Hate. Falling three feet to the ground.
Face down on the cold floor of a well-oiled SF pigsty I met my one true love.
Feel youth crushed somewhere between concrete and boot,
another victim of the lower hate.
You are not my god. You think this is funny don`t you pig?
How the helpless freak squirms beneath our state sanctioned soles,
but what is he laughing at?
There was nothing padded about a wagon full of mace.
Rotator cuff hyper extends behind my back ribs cracking beneath a rain of sticks and heels
falling down like the rain outside.
Oh yeah b*tch, I`m gonna remember your face your name your number;
and when I crawl out of this hole I`m going to make you all mine.
Auschwitz Kent State Chi-Town 68 Tianamen Waco.
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