This is for those sky high low and ***** media grads of the fate-late noughties,
grasping,
pathetically,
as dreams slip like their youth of yesteryear.
Unpaid, over-laid, saturated with the ***-comedy of their university days.

Then comes the choke and cloak of the next interview,
interview,
interview,
the view into the next room is so beautiful and dazzling after that last ****,
so beautiful and dazzling after the next ****,
so beautiful and dazzling, please, I swear I'll just have one more ****.

Ceremonial drug use,
a testimonial abuse of government aid,
paid to those by the Hair Blair bunch of chumps who screamed the promise of higher education for the lot,
a degree for every adult,
an unpaid job for every graduate.

The clouded confidence stutter of the high as a helicopter, once potential author,
lost in the part-time smog of inner city university town down-and-outers.
Left adrift with no financial spine,
left to pine the disillusionment they now know they felt way before they knew what they've come to do,
and be,
and exist as forever.