Not a PoetMy mind is all tied in knots.
Clouded, obscured, murky
Like a storm of rotting thoughts
The clarity is gone.
I tend to dwell now crablike in my head
Not nimbly flit from rock to shore
But just to wade slowly until the depths
Swallow me in silent coolness
When I think now of life and what it means
I thinků Fuck you too
If my soul had a shape right now
It would look a lot like my middle finger.