Beat

Listen to the foreign sounds behind you, whispering something exotic, sexual
While I twist my wrist, I am a performer
Beat kicks in
Look at this golden skin
No in fact it’s not golden, its dimmed
Like the glossed magazines
Been rained on and then tossed in the bin
But if I say golden, just to sound exotic, will you like me?
I’m sitting right here, waiting with patience,
I will be waiting.
But I hate this way
Maybe I’m addicted; I’m the pile of throw away
I’m not shy to show you how I’m the at the bottom of that hierarchy
As long as you reach empathy eventually
Do I dress like this? Or do I dress like this?
The mirror staring back at me says no, but I say yes
Do you say yes?
Insert that foreign sound again, I’m twisting my wrists,
While I walk off the building
Finally that beat has stopped

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