Sometimes I wonder,
if my lines,
For Ulysses,
Are chains,
Instead of freedom,
Closer to a siren,
Then the angel I wish I was,
My great poetry,
A trap,
Setting me up,
To remember,
A waste of time,
Not that You are a waste,
Oh great one,
But my heart spends its energy on useless things,
Add my mouth eats too much chocolate.