting pistols in plain sight. A .44 caliber love letter straight from the heart. Armed with high caliber rifles just to go to the store. Bullets hurt no matter how much money you have. Desperation with a thirty round clip. Determination with a ten man firing squad. Soldiers winning oscars and actors buying combat boots. Baby Phat shotgun shells litter the ground. Love notes with burnt edges, an ugly to every beauty waiting to be disguised. Molotov cocktails made of lip liner and blush; acrylic grenades. A beauty to every ugly, waiting to be uncovered. A lucid dream of Wonderland’s armory. Even the rent-a-cops carry weapons. When reality shatters and the round’s cycled, it doesn’t matter who shops where. Lead doesn’t judge and Fate will not discriminate. Scratch your epitaph into the ruins and remember why you came. My headstone will be paint splattered and my coffin made of striped tupperware. In the upcoming war for beauty, I will paint my bullets pink, and destroy your fascist beauty standards one shell at a time.