Insecurity

by Edgar Allan Poe

When noone reads
Your blog

Anymore.

And that makes you
Really, really really

Insecure.

And yet you
Know, you know that

Really.

It's just you goddamned
Douchebags who don't

Know.

Genius when it
fucking slaps you in the

Face.

You do what any
Person, or thing, would

Do.

You drink red wine and
Sob and cuddle with Pooh

Bear.

And write poetry with no
Meter or sense or

Intelligence.

And you convince yourself
That you're better than all of you