Writers, writers, writers,
And not so many readers.
Who do we write for now,
With more creators than feeders?

Over used ideas
And under used thought;
Creating for creators —
Crap, there are a lot.

"Like this!
Like me!
Like us for what we are!
Our originality!"

We all make crap.
Just some are better at polishing;
While what's good we end up abolishing.

Why?
Why are we afraid to write from our hearts?
Why do we hide away our love and truth from the world?
Us who are afraid to sell out —
We are the true artists, but so full of doubt.

Diligent . . .
                     . . . but increasingly self-destructive.