Tag: low self esteem

IT’S SHIT

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

Before Her Time

Eyes as blank as the first semester canvas
Waiting for context to give ‘em colour
She’s wasting away in a half price deck chair
In the cage where dust fuses with dust
Spit collects in her mouth
Tears collect in her eyes
Momentum can’t cease this soon she thinks
She’s gotta have a few years yet till Ragnarök

She chisels hieroglyphics into her skin
So she can stay as a historical landmark
To remind the world she’s to be preserved
To inspire a committee before she’s lost her youth

Slinking through the pavement, under the fire of stares
But what does it even mean?
When like gargoyles in the heart of Paris
The embody the idea of being alive
The fast claws away at her life force
Down her throat and between her legs
Can anyone look at that collection of marble
Like a Tate modern tenant, just lost in the wild
Statistically that’s ridiculous, clearly they will
But when conversion is a thing of the past
The frost reaching the womb, dictates perception

Comparison can only thrive in this crater
How can she make the seals clap again
With the hypnotism hitting their eyes
In a way only the one possessed by Eros could
Fill the pigments with a hot pink grip
Before turning blood red from the tears of heartbreak
Emulating winces and frowns
In the sceptical that only youth allows

Only a year has gone by
And the visage remained beautiful
So what happened?
Why do the seas remain calm?
These eyes that used to grip their gaze
Dead
These legs that would be traced with their tongues
Dead
The tights that would interrupt their thoughts
Dead
The origin point of the nutrients that would invigorate
Dead
The whole world has died around her
And she’s lost all life as a result
The earth has forgotten her as time thrives
A glacier victim to decay, at just 24
No eyes will objectify her ever again
What a fate for one, which solitude only brings danger

Lnc0