Marketing – A Poem

Tiny fears    everywhere

Sewn into the colour of my hair

Into the creases of my skin

Pull at the shape I’m in

– – Woodworm worries

– – Eat the shine from my car

– – My Englishman’s home is chewed through

– – Everything must be renewed

A Neanderthal hunger drives

It cannot be satisfied

Over and over it cries

Don’t leave me behind

 

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