This is just how I feel.

This

is just how I feel.

This is just

how I feel.

This is just how

I feel.

This is just how I

feel.

This

is just how I fell.

This is just

how I fell.

This is just how

I fell.

This is just how I

fell.

--

I don't really know what that is; it came out of a sentence I wrote in my diary today--and the second verse (?) came out of a typo. The more I look at it, the more I'm certain that this isn't the first time somebody's done that, and I wouldn't be surprised if they used the exact words. (Please don't sue me. Rent and bills are bad enough.)

The last time I tried poetry--if you  would call it that; I wouldn't--the editor of the publication I sent it to told me, gently, "You can still write prose." But I felt like putting this up, just to let you all know I'm alive.