CUT AND RUN

COME ON HOME. if there is anything left of you to come.

for inside this body is nothing more than mangled entrails, coasting on the inoperative beats of an out of step heart. the brain has become a tapestry of urban warfare, drowning in a fog of choking gunsmoke. KAPOW. the bullets shred the neurons until they no longer trigger - leaving in its wake the remains of clandestine nightmares and crippled souls.

they sit on the corner of hell and indifference begging for loose change. and not one will stop to smell the stink. the smell of victory.

it rots the idealism.