To the poems I hate

I’m not a ticking time bomb
I’m the last thing you’d expect to explode
I write with a blank brain
I do not fancy the pen as before
I see art as a distant wish
I wish this wasn’t a confession
There is always a downside
To letting one love overcome the other
First, it seems like bliss and a dream
Next, one wants a sacrifice for the other.

LARDO