I should offer you consolation 

at these times of death and need.


I should say just the right things like,

“It’ll be alright in the end.”


But none of this bullshit seems 

to cut deep to the truth:

for I, in my privilege,  

am just a fucking fraud.


I’ve struggled to find words

to build up some hope,

wanting to say that all’s okay,

you’re all special—love works!


But all this seems trite and 

stupid in truth, for how would I

really know the depth of this HURT.


So dearly beloved reader of this 

pretentious swill, 

call me a liar,

call me a user,

call me a whore seeking reward.


And say it to me just how it is—

“What the fuck would you know,

you middle class white prick!”