I'll give you a few

why are we afraid of our own poo?

blah blah *******

I think I might have scared her away

somehow, and this is sitting in my stomach, won't digest, hurting

aching, like a coldplay song, extends through the bars, leading me to...bars

****, ****, this and that

afraid of ******* something good up, always afraid of that

like my life is a tender, gentle fabric, of brilliance, and my hands are hole punchers, synths, sythers, synthesizers out of key, constantly playing the wrong melody

and I have to repair every day, the wrong way

and nobody minds, its good and its fine

its all in my head?

or was it something I said?