The Words Got Him

I found this nasty little poem lurking in my archives. I thought better than to share it at the time I wrote it, but now, well… What the hell? I feel like living dangerously. I dare you to read it.

The Words Got Him

Inspiration struck
In the middle of the night
Then it just kept striking
It didn’t care who it hurt

Sylvia Plath counted sheep in the oven
Anne Sexton lost count in the garage
Virginia Woolf slipped on her favorite coat
And lined her pockets full of rocks
Hart Crane dove in after her
Spalding Gray dove in after him
Then inspiration just kept striking

Hemingway sat at the dinner table
And ate himself a shotgun
Hunter S. Thompson said,
“I’ll have what he’s having.”

Maybe Edgar Allen Poe
Just had a little too much laudanum
But maybe, just maybe
The words got him

7 thoughts on “The Words Got Him”

  1. Interesting play on words. Inspiration struck and just kept striking…

    Dark poem, but I wonder how long it’s going to take for me to disassociate that pun from the usual meaning of the phrase.

    Liked by 2 people

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