Self sabotage, self-deception
Self-destruction
Strung together like chords
That are over and over strummed
In dissonance
Miffed, muffled and buzzing
Chugging a rhythm of abundance
It isn't quite enough
A mistrust of ones progression
The process comes with problems
Constant disharmony
Off and on discordant
Keep trying to string it together
Like a ball of yarn from lint
Work of art is hard work
With the critics omnipresent
No-one can judge the worth
Of ones work
If you're trying to change the world
Well that's a lot of pressure unearthed
You can't concern it's value
It's not even up to you
Whatever you produce
Is for the universe to consume
It's a useless illusion
To assume worth in expression
We need to call out the critics
The inner critics especially.
To Be Frank: 