Y?

Why do I name
the poems
the same
like
outside
by a garage
we all say
"yep"
I understand.
Do you?
My sweet
flowing
b
made
of everything
which is me.
Everything which is sacred
sex
traps
traps
traps
faggots.
Gore
we all die.
Some messier than others
but it's alright.
I don't know shit
but what you tell me
I don't know shit
but what you sell
me
to believe.