out on the ragged edge for days, fury fuelled by aromatic percolator steam, bleary-eyed and manic, exchanging death threats like friendly banter between the minutes i spend demanding the very skin off the back of the most desperate people at the edge of their wits and me with my wallet loaded and heart empty laugh coldly at all of our misery while i push through another sick day that might have been, counting the megatonne minutes until i can saturate my blood with nonpolar substances and take the next train to oblivion. better make it a round trip, i've gotta be back in reality by monday morning