I am not a writer. I don't delude myself anymore.
After all, a writer writes, don't they? I haven't, and I don't.
And yet I'd like to think that I do. Maybe it's some misguided need to be "deep",
to be profound or interesting,
or maybe I'm just scared of being so thoroughly unremarkable.
A writer could tell a story, but mine are vapid, half-baked or confusing.
A writer could tell their own story, but I live a life of idle happenstance.
Every few months I slap together a few dubious metaphors into a disjointed mess of "poetry",
and yet I feel no better or worse.
At least I can take comfort in knowing that most people share this trait,
this curse of being just as interesting as the caskets they work towards.
Or maybe I'm just a fucking asshole.
