the kids

Don't call me love, don't call me babe, don't condescend me.

I'm not your love, I'm not your babe, I'm not a fake part of your silly liar's game. Get to know your own parade. Sort yourself first before making valuable connections with valuable lovers. I may have never been your lover but you would have remembered me painfully if it had been the case. And you would have kicked me out of your life with might, because it is hard to live with the prospect of not having me.

And so trod on with ease; keep gliding your smooth charm around - I'm sure it's entrancing for rags and drabs, and even for those with a bit more finesse. I've seen you work your ways. I know how you do your doings.

And I'll keep living my enterprises so personal; the enterprise of me. The fun and the misere. I will live it all and I will take funds of creativity to tell a more truthful story - I'll have my cake and I'll eat it too. I'll gorge on the bloody thing. Sugar dripping from my fingers. Sweet melodies I'll make for myself, and you'll regret you left me so young, and to such capacity.

You kids always come back.

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