Lsd On Belfast Poem by Holden Masters

Feral women and rabid men reel through drunken streets,
Faces pressed up against the windows of gold dust taxis, they signal with one or two fingers at the poeple hopefully waving their arms.
Abuse fills the doorways and entry's, steam rises were shadowy figures stand.
On down the road tomorrow's trash of burger wrappers and bottles rain down on pigs in uniform as they beat the hell out of another soul so they can collect the queens head.
Quieter now and an almost refined drunken crowd approaches they glide past filled with large men and waif like girls they seem to discuss the night in little detail! picked up the score of a sports match, I had little to no intrest.
Really quiet now half way between hell and home voices Inthe distance fade but the tribal beats from cars hurry me along
Money gone
Time spent
I'm so looking forward to never doing this again.