I love angsty poetry, don’t you agree?
Glorifying addiction and staying up until three
Spending all night coming up with new rhymes
Like popping vyves when you open your eyes
Because you dread each morning when you wake
In this endless cycle of romanticizing heartache
Drowning in affluence has created an epidemic
For originality and purpose fuelled by aesthetic.
Attention and validation have become our obsession
Writing poems that are filled with angst and aggression.
Pretentious idealists think this is poetic
However, me personally, I think it’s pathetic
You must be growing so weary and tired
Trying so hard to be authentically inspired
But your originality soon will expire
Leading to writing that eventually backfires
With a poem ripped off from John Green’s best seller
You really won’t come across as the best compeller
This obsession for misery is your fixation
But plagiarized poetry leads to ego deflation.
Liquor and drugs are your favourite muse
And more often than not a convenient excuse
For explaining your fuck ups, I mean, mistakes
And it hurts the most when you’re up thinking late.
