It’s horrible to be old
when you peaked at twenty-five,
And I’ve no need to be told
that no one cares if I’m alive.
I only thank God for the internet
For Facebook and for Youtube.
I comment and chat all fucking day and yet
To these brats I’m just a boring old boob.
I’m thinking of making up a new Facebook account
and pretending that I’m young and cool again;
I’m tired of being called a superannuated cunt
By every callow smart-ass hooligan.
Don’t they know I once shook hands with Iggy,
and even shot up once with Basquiat?
And, yes, I even once got jiggly
with Patti Smith when she was drunk at
Max’s Kansas City.
So why do I feel so shitty
when I look in the mirror?
I’d even settle for some pity,
but the contempt could not be clearer
in the eyes of the young fops
in the bars and coffee shops;
To them I’m barely visible,
and if I am at all I’m risible.
I’m just an aging hipster
with my moth-eaten black beret.
I’m just an aging pathetic hipster.
And, I know, I should just go away.
Self-Esteem Champion of the World! If I were that person, I would want myself to go away too. Not based on anyone you've seen in the mirror, I'm sure. (Fun!)
Any similarity to persons real or imaginary is entirely intended! Thanks, Mayor.
Everyone's entitled to feel sorry for oneself. Threatening to go away if fine. We're pulling you back in. The written voice exists forever. And if If you're loud enough, I suppose someone hears, like it or not.