These aren’t words I write with:
they’re smoke and dust from a page
that’s a furnace.
Sit and burn it;
all the shit that makes me tick,
I made into a fire.
Burn the wick –
the one that’s made from scorn and rage and
“YOU DID THIS!”
It’s gone away,
what could’ve been words, and made to stay,
cos smoke unfogs and dust unclogs
and now I’m feeling fresher.
You have been cast to Never-Ever,
and there you’ll live forever.