i am fat on the held back fuck yous
a spider made of shadows of sentiments
they flower in my writing
i’ve been less than forthcoming
and the heartbeat that’s drumming
is an echo of the first
promising i’ll burst
how do you chain the words?
the ideas you listen too
like conversations your pissing through
in the inappropriate bathroom
praying for a conversation dressed in sense
build a fence between you and offence
and talk of walls and immigrants that appalls
blustery weather and unwanted squalls
i’d wear a t-shirt for you to learn it
but you’d probably want to burn it
you want everything but don’t earn it
don’t understand shit but spurn it
borrow stuff but don’t return it
it’s such a lazy way to live in the world
a vulture eating everything they’re hurled
hating on people in the doorway curled
but doing nothing to lend a helping hand
arguments built on shifting sand
propped up by little more
than the money you worked the long con for
divide them into different camps
and work hard to adjust the lamps
to work the shadows and keep them gaslit
mushrooms in the dark fed on shit
listening to wittering and mistaking it for wit
what will you do when the world is woke
and the fuse is lit?
all the things you broke
won’t be worth shit
and you will get a share only of the pain
which you dished out again and again
perhaps you will stand your ground and remain
to try and continually prove you were right
shadow boxed into losing the fight