I want it to be called scattered
I said to my mind
it doesn't have to have rhythm
it doesn't have to rhyme

it won't make any sense,
that is to say grammatically
nobody would care about it
who would want to read

It will look like a rough draft
it will look messy
But I'm not writing it for you
not even sure if it's for me

a worm inside my skull
a curled little ball
an empty water bottle
a box for them all

sometimes I don't know how
to speak, to those who
surround me. I'm not even
ready to think alone.

So yes it isn't tidy
so yes it isn't neat
No, it doesn't make sense
yes, it has no beat

I don't know if I
like it or feel hate
It simply just exists
I wont exaggerate