Predictability is the tool of the insecure,
conquer all with the ability to be immature.
I mix life with a bit of sugar, and vinegar,
just to reassure that I am not being sinister.
Prisoner to the petitioners of posterity,
carrier of a regretfully stale mentality.
My identity is expressed with brevity,
a short melody that incrementally increases in intensity.
This is not a life lesson in a cup, but like it or not I will speak up, now drink up.
Our world is corrupt, screwed up, independently bankrupt.
I look out onto the world with disdain, I feel chained -
but I have deigned myself worthy to be the bane of the mundane.
I'm putting my butane lighter to this constitutionally insane day-to-day brain drain.
Don't complain, you know the strain is giving you chest-pains,
trying to feign intelligence and detain this literary acid rain.
Ascertain that people like you are just lower on the food chain.
We're on the express train, the fast lane, to putting an end to your reign.
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