i don't think i'll play
with pleasant words
tonight -- i'd rather
upset you with my
honesty than delight
you with laughably
phony repartee.
excuse the graphic aspect
but i'm not in the business
of acknowledging faux pas.
a reflection on state of mind;
i'd say solid, though somewhat
soft and liquid as well, like
a plate of spaghetti for brains,
i can't figure out which strand
of grey matter is meant for me
and which is supposed to be
slurped up by lady and tramp
nor whether it is my pituitary
or my hypothalamus which is
destined to be taken home
in a doggy bag for seconds.
i really am lost.