Perhaps It Should Be “I should not write today”

“…for
anything I know, Falstaff shall die of a sweat, unless
already he be killed with your hard opinions”
—William Shakespeare, Henry IV, Part 2, Epilogue.

I will not write today (do not get stuck on inconsistency: it’s ugly).
I will not write today so I will waste time on social media
And date attempts. I will graft and create entertainment
And I will lie. I am algorithmising
My life as creativity is not going to keep cutting it, and I am back
To drinking and pestering again instead. I am uncaring, pig-headed, funny,
Uncaring. Repetitive, it seems, but it gets one through.
I am only bad
At writing things when I slip off, but I will go with this, producing nothing,
Being unconcerned making
Subtle changes (though I will always use this to bring myself back
When it is ugly). I will throw something out
For its own sake and be cleared
A pinch. I will make her laugh! Her
From this app! On demand! For she has demanded something
And I learned the value of our needs
Being met somewhere along the line, and it smelt like kerosene, a bit,
There’s no doubt and I panic
Every time, so I respect her simpler wishes (but where are mine?
My nose stings). I will be completely
Forgetting myself again today as I slip off
Into further unfeeling and materialism, with my body
Far away as it fails to dig into any of it
For some time to come with yoga
Or breathing or writing and it’ll just be a surface laugh, a moment
Here, a rolling on and on so very flat
And low (but do not doubt
My control). Perhaps this is all there is though? If so…
I am Rumi! I am Tolle! No certainly won’t be writing today, only
Chipping it off to get something especially meaningful next time, at least
To my mind (this fella
Sounds like a dick from where I’m sitting and has nothing to do with me. But I do find him sobering on mornings like this! I’ll leave him in bed for good one day. Boss night last night).