Bring it on sandman,
You little ****,
I'm gonna break your ****** nose this time...

Crack you in the face with 3 cans of energy drinks,
Clap your ears with open palms of Clutch's latest album,  "Sunrise at Slaughter Beach" at 100 decibels,
Kick you in the nuts with a steel toed boot of a lit cigarette stuck in the nostril,
Inhaling deeply ,
Painfully sending cinders through my sinuses.

Body blows of cold water,
Blasted through the most concentrated setting on the nozzle of the showerhead,
You feeling it yet bud?!?

I can go 12 rounds,
And your knees are shaking on the 3rd.

Knock out a few teeth with smelling salts,
Kicking that sweet sweet adrenaline into overtime,
Overclocking the ol' brain matter with that brown fluid in the grey matter,
Show me them pearly whites now.

I will beat you this time slim,
I know all your tricks,
Give me your best shot,
And well see how well your blows meet the meat.

Immaculate hit you 3 ways,
Hard, fast, and repeatedly,
Write your will with your blood and spit,
Cuz when I'm done with you,
You'll be crawling away from me,
Beggin' like a little *****.

Painting abstract and expressive
often on formats quite impressive
when my use of red is too excessive
I get agitated and feel a bit aggressive
might as well do my taxes, so depressive
then I start tidying or other things obsessive
eventually a cup of tea can feel decompressive

passive

life feeds me medicine
suggests merit
and provides mirth, malady and misery
i graze accordingly
a simpering recruit to habit
life is precious pump and mental squeeze
precarious unravels of daring
a mad staring competition
at some hypnotic curl
and i am foetal at rest


aggressive

(spicy obnoxious moody life-
          -balled up around lunatic pull-
     -an overindulged sick stomach-
-a rag birth gift held onto-
    -a clutch of halted development)
Oh, Life ! such a brat
***** you & your horror of sacrifices
in the name of exploration
it's all just *****
and fluorescent
and shy of goal

Let me see , who's gunna be the next body scene. who's gunna make a wanna be prodigy , turn into a enemy . who's gunna mistake the happiness for a moment of glee . I'm sick an tired of how you see me.  I'd rip your heart out if that would make you concede . but yet your a part of me . once was dirt with a seed . grew into a wonderful view of trees . burnt to the ground with ashes abound, without a truth to come clean . I will , and I promise , to **** everything in between. it's impossible to intervene .

A bitter boy you are,
with twisted words and twisted fangs,
sour lips and ****** knuckles;
boy, you sure do love a good fight.

That's an awful lot of snickering
for a guy who's surely bluffing,
and I'm quite certain you know
as well as I, you're full of ****,
but your tangy hands and acid fingers seem so daunting
when you cast out all your hateful "truths".

I'm torn between all the love and all the hate,
it's inevitable that they'd congeal
into a sordid mixture
and so it was a bitter boy
spoiled.