Man how I like the living hell out of this. Awesome, awesome, awesome, awesome.

This breathes grit and grime. Loved it! Thank you.

Settin' the bar pretty high...

The slides are alluring and the downfall ecstatic but only till one realizes the fall, after the fall and laments - ‘but the hit don't let you know 'till you're face down lickin' buddy's boots you a bloody pool, a mess and you know right well an ol' used up fool! ‘It’s too late. The kicker approaches the scene and finds ‘her’ helpless for she lacks energies. The pain is excruciating. It doesn’t leave the neutral observer, the poet unaffected. It’s not the gig wailing. She is gone, back into the green room with her face bleeding. She has committed an act, now those who care, who are aware, shall suffer. The kicker has been kicked out by the one who needed kicking.’ 'cause when a gal like you drops in six feet deep no soul stands 'round no mouths do speak’. But the poet is alive, ever observing, though helpless herself other than depicting the scene. Your poet has done it so eloquently. Yes, it’s picturesque. Man is plural, a bundle of ‘suggestions’ contradicting each other. Some are born out of quality impressions from sources remote and very few, some finds reinforcement in their repetition. But when we begin identifying with the one as ‘positive’, the one metamorphoses into a ‘kicker’ to confront the ‘others’ we term as ‘Negative’. But where will this ‘kicker’ find its sustaining energies? There are ample associations that had turned into perennial energy sources for those who needs kicking. The ‘Kicker’ is eager to kick but for want of energies. She will eventually disappear - "all smoke and mirror, she all ash and butts all bruise and cuts." And we shall lose a battle. But there’s a ‘third,’ the observer, the poet who will capture the scene.