Nihilist by Night

poetry sucks

The world doesn’t need another poet

The kid who sits alone with his notebook





using more than 160 characters


The cockroaches will survive another million years

The sun will go nova and devour the Earth

People will fuck and nations will go to war

Unwanted children will murder the innocent

While single-minded corporations will find ways to enslave you

And you will smile

and call it free will


The world does not need your thoughts

your window

your take on things

It will not be charmed

It will not become a better place

You will not be recognized

You will not find the success you so desperately seek

while pretending that you do not care

The jocks who make fun of you and the pretty girls who ignore you

Will not GET you

They will not see you on TV and wish they had been nicer to you

They will live in copycat prefab houses

And they will raise stupid kids who will beat up your kids

And you will angrily take their money at the bookstore

While your manuscript sits in a drawer forgotten

with your dreams


The world does not need another Charles Bukowski

They did not want the one they had

You will self-publish and your friends will read your work out of sympathy and dread

They will say “I really like the part where you say…”

But they will not “really like the part where you say…”

They will not even understand it

And they will never understand you

You will write for acceptance that will never come

You will dream of money that you will never have

And you will say “I would rather be an artist and be poor than be a sellout”

but all you ever wanted to do was sell out

but no one is buying

Your soul is in the clearance bin


No one cares that the book is better than the movie

or how you “can’t replace the feel of a real book”


The world does not need your brilliant metaphor

or your simile

They will never even know the difference


The world does not need you


They will not mourn when you go


No one will discover your writing and recognize your genius posthumously


There is no heaven or hell or meaning to life


There is just you

and this pen

and this empty paper




for the words to come

so you can feel touched

by the hand of God