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Ravaged by moroseness and ennui,
Grasping me in their seemingly eternal grasp,
Wondering why one always suffers,
After life's most invigorating experiences.

Drunkenness is followed by a hangover
The comedown follows the high,
Tiredness follows exertions of energy,
Whilst heartbreak undoubtedly follows love.

The problem intensifies when,
In search of the memory of these feelings
One's sombre mood is mixed,
With nostalgia and wistfulness.

The longing ensues,
To recreate the mood,
Strive for that level of ecstasy,
Or simply have a kiss and cuddle.

But melancholy never helped anyone,
And past-living is non-effective.
So the task now at hand,
Is to recapture these experiences once more.

Daily Mail

I am the problem with this country,

Young and unemployed,

Half-heartedly looking for work,

Doll money spent on drugs and booze.

I am the problem with this country,

Mixed-race son of an immigrant,

Sleeping with the white women,

Besmirching our English roses.

I am the problem with this country,

Proud, adorned with my knee strap,

Pending benefactor of a claim,

Fuelling the vile compensation culture.

I am the problem with this country,

Another youth from the middle class dystopia,

Open-minded and forward-thinking,

Desperate to avoid being run-of-the-mill.