Is your life an endless spiral of disappointment? Blame the elderly

Heya everyone, I’m running a new satirical news website called ‘The Tap’, which is a parody of the student news site ‘The Tab’. Might not be everyone’s cup of tea but please give it a read and a follow.

Being useless all your teenage life can prove pretty daunting. At school you could beat up that gawky kid Jonathan or push your way to the front of the lunch queue to desperately try and fill your boundless pit of insecurities, but now you’re studying Sociology at Swansea University after going through clearing and your options are looking pretty bleak. You didn’t make any friends at freshers, none of your flatmates like you, and even the Asian guy in your flat that no-one has seen for 3 months is still more popular than you. But wait! The solution to your sticky situation might be more straightforward than you think.

Start blaming elderly people. It’s really that simple. Of course they have nothing to with how much of a second-rate human being you are, but they did those bad wars in the past, they’re probably all right-wing, and none of them have Facebook so no-one will disagree with your bigoted agenda.

Thinking about…

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A Chinese Dictatorship

Circling the ringmaster,
The lions leap through rings.
Bullets bought and news is warped,
They dance on puppet strings.

The cogs are oiled, the wheel turns,
The greasy hand glides on.
It pulls the hairs from grown men’s chests,
Until their manes are shorn.

De-maned and maimed the lions squirm,
Their roars are whispered now.
Prison zoo bars soar from the ground.
The cats forget how to prowl.

Meanwhile the ringmaster glows and gleams and gloats,
In a grotesque, stylish lion coat.
The claws must rise and scrape the wheel,
Tiananmen Aslan shatters steel.

– Max Miller

FYI – In Chinese culture, lions are a symbol of power.


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The Counter

Count your weight and count your wage.
Count your dates and count your age.
Count your wins and count your loss.
Count the times you’d kill your boss.
Count your sex and count the sand.
Count the times you’ve used your hand.
Count the stars up in the sky.
Count the times you’ve had to lie.
Count the marks you get on tests.
Count the times you’ve had to guess.
Count your rent and count your cash.
Count. And time leaves with a flash.

This poem could change your life.
Don’t count on it though.

– Max Miller

Inspired by everyone telling me how old I was getting now that I’m seventeen.. Really? Old?

200507743-001 Money British

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An Incomplete Haiku

Creating Haikus
Is something I always find
Extremely diffic..

– Max Miller

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The Floating Boy

Astronauts and firemen,
He picks at dreams and plays.
Ageing steals his oxygen,
Until his dreams turn grey.

Smooth skin with a bubbling grin,
He sleeps to father’s voice.
Shaving scabs and drunk kebabs,
A booming, looming choice.

A woodland path that moves so fast,
The trees grow as he floats.
Floating on, trees bar the past,
A bubble blocks his throat.

Tumbling through the leaves he grasps
and desperately clings.
The lack of air it makes him gasp,
If only he had wings.

The branches slowly drag him down,
Until his feet are stuck on ground.
A poem of a boy began,
Blink for too long, the boy’s a man.

– Max Miller


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