Apropos of National Novel Writing Month, I thought I’d repost this favorite of mine.
Why do I write in the light
When the dark is so intoxicating?
Just to keep up appearances…
Do I continue to smile though I’m dying?
How do I find my voice
Amidst a cacophony of screaming?
I don’t want your self-help diatribe
I don’t want your power of positive thinking
I can’t hear myself think
Let alone pen a work of distinction
I need a strong, stiff drink
But that’s only self-medication
And what’s it all mean anyway?
When nothing’s going to give satisfaction
Just a book full of ink spots
That sits on a shelf gathering desolation
How do I come to grips
With my own profound unhappiness?
I’m nothing but thunderstorms and anger
Keep your sunshine and sweetness
I have no more words of encouragement
It’s cruelty, competition, unfairness
The theme for the day is belligerent
It’s outworking displays its aggressiveness
So save your kindly comments
And your gestures of reverent concern
For into the fires of failure
I let the manuscripts burn
Lick the curling hundreds of pages
Kindle the books, at each turn
Throw gas on the conflagration
And I’m gone, never more to return…