Next Big Thing

I don’t understand Why all the great artists Have to be depressed as f*** To be great. I feel like my sadness Is tantamount to my success. I can’t finish my work- Can’t find the motivation To even call my f****** boyfriend- Because I’m on the road To the Next Big Thing! I’m miserable because I’m driving Along the highway of creativity. F*** that. I’m f****** miserable Because my brain is in the s***s, And I’m a pessimistic little a*****e Because I don’t remember What it was like When I was the chipper, peppy little b**** Who flirted with everything that moved And ate herself sick And wore her hair in a greasy ponytail With eyeshadow smeared across her face And a massive, s***-eating grin Splitting already split lips.