The city is going to eat your sensitivity for breakfast and leave you lying on the sidewalk to be bathed in the wet brake dust splashed in your mouth by the next pace bus. Love doesn’t exist in this cruel place you’ve so faithfully misplaced your trust in, you thought it was golden. Just like the speck of dust that landed in your eye that you rubbed out in a tear, pissed off and pissed on just to find a hand to hold. That eventually slaps some sense into that bleeding heart you own. It is no place for the weak or good hearted souls, but they do no good lying in beds crying about the sadness that they so proudly own. One day you’ll have enough and decide to leave in a cloud of smoke or drowning in your own puke. Or maybe you’ll tell everyone to fuck off and be what want to be. Some would call that a kick in the balls, but it’s the truth. I live in a world where your just the next back to be stepped on, the next hope to be crushed by the straight laces of Penny loafers of some cunt money man who needs you for now. The same place that steals what you make bends you over and takes you to town. Get your cardboard sign printed the street side calls you to wash the windows of the well of assholes that own it all. In their failure I’ll laugh when they fall, as the gym shoes with no soles stomp the stupid out of their Rolex cuffed creases. Leaving this city in broken beautiful pieces.