eighty-three

you
make
me
sick

it's pretty sad when
i've been away for so long
and everything surrounding you
has become the ideal
and yet
you still disgust me

get over yourself.
no, really.
spraypainting hummers?
and not understanding
when everyone else thinks
you're fucking insane?
and maybe you are

i didn't mind you so much
when you were just there
painting sometimes
trying to sound profound
but this is worse than a bad joke
don't you see it?
you're a joke, you're a joke

you would probably talk about
loving everything
or criticizing your whole generation for being typical
and buying into corporate media trends
and then go play beer pong
(i mean, they're all pretty much the same, right?)
because you're only extreme when it works for your image
you only care about africa because you get to say you went there
you only make fun of bush because he's an easy target
and you think destroying private property will unite us all

i'm not asking you to sit back, fall in, shutup
but there are things that make sense
and then there's you
oh god, i want to hit you in the face
watch you fall in the dirt
and give you a mirror so you see
how foolish you are