Well good evening, readership.
I've been excruciatingly bored lately. Currently, yes, I've something to do - I'm proofreading my flatmate's Master's thesis. However, the rest of the time, I've been as bored as a foie gras goose. It's a bit annoying, really. So here's a poem about boredom, somewhat about fashion, and mainly about casual recreational drug-use. I wrote it ages ago.
Drugs, Fashion and Lies:
Severe exposure to reality
Is how I prefer to refer
To my clinical depression.
It's quite the ploy,
as it means it's society's fault, not mine,
and if it's society's fault,
I'm fine.
To shift the blame, change the name
But you can't eliminate the pain.
Oh, you can self-medicate
Cocaine for pains, strains and excessive weight gains,
But all it gave me was acne.
Cocaine is a pain for the vain.
Speed, made my nose bleed
All over my new Yves.
I went up, I came down, I came out
The stains didn't.
Marijuana, oh dear...
Not worth the paper it's burnt in.
I could design such clothes,
if only I could get up.
Drugs, fashion and lies.
Drugs fashion your lies.
Severe exposure to reality
I lie to myself every morning, of course.
It's kinda fun, as a poem, y'know. Sadly, people tell me I'm not bad at poetry. Therefore, I have to write a poem for a girl - just because she wants me to! I lament.
Clearly, I'm quite bored. Now to fashion. It seems that the latest argument in fashion circles is (still) whether or not to like Tavi Gevinson. Strange. Even stranger, the dominant attitude is that, because people still like her, it is no longer acceptable to like her.
Seriously? That just makes me more bored. No wonder I'm such a basket case.
Bye.
