Take from me this poetry
It is meritocracy It is cumbersome. It demands too much of my blood. I don't care about these words any more, nor does anyone. It grinds out like shards of cheese. I cant. I don't want to. All I do is whine and hurt. Drugs are better. ... Perhaps death has one more poem to be written on my gravestone "Here lay pauper and a poet - he loved being nither."
