I had a shell,
I used to hide in it,
My body felt a little lumpy,
My brain, a bowl of cold sweet custard,
I got a pen,
I used it,
I smithy my words,
like a blacksmith,
I make them mysteriously heated,
sometimes twisted,
a contortion of simplicity,
I am what I see,
I am what I feel.
Several trod on my shell,
They weakened it,
The shrimp who once lived in the shell,
Shell swelled,
It's broken,
The shrimp broke free,
Came with the gift,
contortions of words,
Spoken and written,
There's one thing missing,
You,
you sweet man,
Same as me,
you, are missing it too!

(C) LIVVI