Raised on a cozy diet of conditional love,
I learned to emoji from teevee.
Now I’m hounded by gripes before my time.
Twisted in my genome is this thorn,
and all I see are feuds,
even swans got boxing gloves for heads.
— Ah Ketty-San, why so mori? Maybe you need upgrade
History shat on every household.
Cop cruisers wand their infrared along bludgeoned homes,
demanding boys to spread your cheeks,
lift your sac —
Now, here’s an alcopop to dull that throb,
hide your ugly feelings.
I want to love, yes, yet afraid to love
since I will be slapped, yet
what’s this itch? A fire ant burning to a warring,
boiling froth of lust: Slap me, harder,
slap me again!
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