Confession of a literary hack
God Almighty, I confess
To romancing in excess!
Calculated to deceive,
My whole career is make-believe.
Anything to get in print,
Raise my profile, make a mint;
I will kill a reputation,
Trash a life to please the nation.
I will steal a joke, a plot,
Fake the talent I have not;
Plagiarising doesn’t faze
In pursuit of readers’ praise.
In my fabricated lives
I fornicate with others’ wives
Adulterating lazy text
With the louche and highly-sexed.
Thus my neighbour’s trophy wife
Has a secret second life
Where her curves will never age,
Stripping for me on the page.
His the mansion, his the cars,
His the parties with the stars;
His the cash, the looks, the glory ...
All are mine though in my story.
I have been deprived. I had
Disrespect from Mum and Dad.
Now it’s payback time; my rage
Unedited fills every page.
Worst of all was Sunday school.
I looked and felt a bloody fool.
Each wasted day because of you ...
The dead God I am talking to ...
God! What must I do or say
To make this feeling go away
That you are real; that you have spoken -
All ten rules you made are broken?