Kid. It’s What We’re Good At

Battles waged in a city of dreams
Vengeance is the flavor of my whipped cream
A dessert of sugarless bullets and haste,
Left a residue of fear as an aftertaste.

“Hey waiter, there’s blood in my gravy..
Can you bring me another plate?
I shall eat it and you shall call it my bravery.
The orgasm of bullshit from political cunts
Ill lap it all up and you shall call me resilient…
As the camera watches me dine and orchestrates a quip,
The blood splatter on your shirt shall earn you a heavy tip”

The world offers kerchiefs to my mourning city,
With shades of second handed sleaze and pity.
Like it’s a widowed slut
Being readied for another fuck.