This goes out to all my homies, with love

Mad?
Call it my little foible. To displease
Is my chief pleasure. I love hatred. He's
My best friend who's my best enemy. Oh,
You've no idea how bracing it is to go
Marching upright against a volley of venom,
In the sights of the eyes of angry men, am-
ong the spit and bile and froth of fear,
Cooled, as by rain, by those gentle drops. My dear
Captain and friend, you're different. Who could hate your
Guts? Your soft and warm and bland good nature,
One of these Italian cowls, comfortable, loose,
Designed for softening the chin. Now, I've no use
For anything but an iron collar, full of spikes,
Made ever spikier by new dislikes.
It makes me hold my chin up, walk erect,
A Spanish fetter blessed with the effect
Of a French halo.