I’m a bit of a collector, me.
(I like discographies, personally)

Why I collect?
(It’s funny you ask.)

I never gave thought to obsession,
(Too busy obsessing.)

These are in order of release.
Those are alphabetical.
(Don’t touch them.)

I haven’t gotten round to those.
(Subsequently, I can’t look at them.)

When I am old,
Give me white walls
And false family, dressed in green.
Bring me pills to slow my growth,
And suffocate my dreams.

A tower stood before me,
Of at least a thousand feet.
It took my right to light away,
And sold me back its heat.
I stood submerged in the shade and cold
Of broken bricks, stones of old,
And in a fleeting moment learned
The world is not a gift,
But yearned.