What’s more impressive?
Writing a song from scratch
Or being able to play thirty seconds
Of a million songs
Other people wrote?
What’s more depressing?
The fact that I asked you a question
Directly related to your job
And you didn’t know the answer
Or the fact that you told me to ask the internet?
What’s more intrusive?
You showing me images of your barely born child
Every thirty-two hours
Or me showing you
What I had for breakfast?
What’s more pointless?
The person who shares a link to an article
They haven’t read
Or the the fickle follower
Who writes “cunt” beneath it?
What’s more narissistic?
The act of posting pictures of yourself
For instant gratification
Or the warm feeling
Of disappointed joy
When the likes roll in?
What’s more hilarious?
People buying The Sun
Or the fact that everything they complain about
Is perpetuated by corporations
Like the one that owns it?
People go round and round and round
Blinded by an ignorance that they’re scared to admit
Happier sad
So they’ve got something to moan about
Something to hate
Because that’s always got humans far
Hasn’t it?
What’s more sad?
The fact that I think these things?
The fact that I make these sounds?
The fact that I’m in these sins?
The fact that I write them down?
Or that all of them
Misplace love?
Or is it, sadly
All of the above?