Sparks fly against the
current winds of
one lessening sanity.
A break, maybe a mistake
but this is my mind doddling
at stake.
For fucks sake!
Pull it together
you fuckin loser.
I weakly reply to myself.
Fuck this,
No, Fuck you.
Fuck I don't know
what to do.
what to say
what it means
in disarray.
Go away...
Make it go away.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
well, well, well
[the following should be taken "tongue in cheek"]
You're not insane, you freaking ponce,
I've lost my direction more than once,
and worked my way through stress and pain,
to re-orient my fevered brow again.
'sides, sanity is overated,
all the great ones seem to be fated,
to some degree of mental disorder.
Now 'scuse me while I make a "run for the border".
[We now resume our regularly scheduled comment, already in progress.]
... and that's why I think you may have really hit on something lots of us can identify with. The best comedy, it has been said (by George Carlin no less) is universal. Poetry is a little trickier. Most of us readers take away what we bring to a poem. No poem has to be universal to be good, but being so can help it be understood.
'Least that's what I think.
Write On!
jIM
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