a saturday afternoon

One day I shall leave home with nothing but a notebook and a pen
I shall find an irrelevant backward dive
And occupy a seat in the darkest of corners
Where my presence is forgotten

I shall order cup after cup of hideous, re-heated coffee
I shall smoke cigarette after cigarette
And watch the world happen from this, safest of corners

And when the caffeine has ignited my inspiration
The nicotine has charged my blood
And the muse has me within his grip
I shall write, and write, and write
I shall write about everything, anything and nothing
No-one and no thing shall be left untouched by my pen

I shall sit and write beats
And melodies
And broken lives
And distorted souls
I shall write it all

One day I shall do this but today
On this dreary saturday afternoon
All I have is intention
I am driving without purpose
Afraid to stop and pick up a pen
Because I know that I am still lost
And shall only be found
When I find that nook in the wall
Where my greatness shall finally be realised
Where I shall write enough to last me a lifetime
Where I shall end these days with words
And a few drops of arsenic
Where they shall find me
In pinero's image
Collapsed in a cold, dank, dirty corner

A corner where I finally found myself
And realised my reason for dying
I had written it all
There was nothing worth living for