I started to picture my head as a bucket
Every word that I write would splash
Like a drop of water
And my head feels empty now
Which is something I always wanted
I'm not sure I really like that
Because I've gotten quite used to the noise
And the feeling of being full
I used to think of my head a prison
Nothing could get in or out
Thoughts dying before becoming ideas
Words never becoming sentences
And the only ideas that thrived
Were ones that suffocated me
And left me letter B's for bruises
and T's and O's and M's
and Y O Y can't I make any sense of it?
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