I’m the most terrible writer alive, I can’t even write a happy piece. In almost all of my stories someone has to die, or get tortured. I read one of my stories and I swear to you I was killing millions of people. And the reason why was to settle a wager. And if I’m not killing I’m raping, abusing, beating people. Sometimes I won’t kill, but I’ll think about how I killed. I am one sick puppy I might need to get some help. For some reason I’m truly unable to write stuff other than dark stuff. And I know I tried with this second story book but I just checked and in at least 70% people die. And I was really trying to not be as morbid or blood thirsty this time around. I tried to force my pen to stay light and sweet, I failed so I suck.

Now here is the kicker, I knew my stories would be twisted, I kind of saw no escape from that. But to think that my poetry would be as sick is kind of unexpected. I mean it’s all the same mind so I shouldn’t be so surprised. But dude I need to cheer up. I clearly suck as a writer. I mean I try to stretch my capabilities and work on honing my skills but it just doesn’t seem to affect my topics. It seems I’m forever stuck in a bad mood, and I’m living in one concept. I have to be the worse writer to ever exist. My imagination should stretch to the far regions of possibility and fantasy, but it doesn’t seem to budge. As if it’s real comfortable where it’s at, sitting in a dark throne with puddles of blood beneath it. See I did it again. I need to catch a grip and grow out of this mind state.

The next two books, which will end my current trilogy should be happy thoughts penned down, no killings and damn sure no mass genocide. I really think I might have a problem, cause a writer unable to write about more than one thing is a failure. At least that’s the rule I apply to myself. And boy do I suck, I said that a lot but if you got this far in the book you know what I mean. This isn’t even a real poem, I just wanted to thank you for buying the book and getting this far. I hope you got to know me a bit better, because I know I did. I saw what’s on my mind, I vented all well not all but some of my pain. I wrote down my thoughts and created worlds out of nothing. My fingertips still generate more than I thought they could. It’s just my imagination that is failing me. Yup I got a flawed imagination …

Damn.