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Young Fiction Writer

Kind Of Like Spitting


Save face and leave, before she gets mean
You know how to act, you scripted the scene
This film's more a short, a monologue of sorts
Whatevers invalidate the mind reading smile
Now ask yourself quietly, you're a bright breathing funeral
Was it worth all the agony, your last fairy tale?
Scribble out the trite words, on paper always smarter
Looking for the video locked in your left brain
A string of stealth encounters, making sex under the table
Perfect simple positions, like the truth you've learned to bend
Now ask your friends quietly, you get worked over nightly
By the brutal reality of your last fairy tale
Young fiction writer, you tried to live inside her
Depending on paper to save you in the end
Now ask yourself quietly, feel free to answer honestly

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