Introspection Poem by David Mitchell

Why don't you do something productive with time,
Instead of composing this torturous rhyme?
You've not only wasted so many short hours
In trying to build some poetical towers –
You've even inflicted them on other folk:
To force them to read your stuff's more than a joke.
You're doing it now (don't you find it ironic?)
You wish that your rhymes were worthwhile - nay, Byronic –
How can we this man's creativity stifle?
The only secure way must be with a rifle;
But seriously, few truly understand art:
Not many melt with creativity's heart.