I’ll level with all of you reading at home
I’ll take dramatic over bored any day
Dancing with the butterfly knifes
Over decomposing in my chair
My circles looking at me with concern
Over looking right through me
The growl of death over the waltz of life
…Well At least in theory
You can call it attention seeking
…Well yeah what else would you call it?
But I noticed no one else has to ask
As if it’s a necessary human need
As if my world curls and breaks
While I fester through another lonely Costa afternoon
I mould at the back of the place
Keep my gaze on the peepshow outside
I see the peppy mid-twenties darlings
Their follicles in constant contact
And my heart starts to sink
I look at my skin like collapsed timber
Do the creases feel like razor blades?
Would it feel like ash if you stroked my hands?
Does every inch of my thigh feel like splinters?
When did my body start to disgust people like that?
So I plan a season finale
A fall from grace, a decent from the heavenly throne
Courtesy of Head Street
Jeered on by the stone gargoyles
With enough eyes on me
That I’ll get empathy systematically
And then maybe they’d visit me later
While I take a break in the trauma ward
And they’ll look at me and they’ll say
“I’m glad your still alive Sebastian”
That’s more vindication in a single breath
Then I bleed out from my lovers and allies
In what feels like the 3rd lap of my lifetime
Attention seeking? Why of course
What else could you possibly call it?
But am I not entitled to it?
Lnc0
Domestic Poetry 