Undeclared

Okay I’m so mad

Jamie is out here breaking brienne’s heart. Tormund would never hecking do that. What the HECK

Jamie GET OUTTTT, begone

I want.

I need.

I want.

I can’t have.

I need.

I am nothing without.

New Caledonia, a series of poems.

“The housing blocks sprang up in the 1840s to provide accommodation for the city's burgeoning population of industrial workers.

Conditions were appalling, overcrowding was standard and sewage and water facilities inadequate.

By 1931, 85,000 people were crammed onto an area of 252 acres, with up to eight to a room and 30 to a toilet

Residents would often live four, six or even eight to a room, 30 to a toilet or 40 to a tap.

You rally around me like a god -

Debasing yourself before me; in desperation, as you would

A master, the overarching purpose of your graft.

I unlock doors and uphold the state - I feed you, I am literacy and health.

I am alive in the walls of your primitive homes, degenerate establishments, hedonism.

You are a debauched, mutated cousin of the ape - who lacks your delusion, or your hypocrisy.

And you worship me within your tall brick alters, depositing your dignity.

What dignity?

In a rush to procure the most of my essence - you are a harlot, low and deplorable.

Performing for me, in a rush.

The miner’s daughter in her brassiere.

The city men in suits and ties are my saints, spreading my mantra.

Me; I am the making of your own craving - you bestow upon me meaning, insulation.

I am a requirement, as the result of your own Bronze Age foolishness.

Your incompetent forefathers.

And in your profound arrogance

You assume yourself autonomous of me.

-£, €, $, ¥

It’s Valentine’s Day and the government refuses to provide me with a QT soft BF.