I grow tired of it
Of everyone blindly gabbing on my praises
Such a clear fucking lie
It’s why people can’t connect the opinion to the man
I bow down to peoples feet
Before clocking them on the chin
I run my hands through their hair
Before yanking a chunk of it out
I cry when they go
I groan when they stay
I buy any myth people throw my way
And keep the blindfold on the whole time
Only for my stomach to retch
At the revel of the sequels
But I’m the sight to be retched at surely?
Bruises and lashes from the tongue
All posed to the recipients
While keeping the answer book to myself
Not even a hint, not even a clue
If they can’t figure out, they don’t deserve to know
That’s the fun-loving logic you could deserve
When you strike a convo with that sulk at the bar
But now the documents leaked
And the stage by stage analysis is in public hands
Does it answer anything? Did it fill you in at all?
Does it make you see me as less of a nutcase?
At the very least does it explain
Why I kiss the feet of people who deserve a smack
And smack the people who deserve a kiss?
And if it does explain, do you understand?
Cos right now when the opinion reaches anyone’s ear
I have a hell of a job explaining the false advertising
Lnc0
Domestic Poetry 