your vocabulary is lacking the versatility
to wrap around me. I’ll leak through,
liquid malachite in a dress and tights.
When I am finished here you will know
what I did to leave them drowning in the chop
for I have chronicled it a hundred times over,
neatly catalogued for you, my country darling.
Behind your crooked teeth is a tongue
Iron wrought by the men that came before.
One day your hands will tingle numb when you
hear the word girl, and realise.
Compared to your weak morals, and poor disguise,
it means so much (SO much) more.