Let the Inside Out
In my head there's a wardrobe
That's full of old pap,
And when I write down these words
It's like turning a tap that empties
The cupboard for a small length of time,
Clearing a space,
Line by line,
Rhyme by rhyme,
But when the words stop
The wardrobe fills up,
And I try to decide
To go on
Or give up,
But if I give up
Will the wardrobe explode,
If the info that fills it goes on
And still grows?
Who knows?
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