The Demise Of An Aspiring Poet

Writers block madness

Feverishly
Feeding off cod
Discursively meandering
A letting of blood
The culmination of my own
Psychosis coagulated thought
Strangulated nonsense
Drools
Into a pool of spue
Desecrated
With frivolous ideas 
Emanating
A stench beyond reason
That only I
Find scintillating
Sort of like
Maggots
Ensconced
In putrid libation
I drown
In spasmodic
Maundering
Fumbling about
In lunacy 
Hungering obscurity
Self-debasement
Defile me
My every gratitude
The rope is only the tool
Slithering
In filth 
Of my own demise
Bathing in its 
Deprivation
Thoughts of the rope
Seduce sirens
What chance have I
To deny my fate
The rope is only the tool
Reverberates soundly
Surrounding me of my failures
Swept up in a deluge of self-hatred
The rope is only the tool

Yes!!! Damn You!!!
But I
Prefer the slow deprecation
Of the blade