X Factor Auditions

Witness the slow painful death of dreams,
as street fresh Bedlam lunatics perform
for a kangaroo court of sing-song girls
and aging A&R men.

Viewers all agog at the brothel line up
for a puppet panel - judges Botox gurn 
aloof or gape in snobbish wonder 
as mentally deluded grotesques
karaoke personalised elevator muzak.

Soundtrack caterwauls emotional trauma,
wrung from the throats of under-achievers,
media spoon-fed unrealistic expectations:

Fake Baked inky spider-lashed bimbos,
lumpenproles, low IQ burger bingers,
bar brawlers, pub singers, mouthy mingers,
gobby tarts on loan from Spearmint Rhino,
neck tat inscribed psychotic gangstas -
not full of hope, but hatred, hurt and anger.

Fearful foul-mouthed chancers,
spoiled babies, chavs on benefits
and pole dancers.

It feels sick, as their eyes flick
with fears of rejection,
then tears of dejection.