i have a
coffee cup with
my book on it
i use as an
ashtray when
friends who
smoke come over.

not that there
aren’t ten
mismatched mugs
i never use
it’s just i
harbor no
delusions.

i will leave
little more than
a half filled urn
along with
a few scars
desperately
scratched deep
onto creativity’s
festering corpse.

a couple decent
lines spread out
among thousands
of shitty odes
and a yellowed mug
with my name on it
a one of a kind
memento to one
of oh so many
failed dreamers.

fuck it,
right?