Lied Too – Part 3 (No Pleasure)

Just passing the 26 mark not even a month ago
And I’m still finding tendrils in my jacket pockets
Once belonging to a plot so devious
Belonging to that despicable demon
Baiting us with nostalgia and elation
To make us return to life we abandoned

Asmodeus truly a world class con man
Got me believing I derive pleasure
From a process that’s got me reeling
Coming home with new scars, asking when’s next time
And these ain’t scars of love, they dictate damage
Not to pigments, but to the soul

Been tricked into thinking I was hungry
Getting fed just brings the bile to the surface
Maybe I don’t admit but I think I time travel
Like to pretend our first time is our hundredth time
Roleplay that I never lost 3 years of loving
In a hurry to speed to that level of trusting
But was it ever about feeling good? Gotta wonder
Does it ever feel good when it’d stir nothing in them
To learn you’ve sped to the grave the next day
Starting to question if it ever felt good
Well I spose once upon a time, back when it was a product
Of surrendering your entire life force in your love
Cos they earned it, with good care of your soul
You could end up in the centre of hell one day
And you know they’d be striking a deal with Beezlebub
To get your ass back in the land of the living
Only then did it feel good, but it don’t feel good no more

Getting sick of exposing my pulse to the kind of villains
Who’d treat me like an afterthought
Desecrate my temple to chase a resource
But I’m no better, I was a loyal servant of Asmodeus
All performative, hoping I could make you see stars
Make your walls pulsate as you elevate
Crossing my fingers for a 5 star review
Getting a leg in the hetronormative game
They about ready to count an autistic youth out
Doomed to fade into the bottom of the social status
Only to be given a lifeline by sexuality
But how long did I think it’d last?
No way you’ll earn respect from anyone
If you don’t respect yourself enough, to stop lying to yourself
You’re no man, or woman and that’s a new meta
Where these talents don’t lead to anything
So you destroy yourself on the frontlines in vain
Just to top up your trauma

Like going cold turkey, I’d go peculiar without it
Paranoid it was a sign love was running out
It’s absence is evidence that your love was getting sour
That she saw you stale, attractiveness going repugnant
But that just proves, like I say, it got performative
A must, no longer a want, desperation over passion
Kicking myself it took too long to recognise devotion
It’s the late nights talking through your suffering
It’s the understanding that they keep you in their thoughts
That stress when your feeling down and out
That little effort to brighten your day
That unannounced expression on your darkest days
You didn’t have to remind them it was an anniversary
Of your momma, god bless her, leaving this world
They just remembered and had the take out ready
Candle lit picnic, over co-op on the PS2

A exact copy of the energy you’ve always been willing to give
Maybe it’s time to start asking for it back?
And after time, when you let them into your life
When they’re a consideration in your future plans
Maybe it’ll start to feel good again
Maybe it’s time to make people earn it again

Sebastian Noël

Locked In

I’m feeling the exile once again
But it somehow stings a little less this time
Cos the more I try to integrate into it
The more I’m left feeling locked outside the library
Is it worst to be exiled from the 2 point 5 children life,
In a thinly veiled attempt to curb divergent mind numbers?
Or is it perhaps worse to the be locked in
In a social model curated without your people’s input?

Can’t help but wonder when comparing
The epilogues of those recently let in the door
Covering every pour and hole
She’s suffocating from the droll
Of spectre’s hanging down her neck in idle times
Every breath, word and call, twisted and poked
Reminded of the needlessly gendered social hierarchy
Calculated, purposeful, negging call of the crows
An ecosystem made invincible, impenetrable
Perhaps it is worse to be locked in….

Worse to be locked with their grip on your arms
Forcing you to choke the life out of your love
Cos that’s the mark of a Mars in charge
Even worse when you look down
And you see who’s holding your arms, orchestrating the choke
“It’s what the Mars kind should do” she says
Every breath, word and call, twisted and poked
Reminded of the needlessly gendered social hierarchy
Perhaps it is worse to be locked in
Where your identity is out of your control

Sebastian Noël

Not U

Don’t call me that, call me that, call me that, call me that
I’m nothing like that
More evident when you insist I am
Evidence exclusive from your insistence
“You’re one of us, expect your this
And this, and this, and this, and this…”
Every stipulation so you don’t gotta say I am
Cos if I am then you are too and anything but that

But fine I never felt like you at all
I never felt it at all
Ever since 14 staring into space
Fantasising body swapping with another kind
The things I’d do, the things I’d say
I could be loved, man it’d be cool
But no animosity, cos I was always happy to come back
If only I could on the fly, if only it was real

But I had to be one, I had to be like them
Hate like them, abuse like them
Take like them, them like them
Who them? Either one: They them
Cos them only care about what they think is there
So if you listen with your eyes
And never see with your ears
Then. Shut. The. Fuck. Up.

Sebastian Noël

Things A Boy Can Never Be

Grabbing galaxies from your palms
As they linger a meander in the atmosphere
Cos to say you had the world in your hands
Would be a gross understatement

You command the eyes with your sways
You dodge the gazes like lasers in a 80’s flick
But made damn sure they were still looking your way
Everytime you touch their cheeks
You can see their gods die in their eyes
There’s no value in faith of the unseen
For the night, your all they believe in now

So desired, so admired
They flock around you like magpies
Such lust, with a little warmth
And if you allow it maybe even a little love

It cuts me up as a bystander
I’m not in the queue with a ticket in hand
I have my eyes on a bigger prize then that
I don’t wanna be with you, I wanna be you

To have each step treated like a tremor
With people dashing from their seats
Just for a chance of a gamble to be in proximity
And feel like I have a reason to be anywhere
To have every crook of my body
Analysed and immortalised in verse
To have the eyes of envy gaze longingly
Then have the eyes of jealousy mark me

I can’t stand to see it so out of my reach
I’m swaying with loaned energy on the floor
But if they’re not looks of bewilderment
Then it’s nostalgic gaze of malice
I’ve no reason to be anywhere, it’s clear
As they back away to get out range

To be as loved as her
To be as desired as her
To be so admired as her
Just a handful
Of the many things
That a boy can never be

Lnc0