we can beat each other with a stick
but neither of us is made of candy
and when it comes down to it, brandy
you're a fine girl, but not my type

and i say that only to complete a poem
because what i believe is never really written down
what is is usually a world of red and brown
when in reality this world is always black and white

i'm soaking in cooling bath water
at the climax of a freezing night
recollecting random snippets of my most consequential fights
and smiling because no matter what all of those women will one day die

and i won't be there, mouth dry
with aching hands noticeably shaking
patient about them not waking
because they might, they will, they must