Give up your muse
of mediocrity
Throw him to the wolves
Let him roast on the spit
of your whirring pen
laugh without mercy:
"You guided me to this place,
Miscreant
Now I'll show you where to go."
The ink stains your hands
You, Lady Macbeth,
but instead of washing
use it to tattoo
the truth
all over your face
Sometimes I get tired of love poems, but, you know, I'm a lover not a fighter.