Only Joking

You’d
think it
would
take
some
effort

To
write
as
much
as
this

Well
please
don’t
think
me
arrogant

But
it’s
really
a piece
of piss

Self Esteem

There’s
nothing
more
disheartening

That
brings
such
misery
and
strife

To
find
I’m
much
more
captivating

On
the
page

Than
in
real
life

Reminiscence

I could
spend
hours
writing
poetry

But
I could
never
do it
justice

How
once
upon
a time
we
had
it
all

But
now
I’ve
been
left
lifeless

Dear Reader

Sometimes
my words
are so
savage

I even
surprise
myself

It’s like
the page
I must
ravage

With no
care at
all for
yourself

Funny Guy

I like
it when
you laugh

He said

I wish
you’d do
it more

Just write
another
paragraph

She said

Then you’ll
really see
me roar

The Daily Mantra

Resist
that
urge

To
binge
and
purge

Put
the box
back
under
the bed

Before
the
demons
emerge

And
your
emotions
splurge

Find a
pen and
start
writing
instead

Self Help

Why
do you
write
these
poems

He
said

If
you’re
not
going
to show
everyone?

Because
these
words
are
my life

She
said

They
are
not
for
just
anyone

Well, You Asked…

Even
though
I find
your
writing
talent
genuinely
quite
considerable

Reading
your
words
over and
over again
really
does just
make me
miserable

The Writer’s Anguish

I don’t
think
I have
anything
to say

Today

Perhaps
there
will be
more
sorrow

Tomorrow

So I
will
wait to
pick up
my pen

Then

For I
fear I
wouldn’t
even
know how

Now

How Long?

How long
can you
go on
writing

When
your only
inspiration
is spite?

And now
you’ve had
to start
forgiving

So that
you can
sleep
at night

A Tad Uncouth

I could
never
write as
fancily

As
many
others
here do

I just don’t
have the
talent,
frankly

For much
more
than a
fuck you

Indelible

The words
I write
may well
be stark

For they
are made
to leave
their mark

Upon your
weak and
thready
heart

Forever

Poetry

Some pills
make it
better

Some
make it
worse

Sometimes
the only
solace

Resides
in written
verse

Done In

There’s
only so
much I
can write

Before
I go
to sleep
tonight

My
eyes are
heavy and
overtired

My
head is
weary and
overfired

Prey

The
wolves
are on
their
hunt
again

I can
hear
them
whine
and
howl

They
are
already
stalking
me I
know

As
you’ve
told
them
where
to prowl

Writer’s Block

I try to write but the words fail.

Sit, think, smoke, exhale.

As I reach for the coffee cup,

I wonder if my time is up.

Have I forgotten you,

Is that what this is?

The reason I can no longer write this shit?

Or could it be this depression is finally lifting?

Maybe the all encompassing darkness is shifting?

Perhaps after all this time my heart is mended.

And my love affair with words has ended.