(I'm hoping that you'll read this title and that will help convey the point of the nonsensicality. No, I have no idea where the hell this poem came from. I mean, besides my head.)
Boy, it is your fault that I am not making sense
Stare into space,
long day, I am beat.
Beaten? Beat-ment, beatly.
I am beatlier than you.
You snerk at my maze of word play.
Bulletin! I am hinting at something,
aiming to paint a clear picture
what I want.
These paltry tries shred at my reality,
minty-fresh sanity is pulled from my gut
a sword catered just to me.
Deny the pain and it subsides,
peachy keen dontcha know?
I ran my fingers along your back,
I totally fruck.
Razors of excitement
exceeding a tolerable degree.
(this second one doesn't make any more sense. Possibly it makes less sense. Maybe I shouldn't write when I haven't been to sleep all night. Damned insomnia)
I keep laughing at the nonsense,
paint my toes with glitter and dance around my room.
The giant moon bubble rises in my watery sky,
victorious insomnia -- I pace on eggshells.
Does UPS deliver on Christmas eve eve?
Would be you be so kind to send me a rainbow?
Sew it to my quilt to stop the tossing turning.
You jostle my sanity, I frown at your presence,
but urge you stay. I will create you a niche
in my origami world.
Imagined animosity hurts,
I keep laughing at the nonsense.