you know,
poetry is one
big pile of ****.
or should i say
****?

excuse me,
i hadn't had anymore
euphemisms to spare.

poetry is one big ****
euphemism.

my life *****.
i'm sad.
well ****, no one's ever gonna love me.

but instead,
no i waltz across
these subjects
and pretend all is well
because plate this
**** you have for life
in pure gold
and call it art

and hell,
you'll make ******* millions.