When I am sad
I write.
No.
I vomit words onto a page.
Pouring and pouring, endless strings.

The uglier the better.
Filthy emotions.
They have their schemes and tricks and plans.
No, wait, no plans. They happen. 

But when I'm sad and mad and cross
the word vomit cleans my head.
And then fills it again.

With more thoughts of you, and
again,
more crappy emotions.

Show me vulnerability
and I'm lost. 
Show me you care,
and I am without defense.