Brain Vomit

Another tasteless rendering of words
pouring from this old head.

A rent,
a tear,
in the fabric
of time.

An elusive
escape from
the corners
of my mind.

A rent,
to pay,
monthly,
not per day.

Perhaps I
should leave
and just
go away.

Go away,
he questioned,
lost in
him self.

The next
words will
be the,
Elf on
the shelf.

Too much
clutter in
this head
of mine.

Would you
please be,
on this day,
My Valentine