i'm too depressed for poetry

so i keep writing prose

that never goes anywhere

looking for happiness between

my legs and handstand kegs

i can't get hard anymore,

every woman i fuck pegs me

for a bore, a sunday morning chore

while the lord rests, i'm a rat's nest

born blessed by the fallen petal

of a proverbial rose, but who i am

is what i chose and this is why

i'll stick to writing prose