Alchemisland

Reduced to blogging

Was nightly sobbing about no one watching

I was pouring every ounce of energy into poem creation

And the ultimate result went further than agitation

At a lack of any chance to make this lark my occupation

Stasis no movement any what way

My traducement worsened each day

I would soon be curtains, pray

Shamefully I took a shaving razor

Gave gainful blood in exchange

For floods of adulation; for the pointless, empty love of strangers.

That dull look I crave it

I carve myself, close dangerously

To most fatal places, giving giving giving, gave.

What must be done to make them look?

Looking from out my bitter cave

At the lights of prickteasing civilisation

Must I physically steer them, myself place the hook?

Ply them with libations, or lies?

Frog nugs make drug smog

Shocks my noggin, makes it harder to surmise

Convince myself I’m somebody

Then the ink dries, then the joy dies

Then the fire.