Here I am,
Pushing the limits
With envelops and gimmicks.
Flattop-cropped with the guillotine,
Checking my teeth in the widower's gleam.
You left me here and your clock's lean
Has thrown the pace off.
And in your selfishly-paced walk,
You forget locks left behind.
Grow up, kid.
You already have
And surely I am glad.
And I've kept these teeth,
Prosthetic and clean,
But you just seem not to get it.
Yet I've spoken too much
And the blade catches my tongue.
Flaming pink, it falls to the ground.
Back down,
Boy,
You must back down...
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