I wanted to write a post-it song about an unrequited undeclared one-sided love affair But the post-it ran out

of space Then my pen ran out ink Then I ran out of breath And willingness And all that was left Was questions etched on my wall Where the post-it had ended and my pen chipped the plaster in crooked infantile shapes of inkless letters Then I wanted to dream about my one side turning bilateral and reciprocity and fate and time truly telling But then my mind ran out of space And my crowded brain burned out Which caused my heart to break a rib and splatter the wall-plaster with blood of an insipid concoction but colorful nonetheless though not lively Then I wanted to drown out this self-perpetuating, self-absorbed, wretch of a never ending repetitive story Like bad theatre that never even starts In a series of badly directed, poorly voiced almost-climaxes of judgement errors, ill chosen words and undirected thinking a play that never quite knew what it wanted to say or why It would have made a great post-it poem, had the post it not run out And an exciting dream, had my brain not burned itself out (damned peak-toosooner) And a really good play of drowning something out Had there not been a general confusion with regard to what was to be drowned out and what kept safe behind a broken rib. Eventually i just wrote this instead. Inkless is a misspell and my sense of rhythm non-existent. I will sing it out loud one day.