FanStory.com - A day in the life of a clicheby CD Richards

I sit down at my desk to write;
to plumb the depths of tortured soul.
My pen and ink provide the cure
to mend this hurt and make me whole.
A cleansing, purifying rain
of words to wash away this pain.

I write of fairies, unicorns --
butterflies adorn my page;
Sunlight peeking through the trees
and rainbows too will set my stage.
The words become a sugar pill --
devouring them can leave one ill.

A menagerie of metaphores;
a symphony of synonyms --
couched in tortured, twisted rhyme,
connected by this author's whims.
I fear my audience won't clap
this foetid lump of steaming crap.

So then I contemplate my past
and the hurt that you have caused;
you've left a void that's deep and dark,
my suffering has seldom paused.
You weren't around, you didn't care;
when you were needed, you weren't there.

I lift my eyes to ask for help
I want to understand just why;
it never once occurs to me
that the "grand plan" could be a lie.
That maybe all the answers sought
With diligence can be self-taught.

As I wallow in the mire
bemoaning how my life's unfair;
a ray of light begins to dawn
and lifts me from this dark despair.
Existence may be tinged with strife,
but this is my one shot at life.

Eons passed upon the Earth
without my smiling face;
I've four score years or so (with luck)
and then I'll leave this race.
And when my body rests below
There's many eons more to go.

So I'll not dwell upon the past --
from dredging I'll refrain;
nor focus on a future in
some other astral-plane.
I'll finish with one last cliche --
henceforth I'm living for today.