Containment

 

If there was ever something to lose,
a finger or two has definitely lost contact.
Maybe I'm too passive
or maybe, I have no real clue on what's acceptable anymore;
I'm safe enough in this country
to lay a handful of cunts out on the pavement
and just get my arse slapped, but
there are kids in the equation
and the thing with kids is they make you strong
but make you look fucking weak.

I'm seventeen stone and move really quick
and very hard.
I'm scared, scared and fucking angry
and if you know dogs, you know
that is a murderous potion
to be getting stirred inside you.

One thing is certain:
I'll not stew 'til the steam spells despair,
I hope, when the right amount of unfamiliar piss
accumulates on my boots
my estranged fingers will clasp again.


Someone asked me the other day
if I had any complexes,
someone who knows me better than the rest.
I must be doing a good job
at not being myself.