ANGELHEAD

you think you're the bees knees,

don't you?

well please,

let me suggest

that you're only the best

at being an asshole

holy only in you're cracked smile

meanwhile

your mick jagger swagger

impresses no one

a rolling stone gathers no moss

but you seem to have gathered

all the kate moss wannabes

screaming victims of heroin chic

clinging to your ripped jeans

and make believe bands

so why, in moments of weakness,

do I want to be like you?

before realising

I'm just the dog shit on your Chelsea boots

your nonchalance is nothingness

your macho-ness is meaningless

your bullshit bursts my spleen

listen to me as I tell you how pretty you are

with your platitudes and panda eyes

thighs wrapped around her loneliness

your phoniness is killing us

i'll catch you in the rye

and poke you in the eyeballs

you're a ballache

hiding behind your fine taste

and tiny eyes

wide,

as you bore us with stories of hallucinations

I wish you'd trip right down the stairs

like the howling man said

you're an angry fix

burning

with bearded delight

lighting your cigarette so smugly it hurts me

I wish you'd see

the painful glamour

of the wanker

you've become