it keeps coming
and i’ve got nothing
for days now
except cats crawling
over my desk and
the need to take a shit
i’ve got fifty cents worth of love(not quite enough)
and days of stuttered poetry
mixed with rain
too many questions
and not enough answers
one cigarette left
and it’s too late
to pull the trigger
i didn’t want to drink
i didn’t want to fuck
and i didn’t want to think
in that instant
words hit and began to
take the shape of wisdom
begging for a keyboard
honest and unafraid to show the world
what a monster i’ve become
so i ran inside but it left
as quickly as it struck me
as it so often does
damn these little bursts
i’ve talked about them before
a vision of something worthwhile
gone before it’s grown
we all want to be held in high esteem
a source of inspiration
important revered sought out
it’s the american dream
curse of the attention whore
and it’s bullshit
when you’re lonely
all you can do is drive on
trying avoid pointlessness and
hoping in time to find
that one golden line
that gives the illusion
of greatness