Misguided Child

This one’s for you, you spat out brat,

The result of Big Bank’s lovers feud with pop culture

Oh, misguided child of the ivy leagues,

Post-modern hyper-capitalist cool cat,

This one’s for you.

Oh, Misguided child how I want you,

I want to place my head between your better-than-thou thighs

And have you squeeze till my eyes cry blood

And my tongue doles out a pathetic orgasm

Oh, Misguided child, what fun we had

Doing blow all night, dancing to chillwave in the soft light

Of the sunrise, creeping in through bay windows

Looking out over an ocean of slow-moving oil.

Oh, Misguided child, how we spoke,

Our tongues shitting all over the place,

Saying nothing profound and yet,

The weight with which we swung it.

Oh, Misguided, misguided, I want to use the word

Misguided till it has no more meaning,

Till the assembled letters don’t know where to go,

I want to turn it into an onomatopoeia.

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