there is no greater (lesser) writer than I
my prose, my poetry is far better (worse)
be it rhyme or rhythm or gold (lead)-spun verse
i am a giant (ant) i tread the shuddering sky

let me, for the success of others praise (cry)
while my own stellar (in)significance is perverse
with no (too many) egotistic wounds to nurse
nor dark (so dark) shadows on my self to belie

i love (hate) the insane artists whose words free fly
let my soul sing (weep) and in their brilliance immerse
may my heart be ever filled with words to bless (curse)
these who I call friend (enemy) and seek as ally

Let me bless (rage, rage, rage) every wondrous (wicked) word
on every page, page, page, that i consumed, (that I endured)