Backed Up

That shit is just there. There. Henchmen. Hoods. Every time you chew...Black hood drops the axe. Smile, target, forget...write. It's not like the old days, when we wrote about "destitutes" and wanted to be just that. We lurch into our apartments...sometimes forgetting to turn the stereo on "high". Midpoint. Sometimes, forgetting that the volume is too high, we enjoy. That's the fucked up of being stacked. Room on room. Cube by cube.  Hear-stench. Afraid of disturbing others, we headphone...always tuning out...
Dying
Crying
So high
Flying
But no learning.

Shooting
Fucking
Eating
Shitting

The re-wire...burning...