On foot barely afloat what is this expository super SUPER supra suppository diatribe viral vibe inky leakage of never speakage writing and fighting my daily drill dressed to kill took the pill for what that’s worth it doesn’t hurt call it the birth a wrinkled shirt said before an excuse so why bore what’s the use of this blue piss line after line of superfine, could it speak to those others weak also burdened also hiding another word and I’ll go on biding my time less rhyme more sense too dense to see no place for me this mess as I confess this thing it’s not so bad I’ll ring a bell, sad, hell it’s not fatal from cradle to grave I rant and rave in silence unspoken the pretense awoken my desire to share who might care there is no market you see how dark it gets he forgets the revelations are not just his, a life’s relations, the problem is who is whom and what is true from what womb it’s not just you walking to tomb the melodrama without a comma impossible to calm a committed man payment remitted I don’t understand flames are fanned a fire burns the page he turns but who else who else would care why not just spare readers and subjects people aren’t objects not characters these characters depict some other facets the glass it’s half full, moulder, mull never dull to me. Not really. There’s the other times when there are no rhymes, no desire, no raging ire the gaps in dates, the quietude, reading sates that maudlin mood. Maudlin? Hobgobblin. Enough, this stuff, I’ll type it out, the crap I spout this pathetic diarhetic. I’ll send, forfend (FORFEND!?) to whom my padded room, my second womb my tomb.
Boy, doesn’t that sound depressing.