But what's the point to random
scribbles that make me feel
worse and no-one better?

I can sit with my pen and reveal
my darkest secrets, pour out
my heart and soul, letter by letter -
but in the end, no-one will give
half a damn. And I'll look back in time
and think, "What was I thinking?"

Maybe when I see that final piece,
all spelt right and left-aligned,
I might feel a pang of pride -
but soon it dies, and then,
what's the point?