these supposed
writers with their
fragile egos
have no idea just
how pathetic
they really are
puffed up pissants
pretending to be
purveyors of art
simple shitstains
in pedantic prose
creating drama
to stay relevant
in a world so
sick of the same
tired blame shift

the best thing
about my particular
broken nature is
i don’t care how
i am perceived
when i don’t know
how to perceive
myself as anything
but a rancid slick
of talentless sick
it must be very
exhausting thinking
in world of seven
some odd billion souls
that your opinion
actually fucking matters

hacks trying to cash
a quick buck by
scribbling garbage
and proclaiming it
is for the people
when they haven’t been
a fucking person
in years themselves
so self centered in
their echo chambers
sniffing their own
farts and proclaiming
it to be cologne

i am tired of having
to tiptoe across
the fragility of
their little man syndrome
so as to not offend
the rabid cunts who
defend, decry, deny
the talentless twats
and their boring intent
i don’t care about
money or fame or
anything but her
the kids and creating
art true to my spirit

but it is fun being
the molotov on their
house of egotistical cards