(he can’t help being a) villain

this square’s squaring up, six and six, thirty sick trainers mate, are they from lidl cos they’re a lidl bit calls my bluff but I’m not fussed, nonplussed, miss his thump, run, eat my dust chump, grunt to a halt, lungs of a runt. its all a bit of fun seeing blood flood the mudpies of some sweet mothers son of a bitch itching to hurt, hit, hurl fists, spit curt four letter words, shit, fuck, cut worse than razors, cunt, wank, why?

why?

he’s stuck in the mud of a forgotten people, aimlessness misaiming his energy, his being. oh to be young, unloved, no heaven above, just living in hell, the ashen wasteland of sweet old England: cinders, dwindling in an empty night, an empty world.

jaw curls at the weekend, the bleak end of another 9 to 5, doing enough to get by and now beyond in this club, thud thud thud, white substance cocktailing his blood, thud thud thud, he’s searching to replace the empty space left by dad with the rich mass of romance, but he doesn’t know how, his heart pounds, thud thud thud, as he prowls round the sumptuous rump in the skin-tight short skirt: “alright girl?” …it doesn’t work.

he sighs and resigns to searching to be feared, revered, and this he knows how, “Ow!” thud “get off me” thud “help” thud “shut the fuck up” thud thud thud, some blokes loaf is now toast, his nose now soft as butter, not a pretty picture, a future boast to be uttered by the inflictor, our villain: “yh mate I shut him up, cut him up, fucked him up, better off dead”. A future beg by our villain: “im hard arent i? Say it, you respect me. Yeah? Yeah? Please say it. please someone tell me I’m brilliant, I’m a hero, no villain, that i’m alright… someone tell me they love me, please? please someone hug me, just hug me. please, please…”

but no knees bent are bent enough for us to be fussed, not to be nonplussed. we deplore the villain, ignore the sound that pains our conscience like a bee-sting, the sound of a villains heart beating for the same thing we all need, thud, thud, thud: love.

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