nilly deen

I carved me a rift and called it a hug 
I swallowed a lion and called it a bug,

I cradled a wound and called it a shame
I tarried a dream and called it a game;

I wept in the garden and called it relief
I harried my mother for lack of belief,

I carried a thought through the eye of a storm
I felt my teeth crumble in the face of a norm;

I traded my tongue for a bullfinch's beak
I fucked off my friends for a pretty girl's cheek,

I ambushed a tigress with a silver-toothed pick
I carved my blue name with three-headed stick;

I prayed for a demon and found him in jest
I fashioned my future and considered it blessed,

I wrote towards kindness and became rather sad
I dallied in blindness and made myself glad;

Duty and jury considered me lost
Desire and fire configured me tossed,

I found my four faces in the light of the Sun
I beheld my poor craft and reckoned it done.

London, UK // September 2025