I'm captured in a Brazos pen
itching for a chance to escape the kennel
to where the race of my life
is going to be won.
This county isn't big enough for
both of our egos to stretch.
The iron gate is at my teeth,
and I am gnawing through the time straps.
Get on that fucking gun
and
"pull the trigger, bitch".
I want to feel like a lightning strike
rapid and erractic:
it surges through me
igniting every single nerve ending
causing me to combust at the precise moment of
freedom.
Author notes
Horse race?
I think so, at least.
Posting for the sake of posting, you'd say.
Quote is from "No Pity for a Coward" by Suicide Silence.
Why?
I just wanted to take something out of context.
22 September 2009
Adding your comment: