, , , , , , , , , ,

Love is disguised through a screen of malevolent taunting,

And shown through Violence, the Buddha of the Street.

Don it on our faces, gnarled like twisted trees,

Snarling eyes that only smile while bleeding.

Euphoria, as skulls crack against the pavement,

Words of spitting teeth, “This is the real life of honour.”

And I believed that was the only time we could feel…

anything at all…