Wires and knots and frays and ends
Jungled together in a mess that forfends
Any attempt at stability or control,
Giving way to a nest onlookers find droll.
Yet it all tells a story, one far too complex
To fully embrace its meanings and effects
On the state of my soul, my body, my mind,
And every piece of art my heart writes in kind.
Maybe it isn't worth the effort to untangle;
The gnarls buried deep serve little but to mangle
Any comb or brush that dares it's depths for even
A moment, an instant, but all is to be forgiven.
For the stress displayed upon my head
Bothers each and ev'ry of us within our bed
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