Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
My brain is a bowl of spaghetti I can be turned with a greedy hand And a rusty fork Eating my thoughts From an unwashed container Please stop eating. I don’t think I can afford To lose another fork-full another strand of memory Let alone Be mixed up With the other ingredients Poured into my skull It seems I’m getting sloppy. Refills are impossible Because the more I try to stuff inside The more the contents overflow And the threads of words Come spilling out When I beg them not to Well. I hate contradicting myself But without anyone eating And without room for refills The nutrients inside Will begin to rot And disintegrate Into nothing but molded mulch So everything I try to retain Will be useless and inedible The filth accumulates. Insanity will be the smell of my mind It will control my every action A single whiff Strong enough To lower the IQ of a genius I’m losing myself. I’d try to explain it In understandable terms But it seems the correct words Were lost when I was bitten into And scattered when I overflowed This is what I tried to describe before: My head is a box of noodles I can be dented with a pinky finger And a dull knife Tasting my dreams From a… Hm. Sorry. What were we talking about?
0
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 12:27 PM UTC
Food for Thought
My brain is a bowl of spaghetti I can be turned with a greedy hand And a rusty fork Eating my thoughts From an unwashed container Please stop eating. I don’t think I can afford To lose another fork-full another strand of memory Let alone Be mixed up With the other ingredients Poured into my skull It seems I’m getting sloppy. Refills are impossible Because the more I try to stuff inside The more the contents overflow And the threads of words Come spilling out When I beg them not to Well. I hate contradicting myself But without anyone eating And without room for refills The nutrients inside Will begin to rot And disintegrate Into nothing but molded mulch So everything I try to retain Will be useless and inedible The filth accumulates. Insanity will be the smell of my mind It will control my every action A single whiff Strong enough To lower the IQ of a genius I’m losing myself. I’d try to explain it In understandable terms But it seems the correct words Were lost when I was bitten into And scattered when I overflowed This is what I tried to describe before: My head is a box of noodles I can be dented with a pinky finger And a dull knife Tasting my dreams From a… Hm. Sorry. What were we talking about?
ValeLuna
Written by
21/F/Michigan (USA)
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 12:27 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem