the inability to accept an atomic outlook

Your diversion to occupy my mind is,
there:
now you're bleeding!
but i refuse. I sleep
creep, dick, douche,
cruise control in my head
my psyche,
stuck in this rotten meat bag of a body,
on strike
a small scale coup,
says fuck you,
here’s a demand:
sort it out. 
OR
i will bring your ass to ground,
your head to table,
your face to cradle
in your hands.
I will lock it up and
dance the
drooling comatose. 
continue along this trench,
OR-
get it off your chest

And so that’s where we stand my friend.
unloading, unleashing 
the confession to which you answer
in your broken English
Why you tell me this
SHIT?
Live with it you fucking coward.