Posted on Wednesday, 22 February 2012

Brothers

He plays the rythm, the other sits and clacks his fingers against the keyboard, putting down the words that he would never say aloud

I watch them both fight and kick and spit, it all brewing together like some ominous, disgusting cloud

But then it settles, the battle already over

There are no casualties, just the usual hangover

And it will happen again in maybe a few seconds more

But then it will be still, the only pain being a few egos sore

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