My work here is done!
only lasts for a mo,
as the mind starts to groan
under weights of its own
How could anyone read
such a nonsense as mine;
Jumbled words that I feed
them, like worms on a line.
Can I please have it back now?
Oh Jesus don’t look,
at my god-awful prose
in this unholy book.
Snatching it back, I brood
This is your fault!
I’m just misunderstood,
fuck it, let it all rot!
* * *
Originally published at https://medium.com/the-lark/the-self-critic-7bf33f7cb05c
About the Creator
Simon Aylward
Undiscovered Irish Playwright and Poet - Seeker of eternal youth - Wannabe time traveller and believer in spiritual energies - Too many books to read, not enough time!
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