Post apocalyptic balcony number 13

At first,
Bass vibration from the wall.
Then a voice,
Voices.

“Bitch”
“You ain’t tagged proper, hear bitch”
“Announce, bitch.  The fuck”

Boot, head, back of head wall.
A muffled fog.
Kid Carl, “No, N…”
Boot, stomach.
Boot, chest.
Boot, temple, head pavement.
Boot, stomach.
“Announce, bitch”
“Intentions, bitch”
Boot, Boot, Boot…
Raining pain fades him.
Clouds, a lost mothers arms.

A confident voice,
A different voice.
The husky voice.
A voice saying, “no”.
The voice of an angel.

Just a kid,
In a bed.
Hurting, like never before.

“A cup of tea my child.” The husky voice of an angle.

Post apocalyptic balcony number 7

Wrapped in enigma,
They follow
The Siamese Psychopaths

They jump rusted
car skeletons.
Together
Choreographed
Hunting

Chasing
the white line
highway

Running towards
Lion rock tunnel
Pumped
with Agro4
The Chemist's new
ultra violent drug.

The world was small
focused to tarmac
fight and death.

It's all about blades
sharpened for blood
death weapons
tools of war

Running towards
the dark arch of the tunnel
the battle ground
mid way under a mountain

A mountain
That separates two.