Rant

We shall wait
we shall see
delayed reaction
the cry that hits me out
prolonged, dragged
postponed.

Another emo phase:
'Oh Lord, shut her up
Not again, I'm bored!'
Wait wait, we shall see
the impersonality
awaits, awaits charmingly.

One two, one two
One two three, bruised knee
We'll be reading Plath
counting suicidal wonders
mathematically, pathetically
I think my woes equal to hers.

I thought myself a writer, you see
but these are sad rhymes
fat rhymes, slime rhymes
head-hunting revolutionary times.

And a-one, a-two, a-three
I'll be closing up, shutting down
na-na-na-na-na, prize for
cuckoo poetry. Hooee.