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Collect Your Consolation Prize

I think that in my whole entire life,
I have never won a single thing--like,
Just me on my own--like,
A competition or something stupid--like…

It’s probably engrained from the beginning,
With those horrible science fairs, and winning
Seems to be the only goal of it, not learning, like
What’s even the point? Like,
Stupid blue ribbon that’s nothing but trashy fodder,
Making kids feel better about the poster boards
That mommy had to make for them,
Because cutting up cardboard is like, pure slaughter.

I can’t say I’ve taken scissors to my skin before,
But I know plenty who have--the prize is pain,
But out of that, I know there’s nothing to gain,
I’ve learned to take joy from standing
Out in cold, wet rain.

Collect your consolation prize.
Here, it’s meant to make you feel like
You accomplished something, like,
You did something worth looking at, like,
You’re actually a part of the elite, you feel high.

Life is funny like that, you know?
Getting something for a whole lot of nothing.
I burnt down the wedding, ran off on prized stallion,
I made a mess of myself, now give me my medallion.
I deserve a reward for doing the righteous thing, right?

In that wedding, I can name every single person
That was in attendance, every face I can attribute
To any person, my pyromaniacal commotion
I was gifted these matches as a child, and given the notion
That the people being wed tried to drown me in the ocean
I think I deserve a prize for being the hero this time.
That disgusting rush of adrenaline spreads through my rhymes.
I’ve learned to make myself hidden, too.
They won’t ever find me here, nor will they find you,
Your dog days are over, and it’s time,
Time to get up and dust off grime,
Time to tell someone about my crime,
Time to get your consolation prize.

You can be the hero now, I think I’m done
Like every other story I’ve told, I’ve run
A thousand miles to stand here tonight, like
A martyr speaking the words of the Lord,
But I’m no holy child--that much I know.

If I told you to beware the Ides, would you listen?
Would you listen to the short-statured man before you?
Or is he the boy crying wolf again? I’m waiting for your answer.
Boys don’t cry wolf, let me make it clearer:
Boys cry wolf because they looked in the mirror
And the canis lupus reflection awoke,
And in devilish tone and complexion, spoke:
“I am you, and you are me,
Not a thing could change who you’ll be,
Stare into these bloodshot eyes--
Collect your consolation prize.”