How many songs did Elliott write in the moment
knowing they’d be old news in the morning?
Did he wake up embarrassed about
the demons he was letting out?
And how many songs about pain will I write
knowing I can’t heal as fast as I’d like?
Do I disregard all prudent advice
each time I continue to roll the dice?
How many times can you listen to this story
covering the same familiar territory?
How long am I going to be this way,
longing for love and then pushing it away?
Am I what they warn young people of
when they caution against those who cannot love?
How can I write a poem and then take it back,
enjoying the sun ’til it all turns black?
And just who am I when the clouds descend?
What is it that controls when the storm will end?
How old was I when they threw me in
to a life-long war that I’ll never win?
Am I going to die like a falling star
or trapped like an ant inside the bell jar?
How many songs did Elliott write in the moment
knowing they wouldn’t hold up in the morning?
And how many poems about pain will I write
before I wake out of these fitful nights?
The 365 Poetry Project 
Beautiful and introspective as always. Very relatable, I feel anxious everyday wondering if I’ll be anything more than my job. Thanks for the poetry!
Is that referring to Elliott Smith, btw?
beautiful. “enjoying the sun ’till it all turns black” — excellent description of later regretting something that I enjoyed writing. thanks for sharing.