I am never gonna be as good at this as you.
I will always be mumbling and fumbling, in awe
of your formidable smoothness.
You could never guess what’s behind my smiles.
But I’m sure you’ve seen the knots in my stomach.
They’ve got your fingerprints all over them.
This game we’re playing,
are you enjoying it?
Stop calling me ‘cute’.
You wouldn’t want me to soil your shiny, new shoes.
You and your abominable coolness, ha.
Ha. Ha. Ha.
The string round my wrist, I wonder
when it will come loose.
Nothing’s ever new. And no.
It’s not fun always coming back to you.



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