It's times like these
When my usually tiny gaps
Tear into huge chasms
They are waiting to be filled
With what, I don't know
With who, I'm scared to know
But it's when I'm gaping wide like this
That the words start to trickle out
Like ****** mud stains under wet flowerpots
All I know is that I don't know
I am empty and hollow, devoid of
Something I'm not even aware of
Such a comic tragedy, wouldn't you say?
It's like Hepburn said
I can handle the murky blues
But I can't handle the Reds-
Those moments when I don't even know why I'm so uneasy
Maybe it's been too long since I have been challenged
Or maybe I'm just flaky,
fluttering from one inconsequential thing to another;

Ah, If only knowledge of my incompleteness could make me complete
...I'd be bloated by now