Volatile Emotion

Volatile Emotion

The blood shoots off your knuckles,
like fireworks.

Damn blood.
It flares and flies,
like a kid's birthday--
minus the clown that would be pissed
because his "magic" is undermined,
by a few desperate drunks
in an untidy bar fight.

Those creeps control the world
with random profanity.
And gap mouthed scowls.
I'll bet they'll kill each other,
with a swipe of the hand,
and a swig from the bottle.

Muscles flex with unguided aggression.
Priorities diminish like weak religions.
The world fades, as they wish for destruction.

Let me tear this fuck apart.

I'll show this bastard a lesson.

Goddamn,
the blood runs like a stupid river.
Fast and misguided.
Like the majority of cellular life,
Just searching for a purpose.
Some stupid placeholder
to keep occupied.

The moment is done.
The fat drunks gasp, wheeze, sniffle and bleed.
They are broken machines, in need of an oil change.
Their blood decorates each other,
like a Christmas sweater,
erratic and unnecessary.
They can't seem to recollect,
the purpose of the fight.
Hey, my bad, I'll buy ya a drink.
Sure thing, make it a double.