But then you gotta explain it
to agents and prove it's provocative
and
like emoji's running on rocket fuel
they fool you into another rewrite

see,
poetry is the trap,
tap on any gender
and we're in a  flood
of verse,
some bad, some good
some understandable, some
incomprehensible
but
the screws tighten and
we write on and write on
wishing someone would switch a light on
because another day has gone.

and tomorrow you read it,
shed a tear for a sheltered life
and
wish the rewrite had rewound
because you've
found so many words
that you could have used
but
you didn't,

If I
cut my wrists
the blood would
come out quicker than
the angst

and
more fluid
less id
is the order of my day.