An Epistle To A Pathological Creep

He'd explain to you but it would take too long

Why he is right and everybody else is wrong

He'd endeavor friend to make your mind correct

He'd try but he thinks it would take too long too long

It's probably simple math

that keeps him on his elevated path

While talking to him it is very rare

to sense that he's acknowledging you're even there

Or else he'll speak as if you should be taking notes

But fears that you might steal

one of his brilliant quotes

There's no idea that you could add

that he wouldn't claim to have already had

He used to be a really decent guy

before his insecurities enslaved him

Now his ego seems to be raging uncontrollably

Destroying every friendship that he's ever had

I don't even like to think about him it's so very sad

Only a boy of three would dare act so egregiously

Now the kind of places he's most often found

Are rife with pedants running topics into the ground

And the company that he is known to keep

Are all self important bores

that put you right to sleep

Yes I'd rather be hung

than hear them discussing Carl Jung.