Why you smug punk
who snorts
the white powdered
good life
served on a silver platter
you snarky, sniveling
specimen of generation
“whatever”
do you really think
in your VIP room
dreams
that the world will
pole dance forever
for you
and that you can
throw good money
after bad
behavior and
hit the mega jackpot
talk to me
in twenty years
and let’s see
what has
happened to
your eyes
which roll
like dice at
everything I say
when your
dimpled cheeks resemble
bruises in a
beer brawl
and your world
is stripped
of strippers
and all
that is left
is you
an empty
can of a man
a Bud
who never
got wiser