Thursday, 11 September 2014


You need to get off
My cloth
And my lightbulb, soon
Because I’m not the moon
And you should’ve been advised
When you got here too soon
That the sky’s
Big, like a sponsord-ised gig
And you’ve been waiting in the wings
To flap your dainty little things
But don’t cry
As you chew through my vest
ed interests
Coz I
Am as vain as the next guy
On foot rests
Who prefers legs to breasts
And thigh.

I hear your sigh
And just wonder why it’s human nature to objectify
Have always preferred the butterfly
And that’s a dry little metaphor
Still at least we can sigh
And then go under the knife
And have the lips of a clown without being pinned down.

In the end nobody loses
We just choose the bruises
Be it the dominant forces resources
Or the freedom fighter’s Kalashnicov…
I don’t care,
I just stare
And hate your constant buzzing