Confetti Confessions

Proceeding further voids the non-existent warranty on your sanity remaining intact afterwards. I feel like a shred of confetti Anchored by cotton knotted To a strong, steel chain Fused with a great grain of pain Cast in a vast castles grave Of felled shells, long dead Whose bones become my bed. I really, really must confess I use better bones for my bread I really must confess That bread is not the best. I really feel like screaming As my clenched cheeks cling To a complicated thing Effervescing From my minds twisted guts Into incontinent pants I imagine I’m wearing. I really, really must confess My mind's become one mucked-up mess! I really must confess This mess does not smell the best. I don’t sleep in sand beds Or soil shorts made of thoughts But my baking is to die for So sign here before you taste These sweet and sour soul cakes Whose recipe of joy and dread Imparts more bang than bone bread! I really, really must confess I love my minds mad caress I really must confess Its caress feels senseless. If symptoms persist, please consult the appropriate health care provider.