I don't know

more s****y prose poetry

I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
It seems like one second I’ll be happy-fun-times kid and the next
I’ll be on a shoulder crying a pitiful tale.
I mean it’s not like there’s a sad wet warm river
That perpetually flows from my redpink corneas,
Nor is it that my body’s been turned redpurple
With dark seething blood that coagulates in a blackblack heart.
I guess my head’s just foggy blue
With clouds that hang between gyra and neurons.
My head’s always going to be foggy blue
Like a drizzling afternoon sky,
A rainbow in the back hugging the sun
But impossibly difficult to touch.