I wish I could write a great piece and then chill for a few

Instead of scrounging each day to create something new

Every poem I write literally makes me jones for more

Is it the poet or the addict in me?
I really can't be sure

Insignificant and insightful
Delirious yet delightful
Neither spirited nor spiteful
Both frightening and frightful

Sitting here trying to yank out a poem
Uninspired, not in the zone
Seems I've written it all before
Once you write a good piece, it's hard to write more
I used to scribble just for myself
Now sometimes I feel, it's for someone else
It hurts to work on a poem and then get 20 views
Out of that, probably 2 likes or few
I won't allow myself to write for thumbs up and hearts
I can't blur where the real world ends and gigabytes start
Yeah I had to yank this out, and for now it's all I got
I'll lie and say I don't care if you like it or not

Stand me up
Sit me down
Show me who's the boss

Wind me up
Wipe me down
Nail me to a cross

Rip me up
Burn me down
We both know it's no loss

If you want to lead
miscellaneous me
miscellaneously
until eternity
I'm in...