By: Dane Cobain
I am immune to your bad advertisements,
Thou ageing hipsters with electronic cigarettes
Breeding discontent in board rooms;
These days, everything causes cancer,
And the joy is finding which silver bullet
Is The Ruination.
Sometimes I do dumb shit,
Like picking up a young bitch
Who can’t control her appetite –
I always thought that love was just a pool of dreams,
More dangerous than cigarettes or heroin.
I dribble poems in Orwellian socialism,
French scent and gold swizzle sticks which
Burn small holes in the coarse fibres
That hold my molecules together,
This thin line between old age and boredom
As I write my poem on cigarette breaks
And fill heads with talk of the old, and the new,
And the dated.