I can't tell what's real
Eleventeen crows
With dogs on either side
Fly by the
Empty church on a Sunday night

Cause my head's a blur
Of black dogs chasing white crows through the dark sky
Where the bark
Is my head headed

**** me
And al-so *******
I'm a butterfly
And my poem is better than yours too.

I'm on drugs
Just not the kind you think
They help me with my feelings
And keep me from the brink
Of some in-sane
Dicis-ion-making

Like wearing shirts back
To front
And in
Side out

and other things...

nothing's real