Empty Culture

That awkward little existence,
Behind the falacy of poetry,
Observing the world,
With a pseudo-intellectual wisdom,
Born from the bastardized mixture,
Of early pop-culture and the evening news hour.
Pop-art and politics:
It becomes you well.

But somewhere between chai lattes,
Yeats and existentialism,
Where the indie rock alternative lifestyle,
Dares not to go,
You feel bitterly cold
And alone.

Then suddenly,
All the feigned culture,
Andy Warhol spoofs,
And classic film-noir,
Don't matter anymore,
Because you know deep down,
No one will ever care about,
Your stolen ideas.

No matter how fast you churn them out,
One remake after the other,
They'll forever be lost in a subculture,
Filled with other misunderstood artists,
Doing exactly what I'm doing,
Right now.

Perhaps our time would be better spent,
Actually giving a damn

About someone else.