Nah

For a victim, you’re sure not above devious tactics.
But did you really think that shit would fly a 67th time?
Drip feeding your attention like it’s a show above 40 karat gold?
I’m sure we got better things to be getting on with.

So go on: What brought it on this season?
The realisation your admirers where out of sight?
Has your ego been feeling dry as of late?
Just fuckin’ bored?
Or maybe you’ve come to THAT conclusion again?
No matter how you try and drag new blood to your feelers,
The talk is small and minds are minuscule.
They have the charm of software programmers,
And the grip of a Rich Tea biscuit.
Oh they’re all so stupid compared to us, aren’t they darling?

The cheek of it, to clap your hands
And expect the patter of little feet on your inbox.
But my dear don’t you think;
That after 7 years perched on the pedestal
Maybe be a year too long with fuck all to show for it?
Do you honestly wanna make it 8?

Is it really too much to bare?
To see other people provide the things I need?

Sebastian Noël

Ab-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b

I can’t call it what it is
My genetics haven’t earned that yet
I don’t know what you’d call it then
Maybe we ain’t gotta call it anything
Cos even without a name it’s marks made clear
The apprehension that colours the bar
As a Walkers crisps ash haired beauty comes through
Clashing teeth on her fraying wool
That’s just like a darling like you
I guess?
But I can’t help but feel you’ll make a mug of me
The blame for that rests a million miles from you
I don’t even need to think much about the one responsible
You can find her like an aging marble of Magdalene
Surrounded by eggshells of her own creation
Stuck on a menacing grin
All her declarations are interchangeable
All her loves are replaceable
That’s when affection loses it’s value
That’s when defection loses it’s weight
But without a source of verification
Who’s gonna verify that outside of the two of us?
Who’s gonna babysit the love that blooms?
I’ve been beaten down to the state of an infant
Burning any bridge I called my own
For a 1/100 odds of a pacifying narrative
Cos freedom isn’t the sobering conclusion it once were
Like a spatula on sunburn, it’s agony
How’s a spade a spade in a world like this?
How’s anyone chatting honestly under surveillance?
You hide the rouge tinted mitts behind your back
None of this is your handiwork you reiterate
I don’t see anyone else with the keys to my coat
If anxiety is the excuser of all malice
Then boy are WE all fucked!

Sebastian Noël

The Empathy Age (W.I.P)

Oh there’s nothing you can do, they’re all dead
No future for your favourite people, they’re all dead
Destined to smile though a bruised jaw
And a demolished ego, boy they’re already dead

Try as I might to babble through textbooks
Of analogy, quotes, self help propaganda
It appears I just don’t have the tongue for it
To get you see the spade as a spade

If only you were the only one
Ping, Ping, Ping, all day long
A breakdown censored by the sweetest smile
From all over Essex county

It feels like a task intended for meta-humans
To convince people they don’t deserve this
To be tendered and made to feel like dirt
If they have the audacity to think themselves human

What can I do if they’re already long gone?
I can’t convince them, they’re better then dead
How much empathy can I spare,
If the dead can’t find it in them to cling to life?

Does it earn attention away from my beloved?
To share the strain of empathy
Almost to strip the awards from her hands
For knowing she’s worthy of humanity

Oh what a horrible thing to say, to even think
But my heart can’t bear to ache anymore
Is it right to leave you to your grave
And spend that time tending to my wounds?

Lnc0