Anger Like A Fist

Spare a thought for the change in your pocket, maybe the locket of your must and could be, well wouldn’t they be irrelevant if you weren’t you. For some unknown, dying, reason you’ve convinced yourself to carry on through the black of the day, when everything tastes grey and like a dog you’re being pulled too tightly on your leash. To preach or switch from the copycat krone you might be interested to know that we’re all the same, messed up in our own little ways, always thinking without arranging the data correctly or collating a maze of scribblings that resemble a treasure map you once drew. The morning dew is worse, and for the heavy thrust of a mid-afternoon mist of dandelions dizzy and dazed in the daylight, all will be alright if only for a moment to return to the crease you’ve managed to perch yourself between.

Take heed and listen, do not speak, this is a serious matter and in the demands of our social construction you may be punished for this poorly executed incident. One would have thought that the common sense thing to do is alleviate the situation and fuck off. Come on little darling, you might speak words but what I’m hearing is disgraceful, and so they will not be treated as words, more as a groan of the troglodyte that everyone has tried so hard to condition out of you.

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