I am the last of a dying breed.
The gentlemen, the nice guys.
Those who always come in last.
We get left behind while holding doors open,
Never expecting anything in return.
We open our hearts, have beautiful minds.
But those we chase seem to prefer those of animalistic nature.
It may come as a surprise,
But I can be an animal.
I've broken more than my fair share of other people's bones.
I've left burned dreams in the streets.
I can turn off my mind,
And let my instincts take control.
Believe me,
I would just as soon finish this poem as rip out your throat.
And right now, I'm feeling slightly violent...