You, You, You, I’ll Think of It Eventually…
by Richard Miller
Stupid adolescent, presuming wisdom beyond your years. Too bad you lack the wisdom to realize how little you know.
“…Love is…” Love is? Fuck that shit! “…oh, love is a fist fuck. Love is a pimp slap attack…” Damn juvenile pseudo literary expression. Your damn love is a gonorrhea drippin’, herpes blistered, aids tainted dick! Get fucked!
“…I wrote this one when…” You know, I really give a shit about your mindless driveling, sniveling, sobbing, self pity wallowing, pathetic ranting. I care so much that I’ve often considered committing a mercy killing. Mercy, mercy, mercy!
“Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury I would like to introduce the victims poetry into evidence as people’s exhibit 69…”
“Has the jury reached a verdict?” “Yes we have your honor, we the jury find the defendant , NOT GUILTY by reason of a mercy killing due to bad poetry…”
First, try to have a real life experience. Perhaps, something Nietzschesque that changes one’s entire outlook. And no, the average loss or petty little broken puppy love doesn’t count. There are poets that have dealt with devastating obstacles, you and yours pale in contrast. You ain’t it. Remember, there are almost 6 billion people on this planet, get over yourself.
So, you still think you’re a poet? Well, suck my rectum and eat what comes out. YUMMY!
back / home
