Reading through my archives
Of life
On little pieces of paper, napkins and fast food wrappings.

I came upon a note to self and proceeded to read it.
It was dated a year ago and the time was "way past closing time"
So I figured it must be good.
It said "dear self your work ***** and is to short lengthen it!"

At first I was taken back at how angry I was at myself, but then remembered how my readership had been slowly decreasing.

I decided to listen to this old drunken "wisdom" of mine and lengthened many of my works.

I actually didn't think they were to bad either, until I posted them and only got few comments with no likes.
The comments read "your poetry is to long and boring" "what happened to your short blunt to the point fluency? "

That's what a get for listening to the drunken me and taking advice from a fool.

Critics are fine, but bad comments can hurt a guy.
Guess I'll go back to my usual writes with my slowly dying off fan base for a few praises to brighten my ego for however long this three line poet has left in this field of potholes and hand grenades.

I ***** that cold spit on this hot terrain...

My subzero degree waves smash like glaciers and make ice parades

I'm hype like I smoked that right and when left instead

I will **** you and myself I simply knife gernades

My flows bomb-tastic

When I spit, your temple sizzles from my splashed acid.

I periodically pummel phonies in masses

Reverberations reveal Reactions.

My devilish grin shows satisfaction

Am lyrically chemically unbalanced

My lyrics ripple wild with drizzles of stylish accent.

I double dribble with the sound of pistols and stick back flips..

You fiddle skittles, blow like tea kettles an kiss assess  

My classic rip will make your brain flip like gymnastic tricks

I'm gone like acid trips

This is levitation no magic trick

Verbal constipation my massive ****

My words are pinpointed so accurate

I'm there and gone I'm oxygen.