They Like Them Titled

I want attention

I want a foundry

Here, here

Without knowing what it is…

What can I take?


Lilted and stilletoed

No one knows better than the moon

I’m just spouting dissidence and distraction

But ask my nails: Do you like chalk?



Nothing is better than bollocks

I don’t know where the bow locks

Or where the landlord pays his rent

We are all traction-resistant

There is no need for nuisance


I try to yell

This quaint little whimpering sound comes out

Was that me?

Am I already this old?


To take it another place

I haven’t a clue

But sometimes my forehead feels numb

Doesn’t say a damn thing about my brain


Then we were young again

And now it’s raining

Sticking to canon

All the bells

Aaaand I ran out.

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