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,
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
Your bullshit grace.
Cos even with all this eloquence,
You still couldn't get any.