Fuck the introspection, fuck the self-obsession
Fuck the “Her head behind the sunrise, what a beautiful sight”
Can’t stand to stare at my reflection for so long
Now the written word’s looking a lil’ stale
Seems backwards don’t it? Charging 2 quid at the door
To stare at me, while my back is turned
Then I sit down, Peroni in hand
As 4 classically trained wordshits do the same

The irony being this is my first little introspect ditty
Ever since I wagged on the crush poetry thing
A party trick disguised as an act of devotion
Channelling a Borderline’s obsession into a possession
You can show it to your friends, your neighbours if you must
It’s not healthy, but I must do as a poet must
I talk like I’m above it all
But you can expect anthology nostalgia, volume 6, 2024
What I’m getting at is: Scribes were meant for more than this
I can live through shit so my peers don’t gotta

I’m sharing a coffee as a means to prolong the weekend
With a enlistee of Generation Y.5
She describes a trap; harmless in it’s aesthetics
But malicious in it’s construction
It’s not unlike a blood pact, your DNA’s been swallowed
You’re a part of the family now, you’ve entered a contract
And I got flags honey, I can reach into my bag
Throw you flag after flag after flag
But you can’t put it to a binary, but it’s all familiar
He’s staring you down behind the house red
Split the bill, as long as you pay for the starters
You let a smidgen of trauma slip the tongue
“You’re family’s trash?” He say “Well you’re ours now”
Clear your books, introduce you to his accountants son
You’re the daughter they never had, an asset
Killed you with kindness, decisions now come with considerations
Not just he, but he mam, he dad, he dad’s co-worker
There’s no lock and key, but your fate is sealed

I wanna tell you that, but I’ll tell you in verse
Cos coming out with it does nothing to help
It implies motives that are non-existent
My heart’s taken, my libido’s not a factor
But where would that leave you even after I drop the first flag?
I tell you what I’ll do, I’ll phase it out
Not over hours, but over generations
I’ll write the hypothetical, inspire an idea
I won’t even hand you the saw, you won’t need it
My bars and rhymes will kick your mind
It’ll go feral, you’ll bite the chains of the cuffs
It’ll come to you, snap, like instinct
You’ll go coyote; savage, beaming, powerful
That’s some scribe to enrich the soul
It’s not about me, it’s about how me
How me, can take me, and make the masses see
A tendril up there back, a gag entering their gobs
Take back the timeline they tried to rob
So if I walk into a murder scene come next week
Blood on the wall, claw marks on the door
And a free woman, a free man, centres in the battle field
Then whether I succeed, crash or fail, fuck it, it was worth it

Sebastian Noël