The questions to be answered
The answers to be told
How many quivering lips
With statements only milliseconds
From being forever spilt
How many things known but unsaid
And endless mysteries biting at your ankles
Just enough to be pondered
Repeatedly, relentlessly, possibly obsessivly
Thoughts slaved over
Strung in the mind like a ball of twine
Constricting every frontal lobe
And cerebellum that Earth has ever known
And in the meantime addled with the drink
To spill words as so
Onto a small piece of paper
Inside a small notebook
Never to be made sense of
Never to be understood.