I used to really think
Like every day
Up until well...today,
That the original fresh ideas
That just flowed out
When I read something
Or had an idea presented
That was inspirational
Were the good ones.
Now I just don't know.
I took a chance
Putting myself on the line
After saying I would stop,
Just because the gripping topic
Compelled me to write.
Many times on Thursday I just wrote.
It didn't matter to me.
But this one time it really did,
And no one commented.
Should I have left a link?
Maybe it's the simple fact
That I just haven't visited anyone.
I am so damn busy that even this:
Venting a frustration over nothing
Is eating up what little time I have
And making me more angry
With every word I type.
I would love to have an opinion;
Is this prose or poetry?
Or maybe just more bullshit...
Notice I finally used punctuation marks.
It's gotten that bad today.
Fuck it!
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