Oh it’s poor me poor me
So much pouring, serving tea
Your servant here is fastidious, quick worker
Quick walker, quiet as a stalker
He makes it so that he is a silent partner
Even observed, one feels alone talking
Barkeep please pour me pour me
A warm port for my warm-needing cockles
A dark and stormy to loosen by comportment
Normalcy cancels out my superpowers, adverse reaction to boredom
Notches, dashes, secret hatches, hidden practice, keeping score
Of dreams, tallying the success rate of rites I road tested
I’m getting texts hotter than Wexford, tits big as Texas
Getting attachment too large messages jpegs of appendages
Thrive close to dying, in a storm taking flight my triumph
Today I’m up like the Ryanair fleet
Quick to right feet like a bleating goat mountain leaping
I’m crouched on a narrow precipice, nothing is less than this
I have sex before a golden disc acting as a sun
They frisk me extra but never find my golden gun
I summer at Goldeneye, privilege of the old boy’s club
Sheltered elite, drubbing and clubbing each other with cudgels
School more like a borstal, a portal to a truer nature.
Alchemisland 
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