raisedinkpress

You know what..
F U man…
I can bury hatchets in the cold dirt of a dozen one nighters
I can take the blast of thermonuclear rage from those I’ve wronged.
I can scrape at the patina of My own gloated bloated ambition and eat the dust if I have to.
But you know what….
F U man.
Lifting that rock and disturbing this scorpion for what?
Gold stars,  fiat cars, wounded ego and a lack of momentum.
I’ve never blocked myself behind a wall before.
F U for making me do that.
Even the sociopaths have called the dual a draw.
But there is something
There are some things.
It was very wrong.
That’s all.