HOW THEY WHINE

You know that shit
that shit that moronic artists
spout

about
like how their 'art'
isn't about
providing answers
but asking questions

Well,
I vomit
into their
lonely little souls

I defecate inside their
rusty ego-stewed
minds

For in the
magic brew of
my words
you
will
I promise
I GUARANTEE!
find a thousand solutions

You will find
the answers
to all the mysteries
to all the paradoxes
to all the indefinable wonderings

You will
rise to the surface of
the intoxicating
stirring of my creations
and find yourself
speechless
from revelation
and
resolution

otherwise
I'd be wasting my time
and you'd be left dangling
in a sort of vapid
bourgeois nothingness
and we wouldn't want that