I won’t write something pointless

No the fuck I won’t

I’ll write something commorient about commitment

And then I’ll die alone

I won’t write something bloodless

I promise myself I won’t

I’ll write about a period, if I have to

To get that point across

I won’t write something sinister

With its moral greys and blues

I won’t write something poignant

About what I’ve heard from headline news

I won’t write anything that rhymes

For much longer than a few lines

And I won’t take classes

To teach me how to write

I won’t copy all my heroes

I won’t plagiarize their faults

I won’t beguile you with my clever diction

Playful syntax, charming tone

Quick turn of wit or unborn phrasing

I simply tell you: I won’t.

Instead I’ll lay in bed and rot

And go to work more days than not

I’ll waste my money

And all my time

I’ll be alone a lot.

I’ll notice the contractions in my poems

But I won’t do much about ‘em.

I’ll punctuate myself with fallacies,

Cliches, and French words I don’t know.

I won’t decide well where to put many periods

And I won’t watch the way the blood leaves

I’ll just barely notice it as it’s going

I’ll be just one more word