i wonder if when i reach chapter twenty and the epilogue if i will title my poetry more often than i have lately

it began as a way to write about her without expressly saying they were about her her

then it snowballed into everything was another (un)titled thought i would send out to the void

i use the book as an excuse but i am running out of excuses that seem convincing to myself

is it a crutch or artistic license

or maybe it is this death spiral taking shape and as it all spins out of control around me this is my way of spitting into the wind and still faking surprise when it spatters back on me

fucked if i know