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
And watch the world happen from this, safest of corners

And when the caffeine has ignited my inspiration
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 running 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 realized
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 realized my reason for dying
I had written it all
There was nothing worth living for