Damn Arts Students.

You pretentious little prick,
With the acid smile flicker,
No one’s gonna read your shit,
This line is existential, idiot.

Ginger mop flickers sideways,
Bored and moping over nothing,
She can’t save you ‘cause she’s gone.
But that was always an excuse anyways.

Waiting for my lover to prove,
Something I know she can’t,
Self-sabotage is a wicked art,
And im motherfucking Picasso.

Swearing doesn’t make you a cool chap,
Just another lingering powerplay,
A man of class, collars and vests aye?
Twain says it beats counting.

There will be no spell checks,
To him: art is about sheer capacity,
Ability used to avoid real work,
Passion avoids my every glance.

I need a life outside myself.