What is the meaning,

To my being,

The answer is as fleeting,

As the idea of me cleaning?

Should I be left reeling,

At thought behind what I am feeling?

What do I do,

When all I am left to do,

Is skip to my Lou,

Until my face turns blue,

Or maybe do a loop de Lou?

What happens when I don't have a clue,

At what has been left for me to do?

What happens next,

When all is left,

Is the mess,

Of numerous wrecks,

That have been brought,

From all my faults,

And the disease of my thoughts?

What happens when,

I have to get everything moving again?

How do you move,

Out of a groove,

That has come,

And continues to loom,

Even when you get out of the room,

Where the groove was groomed?

What happens when the rut,

Has a bump that ends up kicking you in the butt?

Who is to help,

When you can't even yelp,

Because your throat is shut by welts,

Left unintended,

From when you were once reprimanded,

And without a voice you become frantic,

And once you can speak your words are like elastic,

And bounce back,

Which hits you like a smack?

Who is there,

When you send out a flare?

When will you be satisfied,

Once I have ratified,

Your proclamation,

Of domination,

And bullshit misinformation,

At what you are to me in relation?

When will I be done,

With you and being so alone?