I used to be a scribe
scribbling other people’s lives
empty threats and recipes
grimoires rank with heresies

I used to plagiarize
esoteric tomes of ****
pawned to tabloids gorged on lies
anesthetized I was to scorn

I used a fountain pen
inkwells of forbidden ink
from excretions of hanged men
Mixed with purgatory’s stink

I used to paint with hues
of rainbows found only in hell
after showers of excrement
on sodden flatterers fell

And from pieces of the lost
torn and pulled apart
I erected a louvre
to desecrate my art

I used to be a poet, many people
didn’t know it
few cared...
fewer noticed

when I finally made them see
they saw my poems, but not me