How dare they criticize my writing
Anyone who reads it sees my brilliance
Come on, I dare you to read it and tell me otherwise
Knowing that I plagiarized it from Willie S. himself, but with zombies!
A lot of writing advice connotes I should be willing to kill my darlings. Okay, they were right. It made my writing more gritty and realistic. The problem now isn’t how to make what I put on the page more lifelike, but where am I going to bury the bodies?
Fighting with words is what Norm did best
Eloquently speaking at hotly contested debates
Until he ran up against Mindy and got spanked
Doubling down he now considered her his greatest mortal enemy… and wife
Too much time had passed by the time he got to the scene
Obviously there was nothing left that could be salvaged
At best the remaining carbon could still be dated in like forty thousand years
Still he wanted to be able to reconstruct the past
Then the bread wouldn’t be burnt.
Counting the seconds until this ordeal is over
Listening to the bits of sand fall from the virtual hourglass in my mind
Oblivious to the alarms screaming to do something
Can’t take much more of this for my bum ticker
Killing time was never my thing
Finding the right words to say
Letting them linger on the tongue
And then hurling them onto the page
Viscous remnants of enlightening ideas
Obscuring their true deeper meaning
Removing all taste from the text
I am synthesizing information in an attempt to immolate my brain cells, allowing me to warm my frozen thoughts about the subject, yet the thaw has yet to come. I huddle in obscurity, surrounded by obscenities used, but not forgotten, built up to keep me from seeing my failure from the outside.
Still hope tries to grow inside though it hasn’t seen the light of inspiration or the nourishing rain of success in so long it might as well be on the dark side of the moon. Should I just collapse this rhetoric into a black hole of consciousness?