Self Controlled

sometimes

the urge

to punch

some fucking knob end

some smart arse big mouth

some tickets all on himself arsehole

that certain smarmy some cunt

that just needs a good smack

right in the gob

you just want to punch

until the skin of your knuckles

opens and starts to flay

it's a lot to hold in

all at once

you know they need it

they know you mean it

and the feeling

burns in the pit

of your stomach

doing the right thing

just sits there

secreting its venom

like an unresolved acid spill

it sends a fire

through your limbs

an internal wrath

an organic go/no go

it twists and careens

teasing

the fast twitch muscle fibres

the price of inaction

it bubbles

like a mutant heartburn

it fizzes, pops and dies

as a nervous tic

in a finger tip

a while later

tap tap tap

all of its

own accord

and

violition