Walking into a store can be dazzling
and distracting,
accepting the culture to embezzle,
anything to lure the customer
and make a consumer.

But walk in, and find
the salesperson to ruin the image:
"hello, can I help you? What are you looking for?"

(not your help, thanks)

Similarly, self-promotional smucks
give me the same feeling.

I'm not going to check out your mixtape, I'm not going to check out
your youtube, I refuse to be bought, just because you asked nicely.

And I stare at the photograph
With a bitter taste in my mouth*

*And dream of turning you into a pile of those same shredded memories

Just text me
I'm just a text away
Cause I don't wanna
Be near to you
To hear what you gotta say

I'd rather hear a beep
Than your wails and screams
Electric still sensations
Than angry sweet vibrations
When what you meant
Is not what it seems

Don't call me
Don't even think about it
You gotta be a dumb fall-whiffler
A bird-brained vapid zinger
F'you even think I'll answer it

Your rage got more swag in it
When I put in some background music
Alone with wine and cheese
Just let me give no **** in peace
Where all my sighs
Are all that I need

The glow on my screen
Is a better sight
Than the rage in your eyes
Spelling terror and plight

Rather grow this ache in my head
Why don't we both shut up instead
Rid our selves of the fester,
Just text me, I'm a texter.

I asked.
You laughed.
I deserted.