Shitauchi

A tongue click isn't aimed at anyone. It's just a nameless feeling that slipped out.

The morning train running five minutes late. A bicycle kicked over outside a convenience store.
The night you couldn't say "it's fine."
Feelings with nowhere to go pool against the ceiling until they take a shape.

Taiko drums and 808 sub bass shake the floor while distorted guitar and a low chant circle overhead, at
140 BPM.
Spat-out verses build into a chorus that answers plainly: curses can only be cleared with curses.
Here, exorcism isn't a noble word. It's cleaning.

For anyone still standing, counting the ones they couldn't save.