I have a little black book
and in it I do write
the thoughts that scramble round my mind
throughout the day and night.

I ponder on most everything,
my mind is like a drain.
Where everything just washes down
however so inane.

I don't know why I think like this,
it just springs up as thought.
The silliest of images
in my mind does distort.

Sometimes I think I'm going mad,
but still I write it in.
Each word is in my little black book
but should be in a bin.

Perhaps I hope that one day
I might write something good.
The real hope is that one day,
that I really could.

But just for now I'll write it out
these words I will entrap
and keep them in my little black book
even though it's mostly crap.