Let’s hope it’s loaded
Another pull from the bottle
“It doesn’t fucking matter!”
He screamed with the utmost frustration
“You shouldn’t waste your words,
You’ve got a fucking gift and all you do is whine”
Another letter, another lecture
If Shakespeare was more careful with his plot
He wouldn’t be haunted by so many ghosts
“I don’t leave skeletons in my closet,
And I don’t want to be followed by any fucking ghosts”
His high expectations for his writing
Were well above his proficiency for language
He wanted to use every literary technique to make a masterpiece
But he didn’t understand it was too much
He slipped up, missed a step
Tumbled down the stairs
Blood and whisky ran together
Throat full of broken glass
Chekhov’s gun
_______________________________
Tonight my buddy challenged me to write a poem about + using Chekhov’s gun
This is what I came up with
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