The artist was splendid, and so was his art.
But every creation of his made him a bigger asshole than he already was.
He lashed out at those who were close,
They endured, and in their submission, his meanness rose.
The world was at his feet and his fans loved his work,
But he knew that the handful who mattered, called him a jerk.
His talent was tied to a tree of poison, and in its negativity he thrived.
He was aware though in his rise that within him, both can’t wilfully survive.
But if the asshole left, his art would die,
And if his art left, his reason for existence would say goodbye.
At last he realised what had to be done,
This can’t be his story, it had to take a different turn.
So he created his final masterpiece for the world to remember,
He called it art, I call it a planned blunder.
The finishing touch was the name he chose,
Disgusting everyone he called it, ‘The Asshole’.
That was that and his end was near,
‘The Asshole’ forever lived, but the artist… the artist disappeared.
– Sage-ing Out