Welcome to my Pity Party

Do you understand disgust?  Self-disgust? Then welcome.  Welcome to Amel’s pity party. No, no…we aren’t hiding under fake names.  This is her party.  Where she has the stage to spit ball and embarass herself.  Relieve herself in public.  Because why not?  Its a free space.  You get to flood it with baby pictures and travel selfies.  How about I hang my dirty soiled handkerchief?

Here is my poem on self-disgust.

Dear Amel,

You disgust me,

Stop it.

So, maybe it doesn’t rhyme.  But it also doesn’t make sense.   So maybe I get points for that.  And its uninteresting, unimaginative. Much like myself.  So…

But wait, please, wait.  Don’t leave. I am desperate.  Perhaps I can interest you in a glass of self-pity?  Oh, I brewed it myself. Its called the ‘everyone hates me, and I deserve it.’ Yes, very very strong.  Try not to drink it in public if you don’t want to make a fool of yourself like Amel is doing.  Self-pity is kinda like disgust, but just repackaged in a pretty bottle.  But really, you do feel like taking a whiff of it everywhere.  At work, in the middle of a party, on the street.  Most effective when consumed with insecurity. “Why do I even try to write.  Why bother the world with my mediocre attempts at art?”  About this time, you can meet Guilt.  He loves pity parties. Comes dressed in his very best. “You fucker, wasting your precious life…can’t you see how you have it all perfect?”  Ya, swears a bit.  Its probably a pathetic attempt to be machoistic.  Sometimes he gets poetic. “Have you decided to while away your life like an open tap in a rich man’s colony?”

Who?  Alchohol? Oh, yes, yes, let him in. He’s great at these parties. Brings out the best in everyone.  Who’s that with him?  Suicidal thoughts.  Oh, wonderful chap.  Tells lovely stories. Better than Amel’s for sure.  Of course, no one dies.  Its only a party gimmick.  A sympathy trip.  The girls love it.  The men get turned on by it.  Nothing like a desperate act.  Great for TRP rates.  Just don’t crank it out too frequently.  The trick is in the practiced frequency.

Can you bring down the wailing a bit?  I think the police are coming.   The expectation police of course. Big Guys, with their badges and machine guns.  Will gun down the whole lot of you.  Make sure you’ve got the best seats.  Right in the front and you’re sure to get gunned down.

Ohh, you want an ending?  Well, yes, all stories do have an ending.  Thats the best part. There isn’t one.  Its one party after another. An endless pity party.  So hop on!

 

 

 

 

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