I contemplated on my

literary products;

disgraceful usage of vocabulary,

repulsive plot lines,

overloaded twists that misled

hopeful hearts into the realm

of unhappy, grim endings

— how should I prove myself worthy?

You were just an amateur,

born to entertain

your circus audience;

stop dreaming of success

for you were not worthy of it.

I sunk lower beneath my

all-time low self-esteem;

I learned that my writing

was as gruesome as

my efforts to make you stay;

everyone that I loved

went away

in the end.

Nobody loved you anyway;

why should you love them?