What?

I never wanted to write a poem like this. Absolutely never. Many of my friends stick at doing nothing but this and hide it in notebooks that they don't shopw anyone, and do a big show of reluctance after strategically placing the notebook in a place where it is bound to be discovered by 'accident'.

I never wanted to be one of them. What?

And then..., But then..., and What then...?
This

What?
-----

Boiled in stale mustard sauce
I saw the friend I was not
Trapped in an unearthly mould
Not one I could break out of
And flutterby
I did as you were told
exactly as you were told
and you
Tried to die
And flutterby

Drink and smoke
Burn and choke
Look like the human waste
You always wanted to be
Reek of unhapiness
And celebrate
Your mistaken glory

Don't even try to break out
(Drink and smoke)
Of the mould
(Burn and choke)
Its there to protect you

Instead of the Gods
In incompelete wisdom
I keep track of them
To see what they have done
To deserve my devotion

They don't

Choose the words with care
And write the note
And sign off
With a flair

Fold the paper, call the reaper
Scratch the bitch till she bleeds
And write the odes to bolder deeds
Righer than wrong, and wronger

Than a first half of a
Vitruvian man
Perfect, Whole, Compelete
and Grotesque
Who came for the bastard
that he was
Or worse, was not
so

What?