gross

Gross Gross Gross
Everything I've ever written was shit
And the shit I just spent 2.5 hrs on? Shit.
But guess what? I'll be fucking happy for every second of shit I write.
Know why? 'Cause nothing compares to the ecstatic mindfucking time warp--
2.5 hrs seems five minutes--my skin tingles and my blood goes to my head--
Warm all over, Poetry, you filthy WHORE!--
et cetera et cetera

I've been screaming at myself and jumping around the room for the past half hour because of this. This mess I find myself caught in. And every poet will say, 'No one ever chooses to be a poet.' I mean, DUH. Everything about this is totally useless. And awful. But oh so fucking divine.

Hm. Gotta shake this headache...