Writing your cliché-ridden poetry

On the walls of bathroom stalls, sending

Your fake poseur suicide notes

To radio stations, hoping

For a little air time…

Is this haute couture…? NO!

THIS IS, QUITE FRANKLY,

SCREAMING!

You attention-seeking shit,

I hope one day you see…

That whores will have their trinkets

And their games but that

Death comes for us all.

If only he hadn't said…

If only he hadn't done…

If only he hadn't… FINE!

WHATEVER YOU HAVE TO TELL YOURSELF

SO THAT YOU CAN SLEEP AT NIGHT!

Fuck you and your

Untouchable face,

Your bullshit grace.

Cos even with all this eloquence,

You still couldn't get any.