had the first two lines in my head for a while… no idea if I kept it together

Epics have been written while staring out to sea,
Endless songs of generations penned about a girl.
Googols of words fought on to tear stained paper,
The dreamt up experience of one becomes timeless memories to millions.

But when will the originality end?
When will the epic become formula…
When will that girl become peddled on the block…
That heart-wrenching memoir of lust and guilt turns laughable at the first sign of saline…
The dreams of millions murder experiences for every one.

And what of those who hurl themselves onto this funeral pyre?
Slit their wrists in the effort to get published,
Tap that vision which may or may not be their own,
And shovel it like shit into a plot to be filled.

Aspiration to produce our next nation’s bestseller
May be the doom of us all, saturated damnation.