Do Nothing

i like complaining, it's easy to do,
always messing up, always requesting a redo,
living at home, living with mom and dad,
can't get a job, can't get my own pad,
don't know people, no sucking verbal penis here,
too bad, nepotism really makes problems disappear!
nobody really cares about education, experience doesn't really matter,
the buddy pal hookup counts, not the resume-degree pitter patter,
guess i'm doing nothing with my life, good as dead like leather,
not making money, not caring, apparently not getting things together,
mooching off the only ones who'll ever possibly be there,
i've made nothing of myself, such a waste surely isn't fair,
this crappy poem reaches no one, doesn't deserve its 1 kb of computer space,
good as dead, what i occupy will diminish without a soul, without a trace,
oozing through this mess like rotten salad and spoiled dressing,
where's my nook? i forget anything worthy on a daily basis,
my life story, who cares? highlight it for me then erase this,
constant tension,
failure yes, yet something we dare never mention,
fragile, and becoming more so in a more precarious state,
tomorrow, a situation my brain and hands feel they can't abate...

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