Long walks with my temper take me down a dead end street in contemplation;
where do we start at the end?
Before i could collect myself,
I`m vacuumed n by a figure`s armspread with fiery gasps of iron air,
cornered in my circle of friends.
Won`t he speak to you?
Emptied on the floor were the shells of my defenses,
placing his own bullets of condescendence.
Those people shafted me of my social weaponry.
