my insides have a way of crying,
where my stomach is a bloated bag
and my heart drops in to my intestines
as everything from my throat
all the way down to my hips
becomes a gigantic scrambled mess.

it is emotional pain that i cannot share,
except in a few select words and lines
that somehow find their way here
for eyes that even i am not aware,
and hearts i never knew existed.

invisible persons inspecting my soul
will not find treasure in this maze,
but will be doomed to explore it evermore,
always taking the wrong turns,
in this scrambled mess that is me.