I dance, soles cut jagged, across the crescendo of my own resentment.

Of Atkin, and Maitland and vegan shite and…

Focus!

The vegan shite is quite pleasant actually.

Technically superb; you couldn’t tell if you weren’t looking for it.

Which makes me hate it even more.

It’s easy to hate incompetent pillagers.

Your failure has to go somewhere.

Oh, to be a Vandal.

But the sophisticated ones.

Wounded pride press-gangs rage.

Hatred cannot be subduced; it will always subduct further.

Touch’s distance, closed.

Soft tears, silent shed.

Snow melts, groundwater drains.

They collapse unto me.

They collapse unto me.

One more reason to leave.

Then screw reason.

I stay.