i Ms. John
This wretched little monster
who I've come to hate
This wretched little demon
who tightens my throat and
has stolen my words.
He taps on my shoulder
He whispers out loud
"Find my happiness"
"Go achieve your productivity"
I am as blank as I am productive
I have traveled only as far
as I have written
And you will find me uncomfortably rolling along.
Sometimes in a straight line
Sometimes in a circle.
As of late,
it would seem I've even gone back to where I started.
As of late,
Your eyes would see i,
amidst a multitude of vehicles,
amidst food and drink,
amidst my woman and bed,
none of which I created on my own, nor sustain through effort,
rolling about in a muck of pretentious depression.
sometimes forward,
sometimes in a circle,
and just maybe,
more often than I'd like to admit,
backwards.
This wretched little monster,
please excuse my fortune
This wretched little demon,
won't excuse my daft entry.
My pathetic exit.
Escaping, there is no escaping.
I'm not escaping.
You're not escaping.
There is no escaping.