Dear Poems,
You lied to me
You swore this would be easy
That you would be here
In my darkest hours
That I would find solace in your simple rhythm
Your joyful rhyme
Your melodious metaphor
your stunning simile
But after 21 hours
you are like the lover
That will not leave
You want breakfast and cuddles
You want my full attention
For me it is just word porn now
You toy with me
I indulge you
But I get nothing in return
My back aches, my head pounds
Yet still you demand
I can barely think
But you want more, much much more
You want all of me
Until my brain shrivels
And my fingers flail about
You own me
You miserable miser of misery
Poetry
It will do you good they said
And now I stand on the streetcorner
begging the muses for a morsel
Anything to get me through
Poetry
Keep it away from your children
And your grandmother
It will do you no good
In the dead of night
When your eyes want to close
And turn it to prose
But the poem, just badgers
And commands
A demanding lover til the bitter caustic end