Washing around my brain
like a washing machine of spinning rain
of stuff it's hoovered up
like thoughts collected in a cup
the stuff that my eyes have seen
and all the stuff in-between
what we do
and say
and think
like a computer on the blink
a mad collection of thoughts
sometimes ones
and sometimes noughts
random ideas I've surmised
that even I get surprised
so I have to get them out
or go mad with out a doubt
my head full of dispairs
like a piano shoved down the stairs
a cacophony of distruction
an alien abduction
takes me into the realm
of a two year old at the helm
like a political rampage
a lettuce showing its age
a train of thought derailed
a creative process failed
rubbing passed a thorn
trousers duly torn
blood from in me drawn
and
so
a poem
...is born
