To write for work
Is to resign
Yourself to a life in the bottle
When you get bad reviews
And depression hits
There’s no other way to be coddled
For when you stare
At the blank page
And know that you aren’t prolific
You can at least keep
Good company
By becoming an alcoholic
It seemed to work out
For Hemmingway
When all was said and done
Except at the end
When he scratched an itch
On the back of his head with a gun
