Living the Writer Life

I do the things that writers do
Except the thing that matters most.
I stay compulsive, stay alone
Inside my head for hours and hours.
I make routines, and stick to them,
Until I don’t, and start over.
I read a lot, reread a lot.
I take some notes, forget I did,
Convince myself I never will
Amount to much by way of work.
Depression, check. Anxiety, check.
Distempered notoriety, check.
I sleep in fear of waking up.
I wake in fear of losing sleep.
I feed my self a lunch of doubt
And vomit out my swallowed pride.
I throw a tantrum when I’m scared
A thing will never get resolved.
I play the victim, play accursed:
I blame the people in my life
For giving me no space no time
To write the lines I’m meant to write
But never really seem to do.

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