And maybe i am looking for a fight now. maybe this whole day after day after fucking day of choking back the panic come from being alive in a city where acquaintances are less reliable than abscesses that don't pain you so much as keep you constantly aware that they're just there aren't they? just existing. just spitting puss and waiting for the white hot hour you lose your shit and tear them out with whiskey antiseptic and a glaring disregard for the long, aching days ahead.
But that could just be more posturing.
Sure i could use a slug. a knock. a head kicked in.
But that won't accomplish anything.
Though i am born (at times) of a set that believes nothing ever resonates quite so deeply in the heart of a man as a punch to the face some people just don't know how to listen.
They're safety net's too grim.
So what then?
Just let their judy time and understand, somewhere in your warm and gnashing heart that their only cup is cracked and spilling blood all over their panty waists.
So one day, it will be empty.
And the cowardly city won't cry.