Some Kind of Nonsense When I'M Clean Out of Ideas

Then all of a sudden I disappear It's like tempting a mouse out from it's hiding place But I'm the mouse and the mouse-catcher So I know what I'm up to If I give it some thought, I'd say the hiding place is somewhere beneath the left ventricle and my lung Placing my hand on my rib comforts the poor scared creature But once I'm in hiding it really requires a game of let's pretend I'm not looking for you Then bold as anything there I am Writing down weird stuff, calling it a poem and posting it Hmm, does this need a disclaimer? Some kind of safety announcement that this is playfulness and not insanity? No one was ever soothed by that kind of promise. Look, I like you so much I'm going to stop writing here and go and watch TV. See? I'm fine, you're fine, they're fine...