You ain’t shit, I ain’t shit, no one’s shit
Then what’s the shit? Is anyone shit?
Everything’s shit, It’s gone to shit
Shit through my mail box, straight to my inbox
I’m the shit, least it’s pending shit
Dress like shit, get free shit
Cos if I need anything in life; it’s more shit
It’s pointless to be present, perks of vacancy
The senses plead to no pleasure
I blind myself to keep a possibility alive
It’s a ball gag in my eyes baring the Zara logo
My worth’s in verse, sponsor my body to any ol’ shit
Everything’s shit, It’s gone to shit
Shit filling my wardrobe, shit covering my Insta
People don’t want love, they want shit
Any old shit over the arm
Any shit under my covers will do
Shit’s, shit init?
There’s nothing pleasent inhabiting the psychical
And you don’t wanna know how they left the mental
If the soul has prevailed somehow in this world
It’s cowering someplace my lifespan can’t reach
Everything’s shit, It’s gone to shit
Shit’s chilling at the bar, shit’s filling the dance floor
Want my shit? 30 shit’s plus post and packaging
Why do you want shit? Is it good shit?
Do you pity my shit? Every sale a show of kinshit?
Well shit…
We crave something that’s free; a nodding head
A mirrors image, a “Yes okay, good”
We’ll do anything to get our hands on that shit
Spend hours on a feed looking for the next idea to pilfer
Some worthy of ourselves, converted into presence
Anything to magnetise, so that maybe we’ll like ourselves
Everything else is just shit
Sebastian Noël
Domestic Poetry 