Black mood circus strangely absent. No Cherub faced glue sniffer wears his dark Prussian school uniform or dances down blood flecked hallways. Did a rival’s blade find your throat?
Artificially compliant, you drift in with the late morning sunshine. Greet Sensei with burnt out rusty waste pump eyes. Wago san, what blew your fuses today?
Militant is your nihilism as if you're Nobunaga’s hedonist offspring, though always hedged in by school rules and vigilant acne.
What mad dog anarchist revolution do you lead? So sorry, teacher cannot reach you. He no longer speaks your caustic pulsar language. Will you forgive this defeatist’s wash of hands?
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