Wild

He can’t experience anything above

the city racket, his head’s a bag of

loose spanners. Never being able to

find a place inside to be himself

driving him to violence, he pushes

the volume up further to drown out

the noise, sending himself spiralling

towards craziness, his only way with

people, and, in truth, crazy youths have

their admirers. Having no other mode

of being, he considers himself wild and

often is, and when he is not he’s often

cradling his head in his hands.