Should this poem be?
Will it twist and turn and wind
And cover me in thorns, barbed words
To sting and recriminate, burning and cutting
Before sneering away to hide behind smug curtains
Of arrogance, cold and diamond-like, sharp and laser-made?
Like a diamond, crystalline and angular? Cold, hard
But straight lines, straight up, direct, you know,
No messing around, no false hope
Just right to the point