Ink to reality

Writing confessions in my lunch hour:

the manuscripts that will never be blessed far.

Couldn't see the future for the past

honing my craft,

though it seems I'll need another draft.

Couldn't sway the suit-stoned man,

glaring at me with hope I had another plan.

Didn't know the static road,

right on the left, turn down and seek your mode.

Switch cracked and the numbers blacked,

Couldn't see the traffic

Creativity seemed to keep stagnant

Jump out and the fish still swim

Tried to get by on yet another whim.

Blunt-faced the critics swore

a shallow river flowed here once before.

Thirst ravages my quenched throat,

with bursts of drinking,

though there's no taste for my thinking.

Dusty lover says it's about time

to break the habit that never was mine.

Dredging songs to break a mold

Empty auditorium--back on the road.

No hits but they strike me back.

Rejection papers--love that stack--

spinning ravers help me stay afloat.

Pen warped as I write my style,

flowing loops of prose filled bile.

Speaking of quitting is a slighted wind,

so I must continue my blighted binge.

Magic ideas cast a torn dragnet...

I only ask to be buried with my reality;

Someday I'll see what's really me!