I think you must be sick of all these poems.
Why can’t this dude find something else to write?
I’m not that good, I can’t even rhyme “poems.”
I promise I’ll write something else tonight.
But what if I just want to loaf instead?
My Cities: Skylines won’t just play itself.
And it’s exhausting putting kids to bed.
I think tonight will just be for myself.
But I’ll be back tomorrow that’s for sure.
With tales of alcohol to write about.
Or maybe mental health will strike a nerve.
I don’t yet know, but I’ll figure it out.
When you subscribed this isn’t what you wanted.
Oh shit! I didn’t even mean to write this sonnet!
If truth be told I don’t much care for art.
Perhaps not art, but artists I despise.
They’ll claim their work’s a calling of the heart,
But I can see the truth behind their lies.
Pretentious men whose minds will falsely claim,
to have some noble beauty that we lack.
They’ve no real use and yet they still earn fame,
While you and I must work and break our backs.
I am a man whose labor you’ll not note –
just one of many men who feed mankind.
Unlike your art, my art keeps life afloat,
But my reward’s not fame, just this sick mind.
But I’ve no will to make it through this harvest!
Kill me! Resurrect me as an artist!
I killed my best friend just the other day.
Lord knows it was hard, and maybe it was
over the top, but she’d started to hurt
virtually every aspect of my life.
Even still, she poisons my memory.
But now I’m afraid of what I must face.
Over the years she helped soothe my loud mind.
Only in her presence did I reach my
zenith, and now without her I feel the
emptiness I’ve been drowning all along.