The wall thankfully is rounded,

after all it is easier to escape the manipulation

you attempt to thrust down my throat,

rolling with the solid tide of plaster

than sitting in a pointed sharp angle

as the verbal putrefaction spoils for a fight.

 

Over the keys a wash comes unbalanced hatred

and like a dictator you ask that all take your side,

and to say nothing, to want the world to move on

away from such madness, the corner you push me into

becomes a rock in which to cling.