Pomes ‘r hard, real hard.
They chew at yr brain and
Eat y’ alive.

They sit in yr throat like
Burning puke until
Y’ chuck ‘m up.

They gnaw at yr guts
When yr sad ‘n make
Things worse

You squeeze ‘m out like
Hard shit, y’know,
Real hard.

So why the fuck
Dya wanna, y’know, try
‘n write poems?

‘cos they lurk out there
On the edges where
Y’ can’t see.

They jump out when
Y’ can’t fight back
‘n bite in real deep.

In the shitter, in
The shower, when yr
Guard is down.

Bastards, evil children
Black mindspawn,
My real offspring.

They won’t leave home
But hang on and on
Demanding rewrites

And I hate the bastard get,
Overworked, overwritten
Shadows of their early power.