bright people aren’t happy in general

and they don’t bloom a perennial

these spirits, that go and stay counterculture

by the system, society, of family and friends get eaten up as a vulture

on the earth they surely made a mark

and often, yes, a drug as a spark

no brains, no pain

is surely part of the game

these courageous, righteous souls

try to do something then get old

but do they really bloom just once?

once upon a time they got invited to a dance

surely burnt out, nervous breakdown, or friends left

is theft

fall and rise, let there be no surprise

these people once again can rise

how is this for dragging out the subject

well self-conscious no regret

Mozart said genius was ‘’love, love, love’’

and I would like to put revenge in to the quote above

this is one quote for genius

I don’t believe in singular statements of this genus

and now the poem is about done

self-righteous and try to have some fun