still you don’t call yourself miss pepper

though you seem to matter now you seem

to look good you look ivory you seem

pretty good

still you don’t call yourself your self

nice things like selves fit

on his fingers better than at your neck

do you still look for pretty faces

give all the goods away

pack your bads and

jump off

miss pepper I’m sorry you still are

misunderstood you still

misbehave and

you still miss me

i think you’d better bring up some great point of view

with all that frown you’ve raised

all that glitter that sore skin of yours

those spotlights

which torn your beauty like wet cloth

muddy gloves for scratched senses

you still smell like my old home wooden backdoor

with your mouth like a pale red doorstep

pointing to the ceiling

somehow targeting the roof

for a quick armed fly-over

I’d be terrified to meet you on my way forward

I’d surely beware of that self of yours

that is no longer like you

miss pepper if I were you I’d give up

missing for good.

I’d roll everything and throw it through the air hole

make some sound out of my old voice

dry it with the hairdryer

mix it with everything else that is dry

and short and old

and finally

I’d give up missing.

for good.

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