20 August 2012
Man, machete, balaclava,
Walking through the town,
Heard it from a friend's friend's friend,
Along with rapist's crown,
Not again I sigh out loud,
The fifth time in a year,
I'm getting sick of all these men,
And all the tales I hear,
Knife by door,
And scissors by bed,
Some foam white spray,
And a scarlet match head,
A phone or three,
And a video cam,
So come for me,
See who I am.
Balaclava • Opuss № I