Headache There's no art left in the world anymore, eh bro? Poetry is dead. Nobody writes anything. Super sad. Forget it dog. We were friends once but no more. You're too happy. It's exhausting sometimes, yeah? So much excitement to be around people, like, you Crave human interaction or something. Why the joy? Don't you know that all of this is too little too Late? Nobody gives a shit what you're giving out. Zero likes. See that? Nobody needs or wants to be Made to, forced to consume your productions. You Are not smart or clever. You have nothing original To say. You're a downer. You want to impress me. Perform your poetry in a Crowd of thousands of stoned, crazed hippies while You dance on fire, surrounded by a flock of bright And shiny young women in socks. Only socks. Throw Free t-shirts into the crowd. Lazers. Always gotta Be lazers. Now that's a party. Nobody sits alone And reads poetry. What a fucking nerd now you've Become. Remember the days when we used to... look At this. Now this is entertainment. It's a stream Of photos of cars doing cool things while making fun Of gay people and retards. Are you mad at me? Do You see how your condescending moralistic pilgrim View of the world just makes people not want to be Your friend? Live a little. Loosen up. Make fun of The losers. You have no reason to act all sad all The time. It's just self-indulgence. I wish I had What you got. You don't give a fuck about anything. Just being the smartest person in the room and so Guess what? You're not even close. You think you Are like the chosen one or someth-- Me shut the fuck up? I'm the one giving you A headache?