I wish I could write a great piece and then chill for a few

Instead of scrounging each day to create something new

Every poem I write literally makes me jones for more

Is it the poet or the addict in me?
I really can't be sure

I surrounded you with feathers in a steel furnace
I singed my wistful wings trying to save us
I gave up
I spread my willow wings trying to save me
The only power I have, I gave me
I'm not worshiping your phallus anymore
I'm no longer a *****
I outpaced that kind of fun
It was a long distance run
You're remnants from that prism
Stilettos dipped in gum
Don't leave any cash on the table
Give it to the Sun

Purple skies  
Crystal earth
This place smells like fresh dug dirt
A shallow pond stuck to dead oak leaves
Tracks that lead to deer ****
Muddy prints from a beat up bear
A nut hatch pirouettes on air
Rotting trunks offer homes to beetles
Who'll dine on entrails served with needles
A human footprint deep in the snow
They wear size 10 and are missing a toe
And where'd their other foot happen to go
The forest never tells

I'm just scribbling in the wind
Babbling to dead trees
I wonder why I even begin
painting portraits no one sees

I'm just spitting into a void
Barely whispering from a well
I wonder if anyone hears my voice
It's becoming hard to tell

I tried
I'm spent
I give up
I relent

I quit
I'll just stop
I can't stand
I just flop

I'm broke
I'm a mess
I've no *****
I regress

I've failed
I won't fight
I'm lost
I can't write