She tells me how much she hates when I run off like this.
I can barely hear her words, mind racing, as my hand grips the blade in my fist.

She will never understand the language of vengeance and fury.
Leaping out of the window I hit the streets in a hurry.

A conscious man would gather his thoughts and plan first.
But I'm drifting in a dream of retribution and bloodthirst.