Grant me, oh muse, my writer's plea:
A voice to describe the world I see.
Hear me this once, and I'll make of me
The brooding artist, my moods so dark
Inundate me as I wait for my Ark.
Add to this darkness a neurotic twist:
Self-hating alcoholic existentialist.
If I'm not so neurotic, I'll live to be vain,
Get DTs when I go without critical praise.
Or would you prefer me insane and obsessed?
Until I can write, I won't eat, sleep or dress.
And feel free, dear muse, to make me a gimp,
Mama's lame wordsmith, with a pen and a limp.
I'll be all the above, dreaded "misery guy."
My aspect and leanings make me a pariah.
But I doubt that a muse would grant my appeal,
and agree to the terms of this one-sided deal:
The payment, the word of a faithless man
To strive to become what I already am.
A voice to describe the world I see.
Hear me this once, and I'll make of me
Any cliche you'd prefer I be–
The brooding artist, my moods so dark
Inundate me as I wait for my Ark.
Add to this darkness a neurotic twist:
Self-hating alcoholic existentialist.
If I'm not so neurotic, I'll live to be vain,
Get DTs when I go without critical praise.
Or would you prefer me insane and obsessed?
Until I can write, I won't eat, sleep or dress.
And feel free, dear muse, to make me a gimp,
Mama's lame wordsmith, with a pen and a limp.
I'll be all the above, dreaded "misery guy."
My aspect and leanings make me a pariah.
But I doubt that a muse would grant my appeal,
and agree to the terms of this one-sided deal:
The payment, the word of a faithless man
To strive to become what I already am.
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