Writing Sucks

Waiting for inspiration to strike
Requires a lot of patience and immobility
In place of actual work, or so it seems
To me. For
If writing does depend on that flash of genius,
Nothing is happening here. I
Guess it’s more a matter of perspiration that
Success arises from; not the often mis-
Understood flash of brilliance that
Comes upon a person like lightning, but rather the
Knowledge that no work equals no writing equals no
Success. Simple, eh?



Sometimes I wonder why I
Have to feel this way
Even though
I know the answer.
Stupidity, pure and simple.
Behind the smiling façade
Everything crumbles
As heartache beckons
Underneath the ever present smile
That conceals the pain that
Is my love for you.
For to
Love is to know pain.