Hate. Falling three feet to the ground. Face down on the cold floor of a well-oiled SF pigsty I met my one true love. Feel youth crushed somewhere between concrete and boot,
another victim of the lower hate. You are not my god. You think this is funny don´t you pig? How the helpless freak squirms beneath our state sanctioned soles, but what is he laughing at? There was nothing padded about a wagon full of mace. Rotator cuff hyper extends behind my back ribs cracking beneath a rain of sticks and heels falling down like the rain outside. Oh yeah bitch, I´m gonna remember your face your name your number; and when I crawl out of this hole I´m going to make you all mine. Auschwitz Kent State Chi-Town 68 Tianamen Waco.