We started smashing glass.

Smashing old beer bottle over fences,

On the grass, over benches,

Over each other; everywhere, shards of glass.

We tied up a rope over the river.

Swinging over, swinging back,

There was not much that as a person I lack,

Except for “careful,” that word gave me a shiver.

I’ll go all the way to the end of this road,

Just to prove to myself and all of them,

That I’ve got the balls to do more than them,

To do worse than they can, until the end of the road.

I know you’re frustrated by the destruction

In my eyes,

While I tell you some more lies,

About where I was, doing what; certainly not constructive.

I’m wondering if it’s innate, this drive of mine,

Because I don’t know where it stems from:

Punk music? Holey clothes? This is dumb.

I think it’s from my childhood I had.