The Smell Of Catastrophe

I can smell the catastrophe
Stuck to your shoes
It’s on the tip of your tongue
As you talk
The volume of your voice
Your self-interest
Relentless
Needlessly
Needling my mind
Please
I ask politely
For you to fuck off
Or else take a number
While I roll up my sleeves
For I’ve had my fill
Of people like you
And I’ve decided
To start punching things

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