One day, you sit down at your computer and out pours
A perfect little poem. Your heart soars and you send the litte gem
-- your adorable child --
Out into the world and wait for the applause.
Ah, you say, I am quite the poet. I am
An ARTIST, sigh, what a glorious thing it is to
To imagine yourself sitting in a café in Paris
The Tower Soaring Above Your
Your head is adorned in a beret
You are penning poems all day
INSTEAD ALONG COMES HELL
YOU ARE DEAD INSIDE
That little gem is followed
For no apparent reason
HELL on EARTH
The well is absolutely dry
The soul shrinks
The heart is wrung out
Like a dishtowel after
The dryer spins is spinning
so loud you feel like you are inside!
"NOT FAIR" you shout you scream
You try everything you know
But mind will not budge
You think you are going
You ARE going crazy and no
NOBODY IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD CAN HELP YOU.
So what do you do besides wait and drink and smoke 10,000
No, silly, you don’t smoke.
You sit there feeling yourself choking
What is the word for living and dying all at once?
You beg you plead please GodJust one more just one more
and then one morning
out of nowhere comes a voice
“You will write again,”
Did somebody actually say that?
If I didn't then WHO?
Did I say that
TO BE THE ARTIST is no