queue the metal music.
doors open. beer broken.
I stomp my feet.
right under Rob.
dirt bags hurt, too.
don't hate.
so for a fraction.
of fear.
we generate generations.
talked to Ruben today.
as I got into a car crash.
we got ghetto.
but we moved on.
the phoenix is first.
and all the future is first.
we are worst than the hits.
scrapping off the screws.
exposing our skin.
leave our bodies.
in biscuits.
or Spanish rage.
poke our heads.
end this poem.
on a positive note.
of throats.
and double bass pedals.
pretending everything's fine.
saving fear for dreams.