My Man

My Mans words are sharper than a knife, his sharp tongue slides along an envelope of my Mans anger,

Sealing in words no being or creature would ever wish to hear,
but… My Man will not hurt you,
although you may feel your stood on a small patch of island surrounded by sea,
Desert you.
My Man is hurt,
My Man is stung,
My Man is mad with the way things begun,
My Man will echo all day how he feels, 
My Man has nothing he can take for it to heal, 
My Man will break before he hits the wheel, 
In rage my Man will drive along the road with red in his eyes

and

My Mans destiny is no surprise,

because my Mans fire deep inside,

is rawer than ever and

he

drives

and

drives

and

drives. 

I will never know when my man will hit the line. 

My Man will never commit a crime, 
but my Man is hard to reach,
and along the turf you hear a screech.
The brakes slam.

he is calm. 

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