You begged and pleaded to take part in this, asked me to take your virginity in return for a spot on the roster – and I let you, with none of the side effects. And yet, there you sit, torn apart like Natalie Imbruglia in Warsaw, begging for me to jump at your cheap tricks.
Fuck you Charlie Baylis – you don’t know shit.
I have half a mind to rewrite your answers as glowing praise for me, but I wouldn’t want the stain of your compliments on the lapels of my work. You’ve grown like a rose bush in Practical Magic, you’re all resurrection with none of the treats. When Halloween comes you’ll knock on doors and whisper ‘trick or trick’ because opening the door to you is never a treat.
You think this is harsh, wait till you see what I drew in the men’s toilets in the Falmouth Café Nero. A picture of you reading your own work and crying.
Do you actually think you are worth the effort, Baylis?
– Aaron Kent
the last image was strong, the rest was trite and predictable
i last saw aaron kent by the ugly tree locking his bike to the no bike sign
excreting light bulbs to illuminate his wife holding a pink balloon
he’d been wearing the same blouse for weeks
“aaron how asinine you seem in blouse and brogues
why dost thou dress in thy mother’s clothes?!”
“charlie charlie i’m not a real poet
just a jerk attempting poetry to boost my social media status
here here have another question”
“aaron kent i had a pleasant time sipping sunlight in the moonlight
until you came into my waldorf salad
with your frilly frock and pointlessness perfumed by j lo you are a complete idiot
here is a pin for your pink balloon i require you to pop it”
– Charlie Baylis