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Yeah I listen to Anarcho Punk, Why'd Ya Ask?

Yeah I listen to Anarcho Punk, Why'd Ya Ask?

I went to college like a bird swimming
like a woman burning in the 1700s
or like an atheist rising
I cut my nails like a narcissist killing himself
as if I’m a vampire taking a stake to the heart

or more like a vegetarian hunched over sucking blood
What Trudeau calls economics I call toilet paper,
because it’s worth less than the rough, skin peeling,
school material I use to wipe my ass
everytime I walk past EA I think about taking
the vaccine van and driving it through the window as
students leap from their chairs in a desperate
attempt to not waste the thousands of dollars
they’ve spent on what they think is their soul
and I’m sitting there wide eyed, the glass
coming down like the plague that purged the Isrealites
when in reality I’m just a pawn that refuses to move
to the next tile
I get off at Heritage station everyday and I see
more ass on middle aged white dudes than
I’ve ever seen on a woman but this kind of ass
is unsightly and defiled and if you keep
following with your eyes the arms who
own it are just picking and shaking,
digging for another vein to finally
find some relief
I talk about moving to the middle of
buttfuck nowhere and growing potatoes
and carrots like some poor famished redheaded freakazoid
but for now I’m too addicted to the counterfeit image
flashing over my eyes so I’ll take myself
up on the offer when good games stop coming out
You know, I spend way too much time showering
than I like to admit and I actually like
some of my essay topics, but that doesn’t mean
I don’t fantasise about murdering my professors any less

Plus, even if Wordsworth is right,
there’s still more mud covered asses I want to
see in obscure train stations
I have a dream that one day I’ll pack up
my definition of minimalist belongings
and live in an attic in London like the
dirt poor, cis male, entitled pricks that came before me
because I’m not staring at trees for the next sixty years
I’ve been trying to acknowledge that
other people can be right sometimes
but sometimes I still feel like bashing your skull
open with my Encyclopedia of English Literature
I’ve been smiling at people more as I pass
them in the hallway and the ones that smile back
I think about for the rest of the day and the ones
that don’t I think about for the rest of the day
with a twelve inch blade in my hand
I’ve been going to these stuffy club meetings
where I sit and read whatever over dramatic dog shit
I wrote while slumped over on my desk, one hand
on the tissue box and the other on the keyboard
I’ve met some pretty cool people over the
past two years
some of them I see in the hallway and
talk awkwardly for less than a minute
before walking away and resisting the urge
to blow my brains out at whatever
nonsensical bullshit I just told them
I’ve been thinking about cutting my hair
recently because I spend more time ripping
it out and it’s the same hairstyle I’ve had since I
was seventeen
I’ve been thinking about how there’s ignorant

people in this world and they’re so much happier than me
So, I’m getting better, dear friends,
but don’t stop praying for me.