Bloody Knuckle Defeat.

Snarled lips and hair.

A storm of walking despair.

Danger crackles in the dark.

Words become weapons

and rage is my lark.

Don’t look at me,

just stay away.

Don’t talk to me.

I spit fire and nonsense and hatred.

I drank enough to put two men down

and threw myself upon the town.

Stalking down the alleyways

with all the other drunks and strays.

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