tantrum

temper tantrum of the mind ripping away all the curtains to let the blinding light in to drive another wedge into that splitting headache you get from chasing something that isn’t there but you can’t stop seeing and chasing it no matter how many times you fall flat on your ass because nothing you do to catch it is good enough and atleast a girl’ll forgive you for using a line she’s heard a thousand times before because the muse she won’t forgive shit and ain’t that a bitch ‘cause anybody who calls themselves a poet has thrown so much shit everywhere and called it poetry that we’re deeper in it than the politicians but once in a while something decent comes out that was hiding in the corner behind a stack of shelley and the leaves torn from kerouac that you just threw out in that sacrificial firestorm of the tantrum in hopes of appeasing the muse