Two Years After

I want the mood to strike
but the mood just wants to strike me
so all this time has passed
and still no change
well, not that I can see

my pen and I are enemies
or at the least, old rivals
if there's a difference
it's not important
when all you need is survival

empty words for empty pages
my energy is all but spent
my gift has left me
I had a gift?
at least I still have my arrogance

smug at face and sick at heart
that's all that I can be
my eyes contemptuous
my soul stupendous--I mean horrendous
I haven't choked my vanity

a twisted grin creeps over me
and eerily I flush with pride
even when the odds are stacked
I see the irony
and writhe and seethe inside

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