There's two ways this could go

I could hit it
bullseye.
word for word;
the immortal poem.
and waste the rest of it
cooped up
in a small wood cabin with nothing but a few
bagels and weary eyes

Or I could meet a nice woman
Brown hair
Sunset eyes
Warm heart
and waste the rest of it
cooped up
in a small wood cabin with nothing but a few
bagels and weary eyes

It's become like this sweet
this
interesting flavor of color, chemicals, and glue

it's become like trying to spread jam over toast
but it just won't go
to the corners and it just doesn't mix
with anything you want it to

the words go everywhere
and many times go into
the wrong places

and
and
AND!

it's a ******* stutter  
thick and deep and red
and  
the berries are so too ripe
and the jam is oh so sweet
but its a slow
painful,
pour.
stutter

and stutter

maybe it just needs to sit a while
mix it up
pour it out
try again
try again
or maybe it's just time
to stop eating ******* toast

And another sad song after the last
I've heard it before
A classic earworm.  
sure to make you never forget
old loves