If my work were my child
It’d be the middle one
In between my perfectionism, the elder
And my self-loathing, the younger

I phone up inspiration
To help with the troublesome kid
But she never returns my calls anymore

Motivation, I haven’t spoken to in ages
She left when my insecurities
Got the better of me
Said I’d become a pathetic husk of a man

Look at me
I don’t even have the energy to rhyme
Better toss this one on the pile
With the rest of them

What’s the pile, you ask?
It’s where I keep all my
No-effort narratives
Forgotten frivolities
Miserable musings
Worthless writings
Inadequate ideas
Laughable lines
Soulless stories
Cold chapters
Terrible titles
Bad books
Garbage

The pile is large
And it only gets larger
As time progresses
Because the quality
of something I write
Quickly regresses

neath the maple's boughs
copper leaves were tumbling
in a mounded pile

Fought against my fears,
Until now that they have become hate,
Pushing back those tears,
I am trying my best to find ways to meet my fate.

Carrying on my shoulders a heavy pile,
I hide my broken spirit behind that smile,
Locked myself away in the room,
My whole world has been feeling gloom.

Seems like the earth and its creatures have won once again,
I will admit that its not atitude,
We are just in diffrent altitudes,
All i can do is pace myself away from your latitude,
There has always been a different maltitude...my "Dear Friend"

Jump, Jump, jump, bump,
Heaven to earth, jump

Bump, jump, bump, jump
Trip, slip and bump

Like ****, ****, ****
Don’t pile money jump

Do you want my body
This hunk of flesh that you stare at and use.
Or do you want my soul?
The light inside of my eyes that you barely ever saw

The choice is your's
But when I grow old this hunk of flesh
Will be nothing more than a pile of bones
But the shine in my eyes
Will never. be. lost.