Bonjour, Mademoiselle Parfait

Tell me how you manage to keep your mind so sharp, how you still find a way to plow your way to the top of the stack, dazzling everyone with your stellar retention of knowledge
while you sit alone night after night, washing down with a glass of water the poisonous contents of a plastic bottle.

How do you do it, sly fiend of mine? Tell me how
you intrigue those officials of academia, how you reap in crisp checks and top marks
when every sentence that drips from your mouth is packed with the profanity of a drug lord and the bitter coldness of a Russian winter.

Tell me, how do the consequences of the deranged, hedonistic world seem to evade you while everyone else around you drops to their miserable demise?

How does your lust for darkness fall so perfectly in line with everyone else's desires for achievement?
How does success lands in the palms of your hands so easily
no matter how hard you unconsciously try to defy it

while the rest of us grovel on our hands and knees hopelessly day after day, praying that soon our hard work and enslaved bodies will be worth half a bronze penny?




Oh spiteful gods, wake me when the world is fair.