My eyes trace over the black lines in awe,
Envious yet adoring of the mocking art sprawled elegantly out in front of me.
Ah! How I wish I could be like them; capturing and crucifying their audience
To breathe life into their very souls with a simple string of words and
Profound complexities. Or complex words and profound simpleness, whichever
Subject you would be willing to refer to, although this is
My poem and I would be grateful if you don't overwhelm my thoughts
Too much. Copyright that for me, will you darling? Snigger.
It's never good enough and I'm never good enough. Don't get me wrong,
I DO like my writing, but it will never compare while I'm sat here dreaming
My life away, yet what is the use of grade A language when I have nothing
To fill it with? I feel like I'm contradicting myself, but that is often the case
When inspiration takes me, so don't mind me too much. I prattle on and on
And on, yet I seem to say nothing without sounding lustful or violent or
M-m-m-mad. It sorrows me to find that the one thing that makes me worth
My salt is lacking, yet after months of hitting brick I feel inspired. And you
Know this or else you wouldn't be reading this poem now, while I go
Stick my head into the blender.