I’m stuck

Quaking like a duck

Hoping for luck

To make me unstuck

I’m out here, waiting

To get a rating

A rating creating and translating

To my isolation

10 out of 10, They could write it with a nice pen

10 out of 10, Is the rating again

Of my  loneliness and disparity

The clarity

And the vulgarity

Of what my heart has become, And what the relentlessness

And the pit, pat, pit, patter of my heart pushing against my chest

However I still cannot digest it, so I will digress

A box filled to the brim with scones fresh from the bakery

Maybe they are  lemon poppy seed, My favourite flavour

However, in this box, there are also slices of bread

Moulding, rotting, de-composing

But still there, still enough to infest you with sickness 

Still enough, to make you nauseous, and vomit 

But what your hurling will not be only the half-digest food in your system

But instead, The words telling the infested, moulding food to get out, brewed

I brew the coffee beans of my soul every day

The roasted beans, that sent me away, Into a world of decay

So I say again

10 out of 10, Is the rating of my shame

10 out of 10, written with a quill  pen

Is the rating of my restrain

Of my loneliness and disparity

The clarity

And the vulgarity 

Of what my heart cannot come back from

And what the restless, has done

So 10 out of 10, 10 out of 10, 10 out of 10

Is the rating on my pain that made me never be the same

So here I write 10 out of 10 with a pen, knowing I’ll never be the same or for the matter sane

Ten out of Ten, The Clarity of my Vulgarity