Self- Analyzing

I wrote this poem five minutes ago And five minutes later I was just wondering what happened In my head to write this particular poem Why does this poem really? Why I did not write a short story or a Bio When the heroine is having a monster babe Or my Mother as a whore by the time I was 12? What was inside my head that made me to create It into a format most of us do not dare to cross? Could be different if I’ve been drawn A phallus on a black sheet and burned it under my feet? Like this: The moon peers between My hairs toward the shadows And by the black clouds This motion wasn’t in my hands. I know … I know… I am thinking now more that a fool Than a man dying with pain.