Echolalia

You are Echolalia
A girl cloned from deprivation
And our new cynical shrugs.
Tolerance of carelessness
Makes a model of offensiveness
And that's you,
Echolalia.

Love is for losers and so is peace
You say: 'they're to blame, the fucking police,'
Or the social services or councils
Culpability would not sit well
On already overburdened shoulders
Or in a face hard with stolen age
'So what good is love, I ask you?
It breeds heartache and requires tissues,'
Thinks fading Echolalia

Clothed in mediocrity
And that's your tragedy:
Beneath ironic sportswear
The roar of blood
In a lioness heart
The sophistication stifled
The seeds of excellence never given room to start.
If you ever see a patch
Of unconcreted sky,
Fly, Echolalia...
Let your echo twang in comet tails.