Apartment 187 - Survivalism

We never look at each other anymore.


Not really, anyways.

I stood next to my own dad on a bus
for forty five minutes
before I turned to look at him.
Before that
I was just sizing him up for a fight
out of the corner of my eye...

I don't see other people.

Every meat-sack on the street is just another
stranger,
another fucking mugger,
a future fistfight.
Something to keep in the crosshairs.

Living here...
you keep your eyes
aimed at the sidewalk,
ready at a moment's notice
for the fight of your life.


They told me in high school
we lived like clans or some shit in cave-man days.
I piped up with
"Yeah, that's cuz one dude
dragged a bunch of bitches back to his cave
and then took on all comers."

That's how we live these days too.
Kill or be killed.
Keep to your cave.

You look at someone cross-ways,
you better be down to defend yourself...

I can't take a piss without prepping
to put a hurt on somebody.

I can't walk to work
without some thundercunt
spitting on my new Nikes
to prove he's still a man
in spite of the fact his daddy used to
corn-hole him so hard his brains
beat up against his skull until they swelled
like a teenager's dick on prom-night.


Fuck, man.

Sometimes I wonder
why I'm trying so hard to stay alive;

this isn't living...

This is dying one breath at a time.