Writing vs. Relationship
Edgar Allen Poe
Slept with Jane Doe
Devotedly he makes her bed
He calls her all the time
On her 1-800-hotline
Until she winds up dead
Now what is he to do
Without that love
She grew?
Slowly,
He starts to fall
He doesn’t want to write
So his fame takes flight
Quoth the raven,
“Take it all.”
All that he consumes
Are those toxic fumes
The kind that alter task
Mixed with an elixir
“He’ll die,” says his predictor
To save face, he wears a mask
But what else is he to do
Without that love she grew?
Painfully,
He begins to rot
If he didn’t get involved
He’d be alive and showin’ off
Quoth the raven,
“Steal his spot”
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