On Writing

When I grow up, I wanna be
just like Steve.
Because let’s face it, I can’t write
worth a shit either.
You see, with Steve it’s all about
rabid dogs, creepy clowns, scary shit,
shitty shit.
He can’t write anything else.
And I sure can’t write anything else.
I wouldn’t know an original idea if it
hit me over the head
with a shovel.
You see, I can’t write because
every word that comes out of this pen is
Dad
line break
Dad
Ex-girlfriend
Dad
line break
You.
I mean, who farted right?
I’m so sick of writing about my ex-girlfriend.
I’m so sick of writing about my dad.
And I am so fucking sick of writing about you.
But the only decent thing I can write is you.
So I’ll keep going.
Just like the King.
Cliché, after cliché, after cliché…
Broken heart, after poor family relationship, after romantic obsession…
Schizo writer, after haunted mansion, after axe-murderer…
Maybe some day one of us will come up with something new.
Because come on Steve, pig’s blood at the prom?
Seriously?
It’s been done.