pretty hate machines, or: closer to survivalism

walking around town
cool and all
high school teams couldn’t compete
with the booming self-esteem
emanating out of my touque-covered head
filled with the sounds of radical industrial music
or random techno beats

walking around town
I was the owner, and you were the slaves
and you were the bootlickers amongst us
as I force-fed you with all the pity I could muster
and you reveled in it.