Fallen out of habit
I used to write so often
Now that I'm unpracticed
I fear my skills are softened
Likened to a pillow
For they make one snore, saw logs.
I doubt a single literate person
gives any fucks about my stupid blogs
It used to make me feel
A sense of accomplishment
Putting thoughts into words
Convinced my work was heaven sent
It still froms the heavens
Though my egos less inflated
Going back and reading things i wrote
Its mostly non-sense ive created
Who the why the what the
fuck
Mostly boredom
Being down on luck
Self-loathing bullshit.
Throw it away
Nothing worth a wasted read
Best not read, so i say
Still here go i on writing here today
Fucking with words in this way that i play
Ive got this thing i do sometimes
so do i it to the paper
I force it on myself and others
Does that make me a raper?
