Why I like Aluminum Baseball Bats? (A psycho love poem)

                                                    They ting.

As a woman descending from the basement, a bounce upon each progressing step.

                                                   They scrape.

Like a racing ambulance on the open concrete floor and emits a warning that it’s near.

                                                   They extend.

Like the hand of GOD; it has risen so those must humble before it and pray for mercy.

                                                     They thump.

A progression from each hit as it smashes into the tissue and telecommunicates a hallow blow.

                                                     They bleed.

The tip fosters a charisma from skin, hair, teeth and blood; at times you can see the calming smirk.

My next thought… Why I like the T-shirt?